I will not dwell upon this too much, as I need to keep moving today, but it is one of those days where something has arisen and needs attention. An issue is flailing around like an angry newborn; as loud, but not as cute.
I have two choices; I can gather these emotions and issues up into a pile. I can then climb up and stand on them, like a kid playing King of the Mountain, and I can hold my head high. I can use the pile to get a better view of the horizon.
I can also look at Issue 1 and formulate how it can morph into Issue 2, then they could multiply like a rabbit couple into BIG PROBLEM #3-45. Even more math could get involved. I could then take all the points of contention, weave a blanket and hide under it with a flashlight, desperate to view only a small portion of my dream because there is a big blanket keeping me from seeing much else.
MORAL: I think it's been lovely, this view from atop this pile of things that tried to throw me off my path. The air up here is crisp and clear. I don't need a flashlight to see a tiny portion of my goals - they are well lit and all around me. They are as breathtaking from a distance and upon approach as I am sure they will be upon arrival.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Surviving, Striving, Thriving and other Vings
I have been listening to an alarming amount of motivational and educational CDs, webcasts, podcasts and books-on-CD as of late. Alarming more speaks to the sheer volume, not a negative jab at the nature of the Realm of Motivation. I started a business this last summer, started another one two months ago and a third a week ago. This has brought a lot of To Do lists and goal lists into my life.
The goal of all of this goal-setting is simple: There was a plan, once upon a time, to complete college and get a job. Then I was to stay at said job until I moved up this ladder thing I hear people refer to, usually in disdain or jealous snarkiness. Then, someday, some magical day, I would be exalted to the role of Retiree. I would then live out my days happily in a little spot somewhere with a lot of sand and comfortable pant-shoes combos.
I tried that plan, it didn't work. I tried it again. It didn't work, and so on and so forth, pardon the grotesque use of cliche', and pardon it now because you may hear it more before today's post is done.
I am not the only one saying this right now, I am actually among the majority, if you listen closely, read closely, look around.
Would that plan have worked if I had not been a single parent? Young? At one point fiercely addicted to certain things that kept me from wanting to do anything other than just make enough money to purchase the very items keeping me in gross apathy? Would that plan have worked if I had attended a different school as my first? Worked different jobs? Not worn mini-skirts at the wrong times? Gotten more than sober - gotten my act together faster? If my entire twenties had gone differently, would I be a fan of the plan?
These and such other wildly dramatized questions will NOT be answered in upcoming blog posts, simply because they do not mater. What does matter is at this very moment and for this very woman, working for me out of my own home and running around networking, meeting scores of people and learning things... these things are necessary for my survival. I say survival because if hope is dead, a person becomes nothing more than a walking cautionary tale. I can't take that tale to my children at bedtime and expect them to have anything other than terror about their futures. I refuse to be that sort of tale.... I would rather be a tale of someone who didn't do any of the things she should have done, in the order they "should have" been done in, and not only survived, but thrived.
The goal of all of this goal-setting is simple: There was a plan, once upon a time, to complete college and get a job. Then I was to stay at said job until I moved up this ladder thing I hear people refer to, usually in disdain or jealous snarkiness. Then, someday, some magical day, I would be exalted to the role of Retiree. I would then live out my days happily in a little spot somewhere with a lot of sand and comfortable pant-shoes combos.
I tried that plan, it didn't work. I tried it again. It didn't work, and so on and so forth, pardon the grotesque use of cliche', and pardon it now because you may hear it more before today's post is done.
I am not the only one saying this right now, I am actually among the majority, if you listen closely, read closely, look around.
Would that plan have worked if I had not been a single parent? Young? At one point fiercely addicted to certain things that kept me from wanting to do anything other than just make enough money to purchase the very items keeping me in gross apathy? Would that plan have worked if I had attended a different school as my first? Worked different jobs? Not worn mini-skirts at the wrong times? Gotten more than sober - gotten my act together faster? If my entire twenties had gone differently, would I be a fan of the plan?
These and such other wildly dramatized questions will NOT be answered in upcoming blog posts, simply because they do not mater. What does matter is at this very moment and for this very woman, working for me out of my own home and running around networking, meeting scores of people and learning things... these things are necessary for my survival. I say survival because if hope is dead, a person becomes nothing more than a walking cautionary tale. I can't take that tale to my children at bedtime and expect them to have anything other than terror about their futures. I refuse to be that sort of tale.... I would rather be a tale of someone who didn't do any of the things she should have done, in the order they "should have" been done in, and not only survived, but thrived.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
If you need me, I'll be in my room hiding under the comforter OR Ignoring Fear; Doing Stuff Anyway
The following things can be done, even if you are petrified:
Blogs can be updated albeit vaguely and in complete denial of promises made in prior posts.
