I've always ... okay... not always, but at least since I walked into a Unity Church 25 years ago, believed that the key to life and happiness was to focus on the positive. Or as my favorite rapper Pitbull says, "negative to positive."
It's not about being in denial about the negative, it's about putting all your focus and energy into the positive to the point that the negative ceases to matter. Because the truth is even when the negatives in our life rear up and threaten to overwhelm us - in the balance, life really is still precious and has more good than bad. Every day we wake up on the green side of the grass is a blessing, as cliched as that may sound.
So that's how I try to live my life. I'm not always successful - I admit that. I am human and some days the negative threatens to swallow me whole. Some days, no matter how hard I look, I cannot find a crumb of goodness and light to hang onto. Thankfully those days are usually few and far between, until recently.
When I was a kid my family was very good at moving. I mean we were really good at moving. Long moves, short moves, you name it. We were champions of moving - gold medal really. By 9th grade, I was enrolling in my 13th school. It was an interesting existence. At a young age, I'd lived in a lot of diverse places from Florida to Colorado to Texas to New Hampshire. As a kid, it was just the way my life was - it wasn't something I really gave a thought to - I just did what I was told.
As an adult, I learned to look at the positives of my nomadic childhood. I lived in places as different as Ft. Lauderdale, Fl and Lubbock, Tx. Believe me, you will never find two more different places than the spring break capital and the most conservative city in the US. I experienced weekends on the beach and in the mountains, as well as tornados and hurricanes. I mastered the art of walking into a classroom full of strangers and acting like I belonged there. It's a skill that has served me well.
Eventually, I put down roots in the Big D and made a life for myself. Even though my family moved on I was happy to be in one place indefinitely. But all good things come to an end and eventually it became time for me to move, long past time really.
But a strange thing happened when I began to make plans to move back to my home state of Florida - I was suddenly crippled by fear, anxiety and panic attacks with a large helping of depression thrown in for good measure. These aren't completely unfamiliar feelings, I've had them before just not the plethora the universe gifted me with in December and January. Any attempt to work on my big MOVE TO FLORIDA plan resulted in an anxiety attack. When I wasn't having an anxiety attack, I was safely ensconced in the chilling hug of deep dark depression. All the while my life was going to shit.
I knew there had to be something causing this vortex of suck in my life. Part of my "All Thought is Creative" philosophy is that nothing happens to me without something in me attracting it - or in the case of my business - repelling it. So all through the month of December I worked hard trying to find that proverbial splinter in my psyche. I journaled, I prayed, I meditated, I worked with my life coach - I consulted the angel cards and even did a rain dance when I wasn't curled up in the fetal position. It might seem stupid, but the correlation between my decision to move and my crippling angst just did not occur to me.
It wasn't until about ten days ago that the link between my decision to move and my erstwhile adventures as a toddler nomad became clear. And even then I couldn't figure out exactly why. I had, decades ago, come to terms with the fact that I had schlepped across the country multiple times. I had focused on the positive aspects and moved on! Ta Da! Presto! situation handled. Sorta.
As I kept journaling about my childhood, I started to realize there were some gaping holes in my childhood memories. I remembered living in all these places, I just didn't remember actually moving. I couldn't remember anything about the move to Colorado, or the ones to and from Tx or even how the heck we got to New Hampshire - it's not like I was a small child when some of these moves happened. I was 14 - surely too young for dementia? The more I tried to fill in the gaps the sadder I became. That was when I finally realized what mini me was never able to cope with - every one of those moves was a trauma unto itself. Every time we moved it meant I was losing someone. My parents were divorcing... again. Or we were leaving a favorite aunt and uncle to join my sister in another state, or leaving them to join a different, not so favorite aunt and uncle. By the age of nine, I'd been thru the loss of my father -twice, my older sisters leaving and had moved cross country twice.
It wasn't till 10 days ago I fully got the impact of it all. That is a lot of trauma for one child and it wasn't over - the moves kept coming.
This isn't a story about blame or shame. Everyone involved was doing the best they knew how to do in the circumstances. Grown up me knows that, understands and even accepts it. Sometimes life just sucks and through no fault of our own, we end up with scars so deep the only option is to bury it. And bury it so deep not even your memory can find it. This is a story of what those scars do to us, the way they run our lives and bring us to our knees when we least expect it.
This year, 2015 is the year I plan on making huge changes in my life. I want to make a move I've thought of for a long time - heading back to Florida. I'll be purging 90% of my possessions, throwing what's left in the back of a pick-up truck and leaving. I'm actually really excited about it, letting go of stuff feels liberating to me. Apparently, I have more stuff to let go than I realized.
Once I made the connection between my impending move and all the garbage floating up from the bowels of my psyche - I thought I'd be able to clear it up and move on. But it wasn't so easy. I found myself caught in this weird vortex - in agony to the point I could barely talk about the moves without choking up. But weirdly unable to shed a single tear. I felt totally trapped - probably a lot like it felt having to move for the umpteenth time. All the while my life is swirling around the drain and I couldn't seem to get a handle on anything.
So back to the drawing board and another round of journaling, praying, meditation, begging, coaching, counseling and anything else I thought might help. I knew that I needed to break thru this block. The thing about feelings is they don't go away if you refuse to feel them. Sure you can stuff them down and even forget them. But they are still there. The only way to heal and move forward is to... unfortunately.. feel them. Feel them in all their miserable glory.You have to be willing to sob until your face is swollen and red, snot drips down your face, and a box of tissues lays crumpled on the floor. But how to do that when you won't even let yourself cry? That is a conundrum.
So I decided to do the one thing I was most afraid to do. The thing that 5, 7, 8, 10, 13, 20, 30-year-old me was never able to do. Tell my mother how I felt. It wasn't about blaming or guilting or shaming. It was about reclaiming some of the power I never had as a kid. It was about being heard, having someone acknowledge the hell I had been through. I won't go into all the details of our talk. Some things are best kept private (I'm sure some feel I've said more than enough already - but whatever) But the point is, I was able to get what I needed from my mom.
It wasn't an immediate cure-all. What it did do was pop the metaphorical cork I'd stuffed on all the hurt and pain all those years ago. Wow, did it ever. I spent two solid days crying and sobbing. I thought the tears would never end. Actually, they still haven't stopped totally. But I've gone from an all day snot-fest to sporadic crying. Each day just a little bit better than the last. I'm starting to feel better, the anxiety attacks are fading, the depression is starting to lift. And I'm getting excited about the future. I'm feeling a lightness I haven't felt in a long time.
I still believe in the power of focusing on the positive.It's the only way to live a life of joy and happiness. I've never known a cynical negative person whose life was filled with joy or laughter.
What I understand more clearly now, is you have to be willing to feel the yucky stuff. It's the only way to get to the other side. Even when you don't realize you're avoiding it, it's still there, underneath everything. Worst of all, it's like that proverbial back seat driver - only they've got their own steering wheel and they end up steering you in ways you don't even realize. Looking back on my life I realized that choices I've made - that I thought were rational well thought out - might actually have been steered by the fear and trauma of my childhood. I guess I'll never really know for sure. What I do know is that those fears won't be running me anymore. The steering wheel has been disconnected.
