Is it possible to change how full you perceive your cup to be? Is it half full, just the right amount of Kool-Aid or is it overflowing with coconut water? I feel our life experiences as well as our God-given personalities form our perspective or the lens through which we see, feel, act and generally live our lives.
I know a wonderful woman and mom. She's a dream realizer and positive-thought seeker and a beauty finder. She's unapologetic for her, what some feel is sort of a polly-anna-y, way of going about her wonderful and life-affirming business. She is thoughtful and intelligent and steadfast. I don't feel like she has to make regular treks to the beach to place her head in the sand, either. She is plugged in. This is her addressing happiness. I admire her. http://urbanblissdesign.com/life/positive-happiness-the-urban-bliss-life/
I wanna know how it's done. I damn well want to know. I am not kidding. I am ready to know. I want to know how to counteract, process or dismiss the emotional effects of Glenn Beck holding a rally for people who represent the worst of America on a hallowed day in a hallowed location. There are so many of these blows that offend my (embarrassingly) sensitive nature. War, intolerance, ignorance, molestation, earthquakes, poverty, illness, violence, oppression, depression. The unfairness and savagery of our world.
My cup of iced Americano is generally half empty to just right. It empties and refills and stays level for awhile and then empties again and so on. I sincerely would like to explore how to... more often than not, live in a state of gratitude. To be thankful for the beauty and abundance around me instead of worrying about Glenn Beck.
My mom would ask me to give to God. Well, God never said life would be easy (in fact, my life is very easy in comparison to most) or fun or full of happy moments. Clearly. Fine. Okay. I still don't know how to process a starving child. The boy is in the back of my mind asking me to deal with him and Katrina and the cabby who got shot for being Muslim. Maybe I need medicine to anesthetize my delicate constitution? I don't really want to color over it, though. I want to process it and deal with it and live with it while still seeking beauty, finding gratitude for my life's ease. Maybe I just need to come to terms with the fact that I got lucky on my tour here on Earth and I better live largely and generously while taking that big deep breath that hopefully releases the fear and worry.
How do you take off the clear, or on your worst days...dark, murky glasses and grope around for the rose-colored ones?
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Vices & Inimmaculate Consumption
What A Feeling ~ lyrics by Irene Cara
First, when there's nothing but a slow glowing dream
That your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind
All alone I have cried silent tears full of pride
In a world made of steel, made of stone
Well I hear the music, close my eyes, feel the rhythm
Wrap around, take a hold of my heart
[Chorus:]
What a feeling, bein's believin'
I can't have it all, now I'm dancin' for my life
Take your passion, and make it happen
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life
Now I hear the music, close my eyes, I am rhythm
In a flash it takes hold of my heart
What a feeling (I am music now), bein's believin' (I am rhythm now)
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life
What a feeling...
What A Feeling (think sarcasm)
Hands clasped to the divoted red plastic wrapped handle bar. I walk in, Starbucks in hand. List in the other hand. The List is a useful prop, an excuse to come. A feeling comes over me. I am still tired from staying up too late and waking too early. The feeling is one that says it might be really enjoyable to find a corner, in this place of promises and wonder, to sleep. Just curl up, lay down, in an inconspicuous corner and rest a minute. The next feeling that washes over me, once it sets in that I'm here, is one that I think is the direct result of an explosion of endorphins cursing through my veins.
Target promises (and this is where it's gets really pathetic) to restore the magic that I *think* I have lost at a price I can afford. It's bright clean spaces, modern signage, the famous designers with their almost as rad stuff offer a polished veneer that appeals and speaks to my inner machinery in a way that is frightening to me. When I felt the "rush" upon entering this store, I knew I needed to look into what this place really meant to me.
Why analyze? What's the big whoop? Why not just give into the very Inimmaculate Consumption and the promise of fabulousness and restoration of self-esteem. Well, because that's not healthy. Immaculate is defined as: im·mac·u·late ( -m k y -l t). adj. 1. Impeccably clean; spotless. See Synonyms at clean. 2. Free from stain or blemish; pure. 3. Free from fault or error. This consumption is a not clean and is not pure, nor is free from fault. This consumption is on-going. It's superficial. It temporarily fills a void. It says get in there and see what little do-dad they have that might get you one step closer to being the complete package.
The List.