Goals can be rewrote before the original ink is dry. Goals written on post-it notes and the prompty lost do not count and cannot be used as mysterious excuses for lack of motivation; therefore, goals can be changed without an admission of complete failure.
Children can be raised semi-successfully, as love trumps fear even if it doesn't erradicate the side effects.
Emails can be sent, phone calls can be made, mail can be opened. The more your hand shakes, the better as it gets those puppies open fast.
Time can fly by. Sobriety and/or promises made can be maintained and/or kept even when security is scarce.
Budgets can be adhered to. Really. Even by me!
People can be met. They may even stay to talk to you. Greater still, they may acknowledge that they know you at a later date.
Sales goals can be met. Write deadlines can be set... sometimes can be met.
Dreams, the silly stuff you forgot about years ago, the things you want for your kids but don't need for yourself, can start to come true faster than for which you were prepared; future happiness can loom.
The potential that it actually may all turn out all right can prove to be more than a cute ending to a modern fable.
You might have to check to see if the coffee pot is turned off. You may obsessively check to make sure the door is locked. You may gasp and see spots when you hear about the horrors people inflict upon each other, thinking of your own children and wanting to hide them away under a huge security blanket in a vault of safety. You may even wonder, and twitch a bit over the differences between your fears and the fears of others. But you can still get the laundry done. You can still fall asleep.
Far too many people have written about fear. There is nothing original I can say about fear, other than to acknowledge that it's here, all the time. I eyeball the rug, waiting for it to be pulled out from under my feet and wait for the day when I no longer worry and fret, not wanting to waste a single moment of this borrowed time, these beautiful amazing children's childhoods, this life I wasn't scared of until I figured out how to actually live.
Blogs can be updated albeit vaguely and in complete denial of promises made in prior posts.
Goals can be rewrote before the original ink is dry. Goals written on post-it notes and the prompty lost do not count and cannot be used as mysterious excuses for lack of motivation; therefore, goals can be changed without an admission of complete failure.
Children can be raised semi-successfully, as love trumps fear even if it doesn't erradicate the side effects.
Emails can be sent, phone calls can be made, mail can be opened. The more your hand shakes, the better as it gets those puppies open fast.
Time can fly by. Sobriety and/or promises made can be maintained and/or kept even when security is scarce.
Budgets can be adhered to. Really. Even by me!
People can be met. They may even stay to talk to you. Greater still, they may acknowledge that they know you at a later date.
Sales goals can be met. Write deadlines can be set... sometimes can be met.
Dreams, the silly stuff you forgot about years ago, the things you want for your kids but don't need for yourself, can start to come true faster than for which you were prepared; future happiness can loom.
The potential that it actually may all turn out all right can prove to be more than a cute ending to a modern fable.
You might have to check to see if the coffee pot is turned off. You may obsessively check to make sure the door is locked. You may gasp and see spots when you hear about the horrors people inflict upon each other, thinking of your own children and wanting to hide them away under a huge security blanket in a vault of safety. You may even wonder, and twitch a bit over the differences between your fears and the fears of others. But you can still get the laundry done. You can still fall asleep.
Far too many people have written about fear. There is nothing original I can say about fear, other than to acknowledge that it's here, all the time. I eyeball the rug, waiting for it to be pulled out from under my feet and wait for the day when I no longer worry and fret, not wanting to waste a single moment of this borrowed time, these beautiful amazing children's childhoods, this life I wasn't scared of until I figured out how to actually live.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
My Milkshake Doesn't Bring All The Boys To The Yard, But My Gluten-Free Brownies Are Pretty Hot - Confidence VS Ego
(In the last entry, I spoke about a plan I started on Day 1 of summer. I will post and update on the Plan at the end, which is Day 71/Monday. Maybe. I am not sure if I am willing to admit how much I didn't accomplish, but in retrospect, my goals tend to lean toward the unrealistic. It's fun to shoot high.)
Confidence VS Ego:
The title is true, as my children told me just today that my brownies are awesome. My ego would like the world to think I am beautiful, exotic and creative, and also kind and saintlike, but the truth is I live and thrive on the little things that I am able to do well. I try to add to that list. I try to focus on the things I can do, tiptoeing toward confidence without my ego noticing where I am headed.