If you're going through your own stuff, be willing to cry and yell. Prayer, meditation, boxing, or writing whatever works for you. Just don't let it stay buried. Feel it, own it and get back to the positive side of things. I'll meet you on the other side of the yucky stuff.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Baby Jesus, Philomena and my Christmas Miracle
Christmas in my family is a big deal. The last 20 years, I've spent most of my Christmases at my sister's house. She puts on a Christmas that would make Martha Stewart weep in jealousy. From cookies, cakes and a traditional Cuban Christmas feast, my sister lays out a spread that boggles the mind. But it's really not about the food, it's about the event - the experience. All of us, even those that live in town spend the night at my sister's house so that we can all get up and experience the day, together as a family. There is something about getting up as a family, all in your pajamas and sitting around the tree that really brings home the feeling of Christmas to me.
But this Christmas was going to be different. My family has all moved out of town. My daughter and I, two poor college students really didn't have the funds to travel or to take off of work. And to make matters worse, my daughter was scheduled to work all day long on Christmas. So you can understand why I wasn't really looking forward to this Christmas. Oh I played it off and tried to make light of it. But the fact was, all of my family was gathering at one or the other of my sister's houses .... except me and the kiddo. It sucked. hard.
So I did what any rational person would do under the circumstance - I decided to check out of reality and go to the movies. Looking over the list of films at my local theater I picked the one that seemed most likely to give me a feel good ending. Philomena which seemed to be about a funny little woman who goes in search of the son she gave up for adoption years ago. That had to have a happy ending right? RIGHT? <sigh> I should probably warn you about spoilers ahead. The movie has what my friend Caroline would call a good ending, though not the one I was hoping for.
One thing you should know about me, movies have always been my life. My passion for movies is probably the greatest gift my mother ever gave me. I was in theater for years, have a degree in performing arts and even after I gave up on acting, movies were always my solace. Going to the movies was always my refuge from the world. I could find something to like about even the cheesiest movie. But the last couple of years, being back in school, I haven't had the time or money to go to the movies like I use to. At first it bothered me a lot, but then, I guess like the proverbial toad in the pot of hot water - I just got used to it.
So I figured treating myself to a morning at the movies, might just take the sting out of a sucky Christmas. But instead I found something I hadn't expected to find. And a lesson that really hit home on Christmas.
Five minutes into the movie I was bawling like baby. It's the story of Philomena, an Irish woman, who was forced to give up her child by the Catholic nuns as a teenager. A chance connection with a reporter leads her to search for her son. Just minutes into the movie, you're sucked into the story. The acting, the writing - all top notch. I don't want to give the whole plot away, but let me say, it was not what I expected. And that's a good thing.
Like anyone that has ever dabbled in acting on any level, I found myself viewing the movie from two perspectives, in awe of Judy Dench and her amazing performance. Enthralled at the way the story reveals the events of past and present and how they manage to make us care about a character who never appears on the screen in the present day.
But part of me was also deeply engaged in the story of this amazing woman and what she had been through. Her story isn't an isolated event, but one played out repeatedly in Catholic convents across Europe. What makes this story so powerful is her ability to forgive, to keep her faith in God despite the horror of what had been done to her. To look the nun, who robbed you of your last chance to meet your son and say, "I forgive you", takes an incredible human being. I wept at Philomena's amazing capacity to love and forgive. Philomena demonstrates the very best of what Christianity should be.
Christmas to me has always been less about marking the far off birth of some murky historical figure and more about reminding myself about the Christ light that shines within each and every one of us. To celebrate the rebirth of that Christ light - to me that's what being born again really means. That re-connection to the Christ within us is what I personally celebrate each December 25th.
And that's what happened to me today in that movie theater. On a day that I expected to be sad and bummed out, I was reminded of the strength of the human spirit. Philomena reminded me that true Christianity is always about forgiveness, for ourselves, for others - no matter how deeply we feel wounded.
But beyond that, I was given another gift - a reminder of a part of myself that's been dormant for a long time - my passion for the performing arts. I set that aside many years ago when I had my daughter - but today I realized that that part of me has never gone away, and never will as long as it's unfulfilled.
I'm not sure where that leaves me with regard to my current path in life. How do I reconcile that to the fact that I've spent the last year and a half going in another direction? I'm not entirely sure. But that light within me has been lit ....again - and I know that God, the Universe, whatever you want to call it, is giving me a signpost that I'm supposed to follow.
This may not have been the Christmas I hoped for, or the one I expected - yet it might just have been the most perfect one I never have asked for. Because out of the loneliness and sadness, I found a precious gift from the Universe: a lesson on faith and a call to the essence of my true self. And for that, I'm infinitely grateful.
But this Christmas was going to be different. My family has all moved out of town. My daughter and I, two poor college students really didn't have the funds to travel or to take off of work. And to make matters worse, my daughter was scheduled to work all day long on Christmas. So you can understand why I wasn't really looking forward to this Christmas. Oh I played it off and tried to make light of it. But the fact was, all of my family was gathering at one or the other of my sister's houses .... except me and the kiddo. It sucked. hard.
So I did what any rational person would do under the circumstance - I decided to check out of reality and go to the movies. Looking over the list of films at my local theater I picked the one that seemed most likely to give me a feel good ending. Philomena which seemed to be about a funny little woman who goes in search of the son she gave up for adoption years ago. That had to have a happy ending right? RIGHT? <sigh> I should probably warn you about spoilers ahead. The movie has what my friend Caroline would call a good ending, though not the one I was hoping for.
One thing you should know about me, movies have always been my life. My passion for movies is probably the greatest gift my mother ever gave me. I was in theater for years, have a degree in performing arts and even after I gave up on acting, movies were always my solace. Going to the movies was always my refuge from the world. I could find something to like about even the cheesiest movie. But the last couple of years, being back in school, I haven't had the time or money to go to the movies like I use to. At first it bothered me a lot, but then, I guess like the proverbial toad in the pot of hot water - I just got used to it.
So I figured treating myself to a morning at the movies, might just take the sting out of a sucky Christmas. But instead I found something I hadn't expected to find. And a lesson that really hit home on Christmas.
Five minutes into the movie I was bawling like baby. It's the story of Philomena, an Irish woman, who was forced to give up her child by the Catholic nuns as a teenager. A chance connection with a reporter leads her to search for her son. Just minutes into the movie, you're sucked into the story. The acting, the writing - all top notch. I don't want to give the whole plot away, but let me say, it was not what I expected. And that's a good thing.
Like anyone that has ever dabbled in acting on any level, I found myself viewing the movie from two perspectives, in awe of Judy Dench and her amazing performance. Enthralled at the way the story reveals the events of past and present and how they manage to make us care about a character who never appears on the screen in the present day.
But part of me was also deeply engaged in the story of this amazing woman and what she had been through. Her story isn't an isolated event, but one played out repeatedly in Catholic convents across Europe. What makes this story so powerful is her ability to forgive, to keep her faith in God despite the horror of what had been done to her. To look the nun, who robbed you of your last chance to meet your son and say, "I forgive you", takes an incredible human being. I wept at Philomena's amazing capacity to love and forgive. Philomena demonstrates the very best of what Christianity should be.
Christmas to me has always been less about marking the far off birth of some murky historical figure and more about reminding myself about the Christ light that shines within each and every one of us. To celebrate the rebirth of that Christ light - to me that's what being born again really means. That re-connection to the Christ within us is what I personally celebrate each December 25th.