It gets dicey because it is sort of necessary to visit The Promiseland, as realistically, I need Soft Scrub as well as thank you notes (and this other stuff: sort-of cute v-neck little pocket tee, piggy bank, jegging (only to be returned due to excessive creasing and generally not living up to my expectations), a third conditioner to help Ella with her hair of a texture that is so different from mine, that product trial and error is necessary), pick up prescription, certain kind of milk, return of online purchase, dollar section browse, a sports bra, Nutella, sunscreen with little or no chemicals, shampoo that does not contain sulfates, a lamp shade, lemon cream lotion, birthday supplies, school supplies, a stainless water bottles without bpa, a rechargeable battery, organic sheets, tie dyed socks, printer paper, a watch, memory foam matress topper and the list continues on into infinity.)
Messy Issues.
See what I am saying? Inimmaculate. Messy. Too much. A vice promising health and sweet smelling skin. I really only needed Soft Scrub, thank you notes, birthday supplies and a rechargeable battery. The rest was unnecessary or could wait.
Money is an issue here. Realizing that the promises and answers I am looking for are not for sale here is an issue. The consumption and what it means for the environment is an issue here as well.
We buy too much stuff. I love the idea of practicing efficiency. Streamlining. Making less trash. Not falling for the lie that the buying will fulfill you.
I will remove the monkey from my back. It's heavy and it keeps flinging shit at me.
First, when there's nothing but a slow glowing dream
That your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind
All alone I have cried silent tears full of pride
In a world made of steel, made of stone
Well I hear the music, close my eyes, feel the rhythm
Wrap around, take a hold of my heart
[Chorus:]
What a feeling, bein's believin'
I can't have it all, now I'm dancin' for my life
Take your passion, and make it happen
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life
Now I hear the music, close my eyes, I am rhythm
In a flash it takes hold of my heart
What a feeling (I am music now), bein's believin' (I am rhythm now)
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life
What a feeling...
What A Feeling (think sarcasm)
Hands clasped to the divoted red plastic wrapped handle bar. I walk in, Starbucks in hand. List in the other hand. The List is a useful prop, an excuse to come. A feeling comes over me. I am still tired from staying up too late and waking too early. The feeling is one that says it might be really enjoyable to find a corner, in this place of promises and wonder, to sleep. Just curl up, lay down, in an inconspicuous corner and rest a minute. The next feeling that washes over me, once it sets in that I'm here, is one that I think is the direct result of an explosion of endorphins cursing through my veins.
Target promises (and this is where it's gets really pathetic) to restore the magic that I *think* I have lost at a price I can afford. It's bright clean spaces, modern signage, the famous designers with their almost as rad stuff offer a polished veneer that appeals and speaks to my inner machinery in a way that is frightening to me. When I felt the "rush" upon entering this store, I knew I needed to look into what this place really meant to me.
Why analyze? What's the big whoop? Why not just give into the very Inimmaculate Consumption and the promise of fabulousness and restoration of self-esteem. Well, because that's not healthy. Immaculate is defined as: im·mac·u·late ( -m k y -l t). adj. 1. Impeccably clean; spotless. See Synonyms at clean. 2. Free from stain or blemish; pure. 3. Free from fault or error. This consumption is a not clean and is not pure, nor is free from fault. This consumption is on-going. It's superficial. It temporarily fills a void. It says get in there and see what little do-dad they have that might get you one step closer to being the complete package.
The List.
It gets dicey because it is sort of necessary to visit The Promiseland, as realistically, I need Soft Scrub as well as thank you notes (and this other stuff: sort-of cute v-neck little pocket tee, piggy bank, jegging (only to be returned due to excessive creasing and generally not living up to my expectations), a third conditioner to help Ella with her hair of a texture that is so different from mine, that product trial and error is necessary), pick up prescription, certain kind of milk, return of online purchase, dollar section browse, a sports bra, Nutella, sunscreen with little or no chemicals, shampoo that does not contain sulfates, a lamp shade, lemon cream lotion, birthday supplies, school supplies, a stainless water bottles without bpa, a rechargeable battery, organic sheets, tie dyed socks, printer paper, a watch, memory foam matress topper and the list continues on into infinity.)
Messy Issues.
See what I am saying? Inimmaculate. Messy. Too much. A vice promising health and sweet smelling skin. I really only needed Soft Scrub, thank you notes, birthday supplies and a rechargeable battery. The rest was unnecessary or could wait.
Money is an issue here. Realizing that the promises and answers I am looking for are not for sale here is an issue. The consumption and what it means for the environment is an issue here as well.
We buy too much stuff. I love the idea of practicing efficiency. Streamlining. Making less trash. Not falling for the lie that the buying will fulfill you.
Then there's THIS.