My ego prefers I see myself as very, very big. I am not referring to weight. I do not like those moments where I realize that I am just one gumball in the glass bowl of a huge machine. But my inferiority complex likes to fight with my ego maniacism, making it difficult to set boundaries with myself in terms of self-image. I am not going to bother with the idea of self-esteem, as I would rather not take more time thinking about myself than necessary. So this is not about self-esteem, Thank God.
I have been told recently that I lack, sadly, basic confidence. Sure footing. I argued with said person that I do have confidence, I do know what I stand for. She rebuffed with a few examples of me bending at every wind, worrying about what others think about me WAY TOO OFTEN, and things of that nature. I simultaneously shook my head in disagreement and turned red, broke into a sweat. I think I mistook my passions for certain things, i.e. my beautiful, intelligent and huge-hearted children for example, as sure-footing. Just because I am passionate about something, or some things, doesn't mean I can't be knocked down easily when the focus turns to ME and my own goals. I will stand my ground on many things, but if you berate ME, I tend to waffle, wondering if you have a point.
In my recent awesome attempts at sales and freelance work, I have found that the biggest roadblocks have come from within. Corny, I know, but I have to look inside and figure out what is broken and either fix it or surrender to it or do a little of both.
I would write more about confidence, but I think I need to do some reading on the subject first. See, I am not even confident about my own information about confidence.
Here's my basic M.O.
"I am so excited that I am (doing something/writing something/creating something/inspired by something/making some decision/ad infinitum)!" I say to (x), enthusiastically.
(X) responds: "(insert something that is supposed to disprove the object or passion/idea, and/or a comment on how impossible the goal is and/or a reference to failures of the past, in other words, you can't or shouldn't want to try to do whatever it is you want to do, because you can't, and here's why.....)"
(NOTE: X's response is usually followed with a pat on the head or shoulders and/or a hug and a "you know I still love you, but..." - something along those lines, to soften the blow.
A CONFIDENT PERSON'S RESPONSE: "Well, I am sorry you feel that way. I will not be swayed - this is how I feel/what I am going to do/what I want, and it's a bummer that you are not on board. Now excuse me while I go and make my dreams come true/make some phone calls/possibly unfriend you on Facebook."
MY TYPICAL ACTUAL RESPONSE: None, as I am still weighing out what the person said, and trying to figure out whether they are wrong. I am also comparing my own internal Pros and Cons list to what they just said, checking to see if my internal logic has failed. Or I am backpeddling because I now feel like an ass, and if I am back-peddling, I promise that I am feeling sick about being such a coward at the same time that I am nodding and agreeing with X. If I say anything, it is something along the lines of the following:
"Yeah, well, I know it's a long shot, but it's something I want to try.... I know I will need a back-up plan.... Yes, I have heard there is no money in it, as you say, but.... (INSERT MORE BACK-PEDDLING NONSENSE SPRINKLED WITH ANYTHING THAT WILL BRING THE CONVERSATION TO A QUICK CLOSE)."
I am done with this line of thinking. I don't care anymore. I have this weird feeling that the Creator of the Universe + science + spirituality + Jesus + modern psychology + Sesame Street ALL support my theory that I have a brain in my head so I can use it, and there are things that I can choose to do while on this Earth that will make me happier than I ever was while trying to please everyone.
I am not referring, of course, to times that the person has a valid point. I will take pointers on say writing or sales from writers or salespeople. I will take tips on managing my life from persons who have something to offer in that category, which is only logical. That being said, if I have upset or offended you by anything stated above, or you think my ideas are stupid and/or you think I am a horrible writer.... you are only right if I let you be.
Confidence VS Ego:
The title is true, as my children told me just today that my brownies are awesome. My ego would like the world to think I am beautiful, exotic and creative, and also kind and saintlike, but the truth is I live and thrive on the little things that I am able to do well. I try to add to that list. I try to focus on the things I can do, tiptoeing toward confidence without my ego noticing where I am headed.
My ego prefers I see myself as very, very big. I am not referring to weight. I do not like those moments where I realize that I am just one gumball in the glass bowl of a huge machine. But my inferiority complex likes to fight with my ego maniacism, making it difficult to set boundaries with myself in terms of self-image. I am not going to bother with the idea of self-esteem, as I would rather not take more time thinking about myself than necessary. So this is not about self-esteem, Thank God.