And that's what happened to me today in that movie theater. On a day that I expected to be sad and bummed out, I was reminded of the strength of the human spirit. Philomena reminded me that true Christianity is always about forgiveness, for ourselves, for others - no matter how deeply we feel wounded.
But beyond that, I was given another gift - a reminder of a part of myself that's been dormant for a long time - my passion for the performing arts. I set that aside many years ago when I had my daughter - but today I realized that that part of me has never gone away, and never will as long as it's unfulfilled.
I'm not sure where that leaves me with regard to my current path in life. How do I reconcile that to the fact that I've spent the last year and a half going in another direction? I'm not entirely sure. But that light within me has been lit ....again - and I know that God, the Universe, whatever you want to call it, is giving me a signpost that I'm supposed to follow.
This may not have been the Christmas I hoped for, or the one I expected - yet it might just have been the most perfect one I never have asked for. Because out of the loneliness and sadness, I found a precious gift from the Universe: a lesson on faith and a call to the essence of my true self. And for that, I'm infinitely grateful.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Parenting Advice From The Finish Line
Last month my daughter turned 18, and moved into the dorms at her college. She's incredibly smart, responsible, ambitious, and talented. Though my daughter and I frequently debate nature vs nurture, I like to think I had something to do with that - beyond just my superior Cuban-American DNA.
I should probably start with a disclaimer - I am not a perfect parent. In fact, my failings could probably fill a book forget about a blog post. One day when my ego isn't so fragile, I'll write about that. But today is not that day. Today I want to share some of the things I did right, things that paid off and things that I believe made a difference in the trajectory of my daughter's life. I can't claim credit for all these ideas, most of them came to me from a variety of sources and places. That's kind of why I'm writing this post - maybe I can save someone else a little time and energy that they can put towards being with their kids. So here we go - my handy dandy parenting advice...
-Make a Plan: In an age where people endlessly plan out their day and their life, I'm always amazed at the people who put no thought into what kind of parent they want to be. Sure we can wing it day by day and probably get through it without a major catastrophe. But are we truly helping our kids be the best they can be? Are we really raising kids to be better, less damaged than we are? So my first piece of advice is to decide what being a good parent means to you. Then make a plan! And the coolest part is it's almost never too late to do this. If your kids are waiting to be born or they're here, you can still evaluate where you are and where you're going. Sure it gets harder to change course the older that your kids are, but it's not impossible and they are worth it.
-Educate Yourself: I had a rule when my daughter was little, that every day I'd spend 15 minutes reading a parenting book. I found that 15 minutes made a huge difference in the quality of my parenting. Sometimes it was because I was learning new techniques that helped me. Sometimes the books I read made me roll my eyes back so hard, I'm surprised they didn't stick. But it didn't matter, just the fact that I spent 15 minutes actively trying to improve, guaranteed that the other 23 hours and 45 minutes I was a more conscious parent. I was more likely to stick with my parenting plan, more likely to act, not react and more likely to be present in the moment.
-Look In the Mirror: This was the hardest part of being a parent, I hated it with a passion. But it was also the thing that made the biggest difference. Learning to own up to the fact that if my young child was misbehaving or acting out, I was probably the cause of it. If she was having a temper tantrum in the store; I'd probably dragged her to one place too many and skipped a badly needed nap. The reality is when you're dealing with young kids, they're usually reacting to the things we're doing, things they have no control over.Before you come down like a hammer on your kid, think about the way you might have contributed to their behavior. That's not to say that you let them get away with it, but own your part and try not to put your kid in that situation again.
- Say You're Sorry: There's this notion that being a parent means never saying sorry, never admitting weakness. But what does that really teach your kid? That you're the boss? That they aren't important enough to apologize to? Saying you're sorry shows them that you're strong enough to admit mistakes, that you respect them enough to apologize and ultimately they'll respect you more too. And guess what? They'll do the same to you. My daughter has frequently apologized to me for things she's said or done and not because I said. "Now say you're sorry". And by the same token, she's graciously accepted my apology and given me forgiveness that I didn't always feel I deserved, but appreciated nonetheless.
- Smile: There are so many ways to show our kids that they mean a lot to us. But one of the easiest ways is smiling.Think about when you walk into a room, and see someone you haven't seen in a while. That feeling when they see you and break out into a smile? Give that to your kids every time you see them. Even if it's only been a few hours, let them see your face light up - it's the best way to show them how happy they make you. It tells them, they are the best part of your day. It tells them "I'm so glad to see you!" It's one of the best way to raise their self esteem and make them feel valued. Sure there were some days when I was stressed, tired, cranky and I had to follow the "Fake it till you make it" rule. But here's the cool part, you give your kid that smile and I guarantee the one they give back to you will lift your spirits right away. So smile, you're on kid camera!
- Talk: My daughter and I took a lot of trips to Disney World. It was always a magical place to us. But here's a little secret I don't think my daughter has figured out yet. As much as I loved the trips with her, getting ready to go was always my favorite part. Starting a month or two before the trip my daughter and I would go for long walks in the evenings "training" to get us ready for all the walking we'd do at WDW. And yes it did help my daughter adapt but most importantly it was time for us to talk. We'd discuss what we'd do when we got there, what rides we'd ride first, and even what characters we wanted to meet. Those conversations were a real bonding experience for us. I learned a lot about my daughter, how her mind works, what's important to her, and what's not important at all. It doesn't have to be about Disney World, just find something that starts the conversation. Later on it was the Twilight books. I hated every single page of those books, but they were a great conversation starter for us on what makes a healthy relationship or an obsessive one. Kids will tell you a lot about themselves if you just get the conversation started - even if it's something as silly as a mouse or a vampire.
- Define Love For Your Kid: This may sound like a strange one, after all love is love right? Not exactly. Everyone has their own definition of love - even kids. Every kid is different. If you don't find out what their definition is, you can be wasting a lot of time and energy showing them love in a way they don't understand. I asked my daughter once what made her feel loved. It wasn't any of the things I expected like hugs, being told "I love you" or even getting presents. No, it was playing a game with her. That made her feel more loved than any single thing I could do. So we played a ridiculous amount of games when she was a kid. Find out what your child's "love definition" is and show it to them that way.
-Kids Are People Too!: Sometimes, despite our best intentions, things don't work out the way we hope. Because kids come to this planet with their own personalities, their own issues and their own lessons to learn. My mom was of the old school type of parenting where kids were seen, not heard and certainly never consulted. The result was I had no clue how to make a decision. I didn't even know what I wanted most of the time because that was usually decided for me by my mom. It was just the way things were done in her day. But I decided I was doing things differently. I followed all the suggestions in the parenting books. I'd chose the three outfits I approved of and let my daughter pick the one she wanted. Perfect right? Teaching my daughter to make decisions at a young age!! #Winning.... not exactly. I've got a kid who has the hardest time with decisions, gets overwhelmed with too many options and freaks out sometimes at the pressure. It drove me crazy for a long time. I felt like a failure. Walking out of restaurants because my daughter was overwhelmed by the menu felt like the worst kind of parenting. But I finally realized something. My daughter? is not me. She's her own person. She has her own quirks and idiosyncrasies. I can help her navigate them and figure them out. But ultimately it's her job to figure out how to make her life work. Sometimes the only thing you can do is give your child the tools, offer advice then get out of the way.
