Our Shame

We are outraged.

Rightly so.

Angry white men held themselves a rally and (unsurprisingly and tragically) they turned to violence. Again.

I feel sad. I feel sick. I feel angry. I feel tired.

But in my anger, I should look in the mirror.

Less is More… More or Less

I’m intrigued by minimalism – not as a hipster, tiny house movement, but as a weapon to combat anxiety.

I may not seem like an anxious person. I’m fairly laid back. I’m not type A. I’m all about making time for fun.

But under the surface, I am very easily overwhelmed by life.

I am overwhelmed by unanswered text messages and emails, always afraid I’ve forgotten something (and usually I have). I am overwhelmed by the million and one tiny decisions I have to make during the day, both at work and at home. It doesn’t matter if it’s as inconsequential as when I will make time to go grab milk, or whether to buy organic or non-organic milk, making rapid-fire decisions all day long wears on me. Sometimes I feel as if I reach a point where I’m paralyzed. I just stop responding to texts and emails. I stop making decisions. I burry my head in the sand. Not very effective or adult-like.

To the longing:

It’s mother’s day and many tightly wound strings are plucked by unsuspecting fingers. There are unspoken expectations, comparison, envy, and love all vibrating restlessly. Each of us of has her own deep currents of expectations about what her life ought to look like, the kind of mother we ought to be, the kind of woman we thought we would be. And each of us has fallen short or been denied some aspect of that mythic womanhood. So, today, a silly an sweet cultural holiday, while we celebrate and perhaps are celebrated, let us remember the many who are longing.

Legislating Without Heart: An Amateur’s Reflections On A Health”care” Crisis

I just read a troubling article addressing Jimmy Kimmel’s recent tearful plea and today’s “healthcare overhaul.”

(Actually, can we stop calling this “healthcare”? No one is being cared for very well, except for those who already have the money to buy the services of professionals and the goods of pharmaceutical companies or have jobs with employers big enough to provide them with decent insurance. That is not to say that we don’t have stellar professionals with kind hearts working in the fields of medicine, pharmaceutical development (that one may be a bit of a smaller percentage), and even insurance. But money has to change hands. Service have to be paid for. And if you don’t have the money…well, it seems that yours is the case of, “that’s just too bad.”)

The article argued that what Jimmy Kimmel was going through was sad, “but thinking with one’s heart does not usually translate to good policy” (Source: http://www.dailywire.com/news/15993/5-things-you-need-know-about-hospital-where-jimmy-aaron-bandler). So…leading from the heart is not good leadership? Since when did we ask our leaders to lead only from cool reason (as if it is possible to separate reason from “heart” – newsflash, all feelings and thoughts are processed in the same mind and perfectly detached reason is nearly impossible)?

This Is Real Life

This is real life.

You wake up, always later than you intended. You do what you can to ready your space and yourself for the day, but something – some things are always left undone.

You don’t have time to shave your legs, wash the dishes, sweep up the dog hair, put away the laundry that has been sitting their for a week.

You certainly don’t have time to to read, journal, watch the news, make art, work out, any of those things you should do.

You should have woken up earlier.

You should be more disciplined.

This is real life.

The Steps To Seeing

Remember these things?

I hated them. I would stare at them for twenty minutes, make myself cross eyed, strain my eyes to the point of exhaustion and still, all I could see was maybe, just maybe the faintest outline of – no, it was gone. I couldn’t see anything. And it was infuriating, especially when other people could see them so easily.

Oh, and there was the advice. “Try relaxing your eyes.” “Try focusing on one point.” “Try getting closer.” Nothing worked. So I would grow more and more frustrated and eventually be forced to give up (which was incredibly demoralizing for a kid who liked to “win” at things).

Sometimes, when I read comments on social media these days, I feel like I am back there – an earnest pre-teen, trying to see the stupid 3D image in the abstract squiggles. I don’t get it and it pains me to not get it. I grow frustrated, but I also feel helpless.

I am sad today.

I’m not sad because I believe our country  is coming to an end.

I’m not sad because my candidate lost (none of the final candidates really represented me and my political views). 

I’m not sad because I naively believe that all presidents up until today have been morally upstanding men of character. 

I’m sad because of what this day represents. 

Anchors and Sheep and Advents

Today feels weighty. Joyful, but momentous. Today marks the first anniversary of the day you were born, Little Bear.

So many flashbacks flood my memory. Five am in the bathroom wondering what exactly was happening to my body and trying to remember if water breaking meant go to the hospital immediately. Sitting down beside your sleeping dad and telling him softly that it was time. Sitting in the triage room nervous and a little lightheaded from the poor exhausted nurse’s several failed attempts at getting my IV right. Crying because of the thoughtfulness of my nurse and my doctor. Enjoying the flood of relief that came after the epidural. Experiencing growing exhaustion and and fear when you and I weren’t progressing and the epidural wasn’t successfully numbing the pain. Weeping as your grandmother prayed over us. Nearly laughing when they said you were ready. Striving with every single ounce of strength left in my body to bring you into this world. And then, there you were. You were on my chest. My entire being was in shock. You were real. This was happening. I was a mother and you were my son.

An Early Christmas Peace Creed.

Do you know the famous story of Christmas, 1914? It was World War I (The Great War) and both sides had been firing at each others’ trenches for what must have felt like an eternity. Here are the words of Captain Robert Patrick Miles, an eye witness of the strange day:

Friday (Christmas Day). We are having the most extraordinary Christmas Day imaginable. A sort of unarranged and quite unauthorized but perfectly understood and scrupulously observed truce exists between us and our friends in front. The funny thing is it only seems to exist in this part of the battle line – on our right and left we can all hear them firing away as cheerfully as ever. The thing started last night – a bitter cold night, with white frost – soon after dusk when the Germans started shouting ‘Merry Christmas, Englishmen’ to us. Of course our fellows shouted back and presently large numbers of both sides had left their trenches, unarmed, and met in the debatable, shot-riddled, no man’s land between the lines. Here the agreement – all on their own – came to be made that we should not fire at each other until after midnight tonight. The men were all fraternizing in the middle (we naturally did not allow them too close to our line) and swapped cigarettes and lies in the utmost good fellowship. Not a shot was fired all night.

At a time in our nation when it feels as if we are stuck in our trenches, exchanging fire from a distance, let us pause*. Let us take a moment to celebrate Christmas together (a bit early, I admit…unless you work in retail where it is already Christmas).

The Other Humans: My Response to the Worst “Apology” Ever.

Photo Credit: Stephanie Rogers Photography (http://www.stephanierogersphotography.com)

It’s popping up all over the news today. The man who somehow obtained 13.4 million votes to become the Republic candidate in our national election has been caught speaking into a hot mic eleven years ago, holding a “private conversation” about his sexual conquests with women. You can look it up if you need to. It’s not pleasant.

Trump’s official response?

“This was locker room banter, a private conversation that took place many years ago. Bill Clinton has said far worse to me on the golf course — not even close. I apologize if anyone was offended.”