I have been told recently that I lack, sadly, basic confidence. Sure footing. I argued with said person that I do have confidence, I do know what I stand for. She rebuffed with a few examples of me bending at every wind, worrying about what others think about me WAY TOO OFTEN, and things of that nature. I simultaneously shook my head in disagreement and turned red, broke into a sweat. I think I mistook my passions for certain things, i.e. my beautiful, intelligent and huge-hearted children for example, as sure-footing. Just because I am passionate about something, or some things, doesn't mean I can't be knocked down easily when the focus turns to ME and my own goals. I will stand my ground on many things, but if you berate ME, I tend to waffle, wondering if you have a point.
In my recent awesome attempts at sales and freelance work, I have found that the biggest roadblocks have come from within. Corny, I know, but I have to look inside and figure out what is broken and either fix it or surrender to it or do a little of both.
I would write more about confidence, but I think I need to do some reading on the subject first. See, I am not even confident about my own information about confidence.
Here's my basic M.O.
"I am so excited that I am (doing something/writing something/creating something/inspired by something/making some decision/ad infinitum)!" I say to (x), enthusiastically.
(X) responds: "(insert something that is supposed to disprove the object or passion/idea, and/or a comment on how impossible the goal is and/or a reference to failures of the past, in other words, you can't or shouldn't want to try to do whatever it is you want to do, because you can't, and here's why.....)"
(NOTE: X's response is usually followed with a pat on the head or shoulders and/or a hug and a "you know I still love you, but..." - something along those lines, to soften the blow.
A CONFIDENT PERSON'S RESPONSE: "Well, I am sorry you feel that way. I will not be swayed - this is how I feel/what I am going to do/what I want, and it's a bummer that you are not on board. Now excuse me while I go and make my dreams come true/make some phone calls/possibly unfriend you on Facebook."
MY TYPICAL ACTUAL RESPONSE: None, as I am still weighing out what the person said, and trying to figure out whether they are wrong. I am also comparing my own internal Pros and Cons list to what they just said, checking to see if my internal logic has failed. Or I am backpeddling because I now feel like an ass, and if I am back-peddling, I promise that I am feeling sick about being such a coward at the same time that I am nodding and agreeing with X. If I say anything, it is something along the lines of the following:
"Yeah, well, I know it's a long shot, but it's something I want to try.... I know I will need a back-up plan.... Yes, I have heard there is no money in it, as you say, but.... (INSERT MORE BACK-PEDDLING NONSENSE SPRINKLED WITH ANYTHING THAT WILL BRING THE CONVERSATION TO A QUICK CLOSE)."
I am done with this line of thinking. I don't care anymore. I have this weird feeling that the Creator of the Universe + science + spirituality + Jesus + modern psychology + Sesame Street ALL support my theory that I have a brain in my head so I can use it, and there are things that I can choose to do while on this Earth that will make me happier than I ever was while trying to please everyone.
I am not referring, of course, to times that the person has a valid point. I will take pointers on say writing or sales from writers or salespeople. I will take tips on managing my life from persons who have something to offer in that category, which is only logical. That being said, if I have upset or offended you by anything stated above, or you think my ideas are stupid and/or you think I am a horrible writer.... you are only right if I let you be.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Call it The Experiment? The Summer of Fears Faced? (insert a witty, fascinating name here)?
71 days of following an interesting plan that took literally minutes to write up. I can't even take it seriously enough to talk about it seriously, so I am going to talk about it lightly and jokingly. And a little sarcastically.
DAY 1 of Interesting Plan with No Name Yet
I am on a very restrictive food plan for numerous health reasons, and figured it was a good time to try a few other things I was avoiding, because hey, if I fail at all three but pull one of them off, I am still better off than when I started... and I just realized that if that last section of writing was ever examined by an English professor, they would smack me in the face with their latest zine and call me a wordy something-or-other.
Food - I drank almost all liquids (don't worry, safe ones) and ate only fruits and veggies with one small outburst where I tore through half a container of Wholly Salsa and tortilla chips, arguing to myself that if one is craving salt, that is a primal urge and must be followed as the body is crying out for.... salsa? um... yeah I was about 80% on the mark.
Writing - So I have an open document waiting to be added to an email, the equivalent of the biggest act of bravery EVER, or honestly since this morning when I went to Zumba class in pants with really old elastic... who doesn't?
The Other One - I am not going to call this anything specific, but it is just The Other One. The Third Goal. The one I am not willing to talk about yet. It went well, in case you were wondering.
Okay, off to send the email. Day 1 is in the books. 70 more days of summer!!!! (wait, what?)