-The Year with Training Wheels: I didn't have a lot of freedom when I lived at home. And by that, I mean any freedom at all. When I moved out on my own, I had no idea how to handle all that freedom. It wasn't pretty. So when someone said that the 17th year should be treated like "adulthood with training wheels" that made a lot of sense to me. It's our job to raise our children to be responsible adults. But we've got to give them some practice at it, before they are actually out on their own. So when my daughter turned 17, I started to take a very hands off approach. There were no curfews, I trusted her decisions regarding where she went and with whom - but still made sure my phone was on, just in case. It took a little while and a few discussions; but eventually she realized that she needed to check in with me simply out of courtesy. She talking to me about decisions she was making and why. She even talked to me about trying alcohol for the first time. She realized that coming in at crazy hours made for a tough day at work. Now that my daughter is living in the dorms, I feel a lot more comfortable that she's not going wild. She's handling the responsibility much better than I did at that age - and in the end, isn't that what we really want for our kids? That they do at least a little bit better than we did?
So that's my handy list of parenting tips. I don't have a degree, I don't have a license, what I do have is a pretty amazing kid that fills me with pride every single day. Somehow I managed to stumble across the parenting finish line without doing irreparable harm to the single most important person in my life. She's a little bit smarter than I am, a lot more responsible than I was at that age, more motivated and focused. I think I did okay. So maybe these tips will help you too.
I should probably start with a disclaimer - I am not a perfect parent. In fact, my failings could probably fill a book forget about a blog post. One day when my ego isn't so fragile, I'll write about that. But today is not that day. Today I want to share some of the things I did right, things that paid off and things that I believe made a difference in the trajectory of my daughter's life. I can't claim credit for all these ideas, most of them came to me from a variety of sources and places. That's kind of why I'm writing this post - maybe I can save someone else a little time and energy that they can put towards being with their kids. So here we go - my handy dandy parenting advice...
-Make a Plan: In an age where people endlessly plan out their day and their life, I'm always amazed at the people who put no thought into what kind of parent they want to be. Sure we can wing it day by day and probably get through it without a major catastrophe. But are we truly helping our kids be the best they can be? Are we really raising kids to be better, less damaged than we are? So my first piece of advice is to decide what being a good parent means to you. Then make a plan! And the coolest part is it's almost never too late to do this. If your kids are waiting to be born or they're here, you can still evaluate where you are and where you're going. Sure it gets harder to change course the older that your kids are, but it's not impossible and they are worth it.
-Educate Yourself: I had a rule when my daughter was little, that every day I'd spend 15 minutes reading a parenting book. I found that 15 minutes made a huge difference in the quality of my parenting. Sometimes it was because I was learning new techniques that helped me. Sometimes the books I read made me roll my eyes back so hard, I'm surprised they didn't stick. But it didn't matter, just the fact that I spent 15 minutes actively trying to improve, guaranteed that the other 23 hours and 45 minutes I was a more conscious parent. I was more likely to stick with my parenting plan, more likely to act, not react and more likely to be present in the moment.
-Look In the Mirror: This was the hardest part of being a parent, I hated it with a passion. But it was also the thing that made the biggest difference. Learning to own up to the fact that if my young child was misbehaving or acting out, I was probably the cause of it. If she was having a temper tantrum in the store; I'd probably dragged her to one place too many and skipped a badly needed nap. The reality is when you're dealing with young kids, they're usually reacting to the things we're doing, things they have no control over.Before you come down like a hammer on your kid, think about the way you might have contributed to their behavior. That's not to say that you let them get away with it, but own your part and try not to put your kid in that situation again.
- Say You're Sorry: There's this notion that being a parent means never saying sorry, never admitting weakness. But what does that really teach your kid? That you're the boss? That they aren't important enough to apologize to? Saying you're sorry shows them that you're strong enough to admit mistakes, that you respect them enough to apologize and ultimately they'll respect you more too. And guess what? They'll do the same to you. My daughter has frequently apologized to me for things she's said or done and not because I said. "Now say you're sorry". And by the same token, she's graciously accepted my apology and given me forgiveness that I didn't always feel I deserved, but appreciated nonetheless.
- Smile: There are so many ways to show our kids that they mean a lot to us. But one of the easiest ways is smiling.Think about when you walk into a room, and see someone you haven't seen in a while. That feeling when they see you and break out into a smile? Give that to your kids every time you see them. Even if it's only been a few hours, let them see your face light up - it's the best way to show them how happy they make you. It tells them, they are the best part of your day. It tells them "I'm so glad to see you!" It's one of the best way to raise their self esteem and make them feel valued. Sure there were some days when I was stressed, tired, cranky and I had to follow the "Fake it till you make it" rule. But here's the cool part, you give your kid that smile and I guarantee the one they give back to you will lift your spirits right away. So smile, you're on kid camera!
- Talk: My daughter and I took a lot of trips to Disney World. It was always a magical place to us. But here's a little secret I don't think my daughter has figured out yet. As much as I loved the trips with her, getting ready to go was always my favorite part. Starting a month or two before the trip my daughter and I would go for long walks in the evenings "training" to get us ready for all the walking we'd do at WDW. And yes it did help my daughter adapt but most importantly it was time for us to talk. We'd discuss what we'd do when we got there, what rides we'd ride first, and even what characters we wanted to meet. Those conversations were a real bonding experience for us. I learned a lot about my daughter, how her mind works, what's important to her, and what's not important at all. It doesn't have to be about Disney World, just find something that starts the conversation. Later on it was the Twilight books. I hated every single page of those books, but they were a great conversation starter for us on what makes a healthy relationship or an obsessive one. Kids will tell you a lot about themselves if you just get the conversation started - even if it's something as silly as a mouse or a vampire.
- Define Love For Your Kid: This may sound like a strange one, after all love is love right? Not exactly. Everyone has their own definition of love - even kids. Every kid is different. If you don't find out what their definition is, you can be wasting a lot of time and energy showing them love in a way they don't understand. I asked my daughter once what made her feel loved. It wasn't any of the things I expected like hugs, being told "I love you" or even getting presents. No, it was playing a game with her. That made her feel more loved than any single thing I could do. So we played a ridiculous amount of games when she was a kid. Find out what your child's "love definition" is and show it to them that way.
-Kids Are People Too!: Sometimes, despite our best intentions, things don't work out the way we hope. Because kids come to this planet with their own personalities, their own issues and their own lessons to learn. My mom was of the old school type of parenting where kids were seen, not heard and certainly never consulted. The result was I had no clue how to make a decision. I didn't even know what I wanted most of the time because that was usually decided for me by my mom. It was just the way things were done in her day. But I decided I was doing things differently. I followed all the suggestions in the parenting books. I'd chose the three outfits I approved of and let my daughter pick the one she wanted. Perfect right? Teaching my daughter to make decisions at a young age!! #Winning.... not exactly. I've got a kid who has the hardest time with decisions, gets overwhelmed with too many options and freaks out sometimes at the pressure. It drove me crazy for a long time. I felt like a failure. Walking out of restaurants because my daughter was overwhelmed by the menu felt like the worst kind of parenting. But I finally realized something. My daughter? is not me. She's her own person. She has her own quirks and idiosyncrasies. I can help her navigate them and figure them out. But ultimately it's her job to figure out how to make her life work. Sometimes the only thing you can do is give your child the tools, offer advice then get out of the way.