Target spends loads of money (Thank you Supreme Court for ruling that corporations can spend oodles of money on political candidates. bumper sticker: Palin 2012, brought to you by Wal-Mart) supporting the nuttiest of ring-wingers. Michele Bachmann. Michele Bachmann! To think that some of my money will funnel into her campaign makes me want to take a pocket knife and manually carve off each freckle that adorns my face. What A Feeling (think... maybe NOT sarcastically, maybe it's theme song in the making?? hmmm.)
Reign it in. Period. Get a grip. Buy what you need and no more. Realize that this job of taking care of my children is a blessing, a hard and joyful blessing. I will stop blaming them for my frump as I often think it not necessary to make any kind of look happen because I am just sticking around the house, grocery shopping, picking them up, etc. I will do things that actually fill me with passion, creativity and joy. I will write more and surf less. I will sew and draw. I will keep some of it for myself and share some of these passions with the kiddos. Fill up the tank in fulfilling ways that don't smack of instant gratification and hollow promises. I will remove the monkey from my back. It's heavy and it keeps flinging shit at me.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Knock Knock. Helloooo? Anyone there? Ya, tons are.
I am standing at my personal portal to the "Internets", the tubes if you will that the dear late Senator Ted Kennedy referred to some years ago. Oh shit, what's that? Some really creative and witty people just whizzed by with the stuff that makes me laugh and wish I could find words that some how string together so *funnily* and interestingly. Sure, I'm a pro surfer (read: shopper/researcher) by now, but writer and creator? I am officially three sentences in and digging it. And, while I am over-analyzing every word choice so as not to take you down the path of how gratifying it was to get my laundry done or foist upon you the same wit and/or drivel you have already read... I like this. I could write for me, myself and I, and no one else, and find the process gratifying. I'm self absorbed. Nah, not moi... I'm not going to lie, maybe a little, but the truth is, I like to put words together and always have.
I am a mom to two little ones. The 6 year old is, just in time, turning a corner and becoming really enjoyable. She almost got sent back. The 4 year old is a fine young man all-the-way around, but could whine a bit less (...in an effort to keep my comments "even". I am now the master at keeping every last molecule of oxygen and or food/toy item -"even."). Their hair is as red/orange as the setting sun. People ask me if it's dyed. Doesn't everyone dye their kids hair? They also get spray-tanned.
He, who is being referred to as Jose (at this time) has been mine for 15 years and is a stellar fellow. Sharp as a tack. He keeps my shoes organized and my heart full of love and some irritation now and again. He's also hot. He looks better as he gets older which is just... friggin' beyond annoying.
I currently stay at home with the little people (young) that live here. I usta work in apparel merchandising and miss getting paid for my work. Such a loaded topic. It's been a tough road wrought with isolation, self-doubt and the overwhelming desire to have some time to myself. Such first-world problems. Truly. Absolutely. Remember, self- absorbed... But, maybe, amid the need for "space" or the wanting my girl to stop running around like a feral child or the boy with the "maaaaam, she _____", it's also okay, because these are my experiences and as long as I can remember to raise my head up once in a while to take the long view, to remember how blessed I am to have the mass gobs of love I have (and the courage to make needed change when necessary), things will unfurl as God intends.
Right on.
I am a mom to two little ones. The 6 year old is, just in time, turning a corner and becoming really enjoyable. She almost got sent back. The 4 year old is a fine young man all-the-way around, but could whine a bit less (...in an effort to keep my comments "even". I am now the master at keeping every last molecule of oxygen and or food/toy item -"even."). Their hair is as red/orange as the setting sun. People ask me if it's dyed. Doesn't everyone dye their kids hair? They also get spray-tanned.
He, who is being referred to as Jose (at this time) has been mine for 15 years and is a stellar fellow. Sharp as a tack. He keeps my shoes organized and my heart full of love and some irritation now and again. He's also hot. He looks better as he gets older which is just... friggin' beyond annoying.
I currently stay at home with the little people (young) that live here. I usta work in apparel merchandising and miss getting paid for my work. Such a loaded topic. It's been a tough road wrought with isolation, self-doubt and the overwhelming desire to have some time to myself. Such first-world problems. Truly. Absolutely. Remember, self- absorbed... But, maybe, amid the need for "space" or the wanting my girl to stop running around like a feral child or the boy with the "maaaaam, she _____", it's also okay, because these are my experiences and as long as I can remember to raise my head up once in a while to take the long view, to remember how blessed I am to have the mass gobs of love I have (and the courage to make needed change when necessary), things will unfurl as God intends.
Right on.
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