DAY 1 of Interesting Plan with No Name Yet
I am on a very restrictive food plan for numerous health reasons, and figured it was a good time to try a few other things I was avoiding, because hey, if I fail at all three but pull one of them off, I am still better off than when I started... and I just realized that if that last section of writing was ever examined by an English professor, they would smack me in the face with their latest zine and call me a wordy something-or-other.
Food - I drank almost all liquids (don't worry, safe ones) and ate only fruits and veggies with one small outburst where I tore through half a container of Wholly Salsa and tortilla chips, arguing to myself that if one is craving salt, that is a primal urge and must be followed as the body is crying out for.... salsa? um... yeah I was about 80% on the mark.
Writing - So I have an open document waiting to be added to an email, the equivalent of the biggest act of bravery EVER, or honestly since this morning when I went to Zumba class in pants with really old elastic... who doesn't?
The Other One - I am not going to call this anything specific, but it is just The Other One. The Third Goal. The one I am not willing to talk about yet. It went well, in case you were wondering.
Okay, off to send the email. Day 1 is in the books. 70 more days of summer!!!! (wait, what?)
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Lost and Found and Lost and Found and Lost and Found...
I snickered in my head at the following notion, suggested by the awesome Sandra=Acupuncturist Extraordinaire (this is not an ad, but I will fork out her info upon request). I will explain the internal giggling momentarily.
"Do not think of losing weight or trying to lose negative images, thoughts. Loss implies that you have a void, that you need to search for something. If you lose something, it means you will seek it, try to find it. Replace "lose" with "release," she said, well, in approximately those words as I did not record her and was relaxed on a heated massage table with needles all over my legs, arms and face. These things make for slightly inaccurate quoting, but you get the basic idea.
If you have seen "Dinner for Schmucks" with Steve Carell, you understand one of the reasons why the phrase "I release you" is funny. If not, proceed to the next paragraph, but rent it sometime soon.
I laughed also because I thought of the concept release in terms of prison or being released from, say, an alcohol treatment center. I instantly had visions of my unwanted pounds and negative thoughts running away from me, happy to be "released," glad to be free of the bars and confines of me. In that case, I wish them the best of luck, and off they go.
"Released" additionally conjures up images of a wildlife vet show releasing healed animals back into their natural habitats. I release you into the wild! Run free, extra 30 pounds! Be free range, romp on the hillsides and return to your natural state.
All of these, of course, are my mind's way of avoiding the facts. The facts are that in the past when I have tried to lose something, it has always come back. You know the old saying, if it returns, it was yours, if not, it never was... I would like to express to the 30 pounds that I lose and gain and lose and gain that yes, I am aware that they are mine. Same with negative thoughts. Yep, I know I birthed you and raised and nurtured you like you were a pet, revisited you and made sure you had enough food/fuel. In other words, I GET IT, extra crap that I don't need... I get that you like hanging out with me because I am, in a weird way, your mommy. I held onto you, rocked you, needed you to be whole.
Now, we are going to try something new. I am no longer enabling any freeloaders, whether I created them or not. So, with the exception of my actual children whom I love unconditionally and plan to keep around among a few other good creations (relationships, hobbies, etc), I now am ready to be done with the things I have formed and created and nurtured that are no longer working.
So hey, excess baggage, ghosts of dieting past, REGRET, and repeating cycles of perfection and destruction? I am not working on losing you. You are not lost, needing to be found. You are free, you are no longer necessary. You are dismissed. I release you.
"Do not think of losing weight or trying to lose negative images, thoughts. Loss implies that you have a void, that you need to search for something. If you lose something, it means you will seek it, try to find it. Replace "lose" with "release," she said, well, in approximately those words as I did not record her and was relaxed on a heated massage table with needles all over my legs, arms and face. These things make for slightly inaccurate quoting, but you get the basic idea.
If you have seen "Dinner for Schmucks" with Steve Carell, you understand one of the reasons why the phrase "I release you" is funny. If not, proceed to the next paragraph, but rent it sometime soon.
I laughed also because I thought of the concept release in terms of prison or being released from, say, an alcohol treatment center. I instantly had visions of my unwanted pounds and negative thoughts running away from me, happy to be "released," glad to be free of the bars and confines of me. In that case, I wish them the best of luck, and off they go.
"Released" additionally conjures up images of a wildlife vet show releasing healed animals back into their natural habitats. I release you into the wild! Run free, extra 30 pounds! Be free range, romp on the hillsides and return to your natural state.