-The Year with Training Wheels: I didn't have a lot of freedom when I lived at home. And by that, I mean any freedom at all. When I moved out on my own, I had no idea how to handle all that freedom. It wasn't pretty. So when someone said that the 17th year should be treated like "adulthood with training wheels" that made a lot of sense to me. It's our job to raise our children to be responsible adults. But we've got to give them some practice at it, before they are actually out on their own. So when my daughter turned 17, I started to take a very hands off approach. There were no curfews, I trusted her decisions regarding where she went and with whom - but still made sure my phone was on, just in case. It took a little while and a few discussions; but eventually she realized that she needed to check in with me simply out of courtesy. She talking to me about decisions she was making and why. She even talked to me about trying alcohol for the first time. She realized that coming in at crazy hours made for a tough day at work. Now that my daughter is living in the dorms, I feel a lot more comfortable that she's not going wild. She's handling the responsibility much better than I did at that age - and in the end, isn't that what we really want for our kids? That they do at least a little bit better than we did?
So that's my handy list of parenting tips. I don't have a degree, I don't have a license, what I do have is a pretty amazing kid that fills me with pride every single day. Somehow I managed to stumble across the parenting finish line without doing irreparable harm to the single most important person in my life. She's a little bit smarter than I am, a lot more responsible than I was at that age, more motivated and focused. I think I did okay. So maybe these tips will help you too.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Broken
I was on my way to an appointment with a client last night when I got the text "not guilty for Zimmerman". The string of expletives that came pouring out was impressive even for someone with a potty mouth like mine. But that was just the precursor to the tears that began to fall. I cried, I sobbed, I wept, and I bawled. So much so I had to pull over to regroup and compose myself before I met with my client. I feel broken.
I thought about my daughter, 17 and just beginning her life. So many adventures ahead of her. I thought of Trayvon - his life over in an instant. No more dreams to fulfill, no more adventures to plan, no more goals to reach. I thought about Trayvon's parents who should rightfully be celebrating their son's passage into adulthood, congratulating themselves for a job well done. Instead, they now mark the days since they last held their son, saw him smile, or heard him laugh. I feel broken.
Perhaps I am a Pollyanna, because I truly believed Zimmerman would be found guilty. Maybe not of 2nd Degree Murder but certainly of manslaughter, if there was ever a case of "killed without legal justification" this was it to me. I believed. I truly, truly, believed that our legal system could bring justice to a family who had suffered such an unimaginable loss. I forgot about the millions of black men in our country that languish in prison. I forgot the black woman sentenced to 20 years for "Standing her Ground" against an abusive husband - a husband who ignored the protective order against him. Still I believed there would be justice for Trayvon. I feel broken.
I forget sometimes that I live in a little bubble. I'm a Cuban- American woman, with a biracial child, whose friends and family scan the the full spectrum of the ethnic rainbow and all versions of sexual orientation. The people in my life are open, loving, caring people who judge people by the content of their character not the color of their skin. They stand side by side with me in the belief that all people are equal and deserve equal protections under the law. I forget that the rest of the world doesn't always operate in this way. That too often the laws are interpreted one way for whites and another for those who aren't. I forget that politicians often try to separate and conquer us by appealing to the baser instinct of those who fear anyone different. I forget that my reality is very different than that of my darker skinned friends. Today I read the status updates of my godson, I feel his pain and anger at a system that has once again betrayed him. I don't even know what to say to him or how to even begin to help him make sense of something that sickens me. Another friend asks for someone who agrees with the verdict to explain it - even in his pain, he demands respect for anyone brave enough to speak up - something that isn't always offered to him. I look at these people I love and care about, I think about the millions more just like them, who learned yet again, how little our laws protect them. I feel broken.
Today I sit here wondering where do we go from here? How do we all just go forward with our lives after such a terrible travesty of justice? I am not ashamed to admit that last night in anger I wished George Zimmerman a visit from Karma. That he be stalked, hunted and shot down exactly the way he did to Trayvon. But in the light of day, I realize that I don't want another young man to waste his life on the alter of the vile contemptible Zimmerman family. Because in the end that doesn't solve anything. We are still left with laws that are not equitably dispensed. We are still left with a justice system that doesn't protect the weakest among us. And then I realize, it's not just me, it's our country that's broken.
I thought about my daughter, 17 and just beginning her life. So many adventures ahead of her. I thought of Trayvon - his life over in an instant. No more dreams to fulfill, no more adventures to plan, no more goals to reach. I thought about Trayvon's parents who should rightfully be celebrating their son's passage into adulthood, congratulating themselves for a job well done. Instead, they now mark the days since they last held their son, saw him smile, or heard him laugh. I feel broken.
Perhaps I am a Pollyanna, because I truly believed Zimmerman would be found guilty. Maybe not of 2nd Degree Murder but certainly of manslaughter, if there was ever a case of "killed without legal justification" this was it to me. I believed. I truly, truly, believed that our legal system could bring justice to a family who had suffered such an unimaginable loss. I forgot about the millions of black men in our country that languish in prison. I forgot the black woman sentenced to 20 years for "Standing her Ground" against an abusive husband - a husband who ignored the protective order against him. Still I believed there would be justice for Trayvon. I feel broken.
I forget sometimes that I live in a little bubble. I'm a Cuban- American woman, with a biracial child, whose friends and family scan the the full spectrum of the ethnic rainbow and all versions of sexual orientation. The people in my life are open, loving, caring people who judge people by the content of their character not the color of their skin. They stand side by side with me in the belief that all people are equal and deserve equal protections under the law. I forget that the rest of the world doesn't always operate in this way. That too often the laws are interpreted one way for whites and another for those who aren't. I forget that politicians often try to separate and conquer us by appealing to the baser instinct of those who fear anyone different. I forget that my reality is very different than that of my darker skinned friends. Today I read the status updates of my godson, I feel his pain and anger at a system that has once again betrayed him. I don't even know what to say to him or how to even begin to help him make sense of something that sickens me. Another friend asks for someone who agrees with the verdict to explain it - even in his pain, he demands respect for anyone brave enough to speak up - something that isn't always offered to him. I look at these people I love and care about, I think about the millions more just like them, who learned yet again, how little our laws protect them. I feel broken.
Today I sit here wondering where do we go from here? How do we all just go forward with our lives after such a terrible travesty of justice? I am not ashamed to admit that last night in anger I wished George Zimmerman a visit from Karma. That he be stalked, hunted and shot down exactly the way he did to Trayvon. But in the light of day, I realize that I don't want another young man to waste his life on the alter of the vile contemptible Zimmerman family. Because in the end that doesn't solve anything. We are still left with laws that are not equitably dispensed. We are still left with a justice system that doesn't protect the weakest among us. And then I realize, it's not just me, it's our country that's broken.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Of Empty Nests and Launching Pads...
Last week my daughter took that pivotal walk across the stage, the one that starts as a little girl and ends as a high school graduate - diploma in hand and one foot out the door. It would be a lie to say that I didn't get emotional; like most parents there, I was acutely aware that an invisible line had been crossed and things would never be the same. But under that sadness there was another feeling bubbling up - one that will probably get me branded a horrible mother of the worst kind.
Because under that sadness was a feeling of excitement - that same feeling I get waiting at the airport for the call to board. There is a huge adventure waiting for us and I can't wait to see where it takes us, separately and together. As if a huge reset button has been pressed, everything is about to change in our lives.
My daughter was not planned but none the less she was and is the greatest gift I've ever been given. If raising my daughter is the only thing I accomplish in my life, I will still feel like a winner. Every detour my life took and every sacrifice I made, paid off in ways beyond my wildest dreams; my daughter is an amazing young woman and I am so proud of her. I wasn't a perfect parent - none of us are-, but most days I did give the very best I could. And that's why I feel good about where we've arrived- this fork in our road.
She leaves for college exactly 9 days after she turns 18. She will be living in the dorms at a fabulous school, learning to navigate a life without me, making decisions that will determine her entire future. She'll be making friends with new people - people I won't know and maybe never will. There will be huge chunks of her life, that are hers and hers alone. I will no longer be a player in her daily life but merely an observer. I have no idea what my daughter will end up being as a grown up. She's a talented, smart and beautiful person; the world is literally her oyster. She's also hard-headed, challenging and outspoken. It will be to amazing to see her pull all these things together to create the life of her dreams.
As for me, I have my own adventure to attend to. I'm back in school, planning on chucking the career I've had for over 20 years now for a new one. One that has yet to take shape or even a clear cut title. But I'm sure that the perfect new career is out there waiting for me, even if I have to create it.
I've come to the realization that I desperately want to travel. So many places call my name and I'm going to visit each and every one of them. I want to live like a nomad - my home carried on my back and in the chambers of my heart. I want to meet interesting new people and have fabulous adventures.
So when I hear people talk about the dreaded "empty nest", I understand what they mean- I just don't see it the same way. I look at the future and see not an empty nest but a launching pad. I see my daughter and I taking flight into our new lives, entering this new phase with joy and anticipation. I'm sure we'll have moments of looking back over our wings; but wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, my daughter is always going to be in my heart. I look forward to the day when we've moved beyond being simply parent and child to being true friends. Because I can't imagine anyone more amazing to be friends with than my daughter.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a launch to prepare for...
Because under that sadness was a feeling of excitement - that same feeling I get waiting at the airport for the call to board. There is a huge adventure waiting for us and I can't wait to see where it takes us, separately and together. As if a huge reset button has been pressed, everything is about to change in our lives.
My daughter was not planned but none the less she was and is the greatest gift I've ever been given. If raising my daughter is the only thing I accomplish in my life, I will still feel like a winner. Every detour my life took and every sacrifice I made, paid off in ways beyond my wildest dreams; my daughter is an amazing young woman and I am so proud of her. I wasn't a perfect parent - none of us are-, but most days I did give the very best I could. And that's why I feel good about where we've arrived- this fork in our road.
She leaves for college exactly 9 days after she turns 18. She will be living in the dorms at a fabulous school, learning to navigate a life without me, making decisions that will determine her entire future. She'll be making friends with new people - people I won't know and maybe never will. There will be huge chunks of her life, that are hers and hers alone. I will no longer be a player in her daily life but merely an observer. I have no idea what my daughter will end up being as a grown up. She's a talented, smart and beautiful person; the world is literally her oyster. She's also hard-headed, challenging and outspoken. It will be to amazing to see her pull all these things together to create the life of her dreams.
As for me, I have my own adventure to attend to. I'm back in school, planning on chucking the career I've had for over 20 years now for a new one. One that has yet to take shape or even a clear cut title. But I'm sure that the perfect new career is out there waiting for me, even if I have to create it.
I've come to the realization that I desperately want to travel. So many places call my name and I'm going to visit each and every one of them. I want to live like a nomad - my home carried on my back and in the chambers of my heart. I want to meet interesting new people and have fabulous adventures.
So when I hear people talk about the dreaded "empty nest", I understand what they mean- I just don't see it the same way. I look at the future and see not an empty nest but a launching pad. I see my daughter and I taking flight into our new lives, entering this new phase with joy and anticipation. I'm sure we'll have moments of looking back over our wings; but wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, my daughter is always going to be in my heart. I look forward to the day when we've moved beyond being simply parent and child to being true friends. Because I can't imagine anyone more amazing to be friends with than my daughter.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a launch to prepare for...
Sunday, March 31, 2013
What Exactly is Success?
Someone, who is almost as smart as I am, asked me to define success recently. It started me pondering yet another one of those "meaning of life" questions. You know the questions... the ones that have you contemplating whether your entire existence has been an exercise in futility, or whether the road not taken was the one that you actually should have been on. Meaning of life questions inevitably take you all the way down to your core beliefs, they force you to examine what you really truly believe, and whether you are in fact living up to those things you say you believe in. Because the truth is, if you're not actually acting on said beliefs, - then how strongly do you really believe?
And thus began my exploration into the meaning of success : what does it mean to me, and am I living up to said beliefs. As always, I reached for my handy dandy dictionary for that first attempt at defining something so complex it eludes actual definition. While it would have been nice to see my picture next to the word success - alas the answers were not going to be so easy...
Merriam-Webster defines success as: A degree or measure of succeeding; A favorable or desired outcome ; Also attainment of wealth, favor or eminence.
The synonyms are: blockbuster, megahit, smash, hit, supernova and winner.
Isn't there some rule against defining a word with a variation of itself? How is that an answer? And look at those synonyms! Is it any wonder many of us come to the conclusion that money is the true measure of success? Or that somehow being a success means being famous?
I mean the Kardashians are famous but is that really success? Is all the money they have truly success? Certainly an argument could be made that they are successful - they have all the trappings of wealth: they have stuff, they have money, they have freedom from worrying whether the electricity is going to get turned off. They can travel - which is something I admit makes me a bit jealous. But if that wealth is made off the back of your daughter's sex tape, is that really worth it? For me - the answer is a resounding no. No offense to Mama Kardashian, but I'm fairly certain I couldn't look myself in the mirror. Beyond the mere fact that they "made their G in a sleezy way" (man I still miss Tupac) I believe in the concept of Karma. Selling my child's dignity so my family could live in the lap of luxury comes with a bill that I wouldn't want to face.
So is wealth always bad? Of course not. There are plenty of wealthy people who have made fortunes ethically - I hope to be one of those myself.
But if I don't make that mad money - am I a failure? Does that invalidate my life's work? Van Gogh never saw a penny from his work, yet he is arguably one of the greatest painters of his era. (Not that I'm comparing myself to Van Gogh. I've so far managed to pay my bills and hang on to my ears)
At this point, I'd like to say that money does not equal success... but I know that some would heartily disagree. And I'm not sure that I believe it either. Money can be a great way to measure our success or how much others value our efforts. Money is an awesome reward for a job well done. You'll get no argument from me. But is it the only reward?
Aren't there things that are at least as important as money? If not more? What about happiness? or pride? or just pure love? How about just to make the world a better place?
Are the efforts of people like Mother Teresa, Gandi, or Martin Luther King without value? If people gave up because they couldn't monetize their passion, the world would have missed out on the works of Johanness Vermeer, Edgar Allen Poe, Oscar Wilde, Franz Shubert, and Matthew Brady - just to name a few.
So it seems clear that money isn't the sole measure of success. Or at least it's not to me.
And there it seems, is the crux of the issue. Success, no matter how succinctly the dictionary manages to define it, is not a black or white easy answer. What is success to me, is not to another.
The garbage man who does his job, lives a happy life with a family who loves him is no less successful than the billionaire who travels the world and drives a Maserati. Oh I'm sure to some, on the surface, one is more successful than another - but if the garbage man is happy, if he's accomplishing the things he's set out to in his life - who are we to dispute his happiness? And the flip side of course, is that there is no guarantee that the billionaire is truly happy either. Money doesn't buy happiness or love - it simply makes misery more comfortable and easier to numb.
We all have to decide for ourselves what true success is and go after it. In the end, that's what really matters. Did we truly pursue those goals we set? (Did we even have any goals?) Did we give 100%? Did we use the talents we came here with to make the world (or at least our small piece of it) better? Are we going to leave this planet filled with regret at the things we didn't do? Or are we going to arrive at the end of this journey with a bucket list that's tattered, shredded and covered with check marks?
As the bell begins to toll on my daughter's childhood, I find myself at that place all parents eventually do - reinventing a life where she is no longer my primary purpose for existence. So often as parents, we make the choices that are in the best interest of our child - often at the cost of our own desires or needs. A couple of decades spent doing that, can leave you unsure of who you are outside the lens of parenthood. So now I search to redefine myself, my goals, my desires and ultimately my definition of success.
I find that my need to be creative is beginning to trump all else. I'm still not entirely sure what that will look like, I am only certain there are worlds inside of me yet to be expressed - begging to have a voice. It's time. Perhaps it will be acting, art, writing or maybe all three.
Traveling is another priority on that bucket list. For a long time, I've rebelled against a childhood of moving by staying planted in one spot. It's finally come to me, that in staying planted, I have scarred myself in ways that childhood never did. Now I want to move back out of the comfort zone, wake up in different places, meeting different people, and just be okay with wherever the tide takes me.
I've never felt a burning desire to get married and live the standard white picket fence existence. And no, it's still not happening (Sorry Dad!) But lately I've rediscovered the desire to be brave and open with my heart. To love recklessly, with abandon, giving no thought or care to the messy endings that often follow. I want to trust unquestioningly, without once doubting someone's motives, to enjoy the beginnings without worrying about the endings.
So on the day when I shuffle off this mortal coil, if I have my amazing daughter by my side, a beat up suitcase, a portfolio of work I'm proud of, a box of love letters, maybe a lover (or two or three!) then I'll consider my life a success. Oh and if I've met Pitbull. Definitely have to do that one.
And thus began my exploration into the meaning of success : what does it mean to me, and am I living up to said beliefs. As always, I reached for my handy dandy dictionary for that first attempt at defining something so complex it eludes actual definition. While it would have been nice to see my picture next to the word success - alas the answers were not going to be so easy...
Merriam-Webster defines success as: A degree or measure of succeeding; A favorable or desired outcome ; Also attainment of wealth, favor or eminence.
The synonyms are: blockbuster, megahit, smash, hit, supernova and winner.
Isn't there some rule against defining a word with a variation of itself? How is that an answer? And look at those synonyms! Is it any wonder many of us come to the conclusion that money is the true measure of success? Or that somehow being a success means being famous?
I mean the Kardashians are famous but is that really success? Is all the money they have truly success? Certainly an argument could be made that they are successful - they have all the trappings of wealth: they have stuff, they have money, they have freedom from worrying whether the electricity is going to get turned off. They can travel - which is something I admit makes me a bit jealous. But if that wealth is made off the back of your daughter's sex tape, is that really worth it? For me - the answer is a resounding no. No offense to Mama Kardashian, but I'm fairly certain I couldn't look myself in the mirror. Beyond the mere fact that they "made their G in a sleezy way" (man I still miss Tupac) I believe in the concept of Karma. Selling my child's dignity so my family could live in the lap of luxury comes with a bill that I wouldn't want to face.
So is wealth always bad? Of course not. There are plenty of wealthy people who have made fortunes ethically - I hope to be one of those myself.
But if I don't make that mad money - am I a failure? Does that invalidate my life's work? Van Gogh never saw a penny from his work, yet he is arguably one of the greatest painters of his era. (Not that I'm comparing myself to Van Gogh. I've so far managed to pay my bills and hang on to my ears)
At this point, I'd like to say that money does not equal success... but I know that some would heartily disagree. And I'm not sure that I believe it either. Money can be a great way to measure our success or how much others value our efforts. Money is an awesome reward for a job well done. You'll get no argument from me. But is it the only reward?
Aren't there things that are at least as important as money? If not more? What about happiness? or pride? or just pure love? How about just to make the world a better place?
Are the efforts of people like Mother Teresa, Gandi, or Martin Luther King without value? If people gave up because they couldn't monetize their passion, the world would have missed out on the works of Johanness Vermeer, Edgar Allen Poe, Oscar Wilde, Franz Shubert, and Matthew Brady - just to name a few.
So it seems clear that money isn't the sole measure of success. Or at least it's not to me.
And there it seems, is the crux of the issue. Success, no matter how succinctly the dictionary manages to define it, is not a black or white easy answer. What is success to me, is not to another.
The garbage man who does his job, lives a happy life with a family who loves him is no less successful than the billionaire who travels the world and drives a Maserati. Oh I'm sure to some, on the surface, one is more successful than another - but if the garbage man is happy, if he's accomplishing the things he's set out to in his life - who are we to dispute his happiness? And the flip side of course, is that there is no guarantee that the billionaire is truly happy either. Money doesn't buy happiness or love - it simply makes misery more comfortable and easier to numb.
We all have to decide for ourselves what true success is and go after it. In the end, that's what really matters. Did we truly pursue those goals we set? (Did we even have any goals?) Did we give 100%? Did we use the talents we came here with to make the world (or at least our small piece of it) better? Are we going to leave this planet filled with regret at the things we didn't do? Or are we going to arrive at the end of this journey with a bucket list that's tattered, shredded and covered with check marks?
As the bell begins to toll on my daughter's childhood, I find myself at that place all parents eventually do - reinventing a life where she is no longer my primary purpose for existence. So often as parents, we make the choices that are in the best interest of our child - often at the cost of our own desires or needs. A couple of decades spent doing that, can leave you unsure of who you are outside the lens of parenthood. So now I search to redefine myself, my goals, my desires and ultimately my definition of success.
I find that my need to be creative is beginning to trump all else. I'm still not entirely sure what that will look like, I am only certain there are worlds inside of me yet to be expressed - begging to have a voice. It's time. Perhaps it will be acting, art, writing or maybe all three.
Traveling is another priority on that bucket list. For a long time, I've rebelled against a childhood of moving by staying planted in one spot. It's finally come to me, that in staying planted, I have scarred myself in ways that childhood never did. Now I want to move back out of the comfort zone, wake up in different places, meeting different people, and just be okay with wherever the tide takes me.
I've never felt a burning desire to get married and live the standard white picket fence existence. And no, it's still not happening (Sorry Dad!) But lately I've rediscovered the desire to be brave and open with my heart. To love recklessly, with abandon, giving no thought or care to the messy endings that often follow. I want to trust unquestioningly, without once doubting someone's motives, to enjoy the beginnings without worrying about the endings.
So on the day when I shuffle off this mortal coil, if I have my amazing daughter by my side, a beat up suitcase, a portfolio of work I'm proud of, a box of love letters, maybe a lover (or two or three!) then I'll consider my life a success. Oh and if I've met Pitbull. Definitely have to do that one.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Ode To My Tattoo
When I announced that I was getting a tattoo last year - the response was mostly positive. Though a few people accused me of going through a mid-life crisis. I'm in my 40's - so fair enough I guess. And some had an even more visceral reaction - which was kind of funny considering it was my decision, my body and mine to live with forever.
What some people saw as a sudden (uncharacteristic?) whim was in fact a really long journey for me. I first thought about getting a tattoo 20 years ago when a dear friend of mine got a tattoo on his chest. It was something deeply personal and spiritual for him. That started me thinking of a tattoo as something other than a mistake made after a drunken night's high jinks.
About the same time I started my career as a massage therapist, so tattoos became a daily viewing pleasure, so to speak. Saw some really great tats, some really horrible ones, and ones that I knew were the result of the aforementioned drunken night's high jinks.
Somewhere around year 10 of being a massage therapist I decided I wanted a tat. Not a drunken high jinks tat, but a well thought out, deeply personal and spiritual tattoo. So I started thinking about exactly what I wanted. And thinking... And thinking....
10 years later.... STILL THINKING!
Okay the truth is I was one part chicken shit, and one part undecided about what I wanted. If I was going to have something permanently etched into my skin it had to be something memorable. Something I could look at in my 70's and still feel like I made a good decision. So with that in mind I ruled out
- Betty Boop
- A Chinese Character ( who knew what it really said?)
- various quotes
- a mermaid (Okay that one hasn't been totally ruled out - it might be the next one)
About a year ago I ran across a really cool graphic. A butterfly made out of the Cuban flag.
I can't totally explain why, but I liked it immediately. I kept looking at it, coming back to it. I even started to research the meaning of butterflies.
It turns out that butterflies represent transformation, transition and even the soul in some cultures. It represents faith as we make these transformations in our life. Unquestioning faith that we will exit our cocoon of transformation better than we entered it. Faith that things will always work out for the best. That seemed like a perfect analogy for where I am at this point in my life. My daughter is about to leave for college. I'm about to change careers - leaving behind a business I've spent 20 years building. I'm about to hit a huge reset button on my life and the truth is I vacillate between nerve wracking excitement and paralyzing fear. Everything in my life is transforming. I'd love to have some of that butterfly mojo.
I also realized the butterfly meant a lot for me personally; beyond the ascribed meaning. It's this fragile thing of beauty that can migrate 2,500 miles. That's kind of impressive when you think about it. That kind of strength is something I'd love to call forth within myself. They're also cold blooded and cannot survive in the cold, so they migrate to warmer climates - I relate to that!
And the Cuban flag? Well that's been part of my own transformation in life. My "Cuban-ness" (Yeah I made that up!) wasn't something I ever gave a lot of thought to when I was younger or had any appreciation for. But about the time my daughter was born I discovered Buena Vista Social Club. The music spoke to me in a way that moved my soul. I realized I wanted my daughter to know that part of herself. So I began exploring that part of my culture. Over the years it's become more and more a part of my identity. Something that I've become fiercely proud of and a part of myself I want to keep learning about.
So I posted that picture everywhere so I'd see it constantly. I thought maybe I'd get sick of it. But I didn't. Next came the search for the right Tat artist.
That in itself is another story. But suffice it to say that the universe lead me to the most amazing artist and someone I was glad to have part of my journey. He was not only an incredibly talented artist but a truly fascinating person with a lovely spirit. He was exactly the person I would want as part of this spiritual journey. The other person along for the ride was my fabulous supportive daughter, River. I'm sure it crossed her mind that her mother was losing her's. But she never expressed it. She sat right by my side for the entire 2.5 hours it took to do. I'm not gonna lie, there were times it hurt - a lot. But kinda like having a baby - the minute it was done - the pain was totally forgotten. I loved it even more than I thought I would. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry. I couldn't stop looking at it.
It's been 2 and a half months and I still smile every time I look at it. I wonder what it will look like when I'm 70, but I know one thing. I'm still going to love it.
What some people saw as a sudden (uncharacteristic?) whim was in fact a really long journey for me. I first thought about getting a tattoo 20 years ago when a dear friend of mine got a tattoo on his chest. It was something deeply personal and spiritual for him. That started me thinking of a tattoo as something other than a mistake made after a drunken night's high jinks.
About the same time I started my career as a massage therapist, so tattoos became a daily viewing pleasure, so to speak. Saw some really great tats, some really horrible ones, and ones that I knew were the result of the aforementioned drunken night's high jinks.
Somewhere around year 10 of being a massage therapist I decided I wanted a tat. Not a drunken high jinks tat, but a well thought out, deeply personal and spiritual tattoo. So I started thinking about exactly what I wanted. And thinking... And thinking....
10 years later.... STILL THINKING!
Okay the truth is I was one part chicken shit, and one part undecided about what I wanted. If I was going to have something permanently etched into my skin it had to be something memorable. Something I could look at in my 70's and still feel like I made a good decision. So with that in mind I ruled out
- Betty Boop
- A Chinese Character ( who knew what it really said?)
- various quotes
- a mermaid (Okay that one hasn't been totally ruled out - it might be the next one)
About a year ago I ran across a really cool graphic. A butterfly made out of the Cuban flag.
I can't totally explain why, but I liked it immediately. I kept looking at it, coming back to it. I even started to research the meaning of butterflies.
It turns out that butterflies represent transformation, transition and even the soul in some cultures. It represents faith as we make these transformations in our life. Unquestioning faith that we will exit our cocoon of transformation better than we entered it. Faith that things will always work out for the best. That seemed like a perfect analogy for where I am at this point in my life. My daughter is about to leave for college. I'm about to change careers - leaving behind a business I've spent 20 years building. I'm about to hit a huge reset button on my life and the truth is I vacillate between nerve wracking excitement and paralyzing fear. Everything in my life is transforming. I'd love to have some of that butterfly mojo.
I also realized the butterfly meant a lot for me personally; beyond the ascribed meaning. It's this fragile thing of beauty that can migrate 2,500 miles. That's kind of impressive when you think about it. That kind of strength is something I'd love to call forth within myself. They're also cold blooded and cannot survive in the cold, so they migrate to warmer climates - I relate to that!
And the Cuban flag? Well that's been part of my own transformation in life. My "Cuban-ness" (Yeah I made that up!) wasn't something I ever gave a lot of thought to when I was younger or had any appreciation for. But about the time my daughter was born I discovered Buena Vista Social Club. The music spoke to me in a way that moved my soul. I realized I wanted my daughter to know that part of herself. So I began exploring that part of my culture. Over the years it's become more and more a part of my identity. Something that I've become fiercely proud of and a part of myself I want to keep learning about.
So I posted that picture everywhere so I'd see it constantly. I thought maybe I'd get sick of it. But I didn't. Next came the search for the right Tat artist.
That in itself is another story. But suffice it to say that the universe lead me to the most amazing artist and someone I was glad to have part of my journey. He was not only an incredibly talented artist but a truly fascinating person with a lovely spirit. He was exactly the person I would want as part of this spiritual journey. The other person along for the ride was my fabulous supportive daughter, River. I'm sure it crossed her mind that her mother was losing her's. But she never expressed it. She sat right by my side for the entire 2.5 hours it took to do. I'm not gonna lie, there were times it hurt - a lot. But kinda like having a baby - the minute it was done - the pain was totally forgotten. I loved it even more than I thought I would. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry. I couldn't stop looking at it.
It's been 2 and a half months and I still smile every time I look at it. I wonder what it will look like when I'm 70, but I know one thing. I'm still going to love it.
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