All of these, of course, are my mind's way of avoiding the facts. The facts are that in the past when I have tried to lose something, it has always come back. You know the old saying, if it returns, it was yours, if not, it never was... I would like to express to the 30 pounds that I lose and gain and lose and gain that yes, I am aware that they are mine. Same with negative thoughts. Yep, I know I birthed you and raised and nurtured you like you were a pet, revisited you and made sure you had enough food/fuel. In other words, I GET IT, extra crap that I don't need... I get that you like hanging out with me because I am, in a weird way, your mommy. I held onto you, rocked you, needed you to be whole.
Now, we are going to try something new. I am no longer enabling any freeloaders, whether I created them or not. So, with the exception of my actual children whom I love unconditionally and plan to keep around among a few other good creations (relationships, hobbies, etc), I now am ready to be done with the things I have formed and created and nurtured that are no longer working.
So hey, excess baggage, ghosts of dieting past, REGRET, and repeating cycles of perfection and destruction? I am not working on losing you. You are not lost, needing to be found. You are free, you are no longer necessary. You are dismissed. I release you.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Nervous System, Heal Thyself!
The other day my acupuncturist told me the same thing that I once heard from someone who taught me how to pray. If you focus on healing, healing will come.
I am in the middle of a process, and when you are in the middle of something, you often can no longer see the end point any better than you can see the point from which you began.
I am attempting to trick my arthritis and fibromyalgia into reversing by changing my diet, my exercise limits and my thought patterns. I know the plan and I know what I need to be doing.
So today, arthritis, I say to you that I am not thwarted in any way by your attempt to totally lock up all of my joints tonight in a manner that has rendered me chair-bound for the majority of the evening. I instead say to you, arthritis, that I was able to spend a relaxing evening with my children and ignored your attempt to raise my body temperature by setting my joints on fire. I am able to write using minimal movement and am forgiving myself for not completing some of the other projects I wanted to finish because they required a lot of moving around. I will not yield.
And hey, fibromyalgia, your attempt to cause pain and headaches was noted and discarded. I still was able to laugh and think and write and wander around the internet despite your attempts to distract me. I am not interested in what you have to say.
Last, I speak to the thought processes that accompany chronic pain. I just want you to know, dear negative thoughts, that your complaints have been weighed, measured, and found wanting. I think I may go ahead and be grateful, excited for things to come, and enchanted by the healing that has taken place in my life thus far, no matter what you have to say about the matter.
When mind, body, and spirit are focused on healing and staying strong, chronic pain and ego lose in the end. When I am motivated to move and rest and breathe through the pain, there is a calm and a quiet and a motivation to stay positive that cannot be bottled, cannot be bought, and can't be tested by the FDA.
As for the doctor who cautioned me once about how careful I would have to be with my body in order to have a "normal life," I would be happy to tell you that my chiropractor, acupuncturist, and the God of my vast misunderstanding are working miracles in my body and my life.
So here I sit, drinking my tenth glass of water for the day, meditating on a Bible verse and occasionally humming a Yeah Yeah Yeahs song about being a warrior, swollen joints, upset stomach, and back muscles on fire... still happy as a clam, sitting here learning how to Be Still.
It's a process, not a processional.
I am in the middle of a process, and when you are in the middle of something, you often can no longer see the end point any better than you can see the point from which you began.
I am attempting to trick my arthritis and fibromyalgia into reversing by changing my diet, my exercise limits and my thought patterns. I know the plan and I know what I need to be doing.
So today, arthritis, I say to you that I am not thwarted in any way by your attempt to totally lock up all of my joints tonight in a manner that has rendered me chair-bound for the majority of the evening. I instead say to you, arthritis, that I was able to spend a relaxing evening with my children and ignored your attempt to raise my body temperature by setting my joints on fire. I am able to write using minimal movement and am forgiving myself for not completing some of the other projects I wanted to finish because they required a lot of moving around. I will not yield.
And hey, fibromyalgia, your attempt to cause pain and headaches was noted and discarded. I still was able to laugh and think and write and wander around the internet despite your attempts to distract me. I am not interested in what you have to say.
Last, I speak to the thought processes that accompany chronic pain. I just want you to know, dear negative thoughts, that your complaints have been weighed, measured, and found wanting. I think I may go ahead and be grateful, excited for things to come, and enchanted by the healing that has taken place in my life thus far, no matter what you have to say about the matter.
When mind, body, and spirit are focused on healing and staying strong, chronic pain and ego lose in the end. When I am motivated to move and rest and breathe through the pain, there is a calm and a quiet and a motivation to stay positive that cannot be bottled, cannot be bought, and can't be tested by the FDA.
As for the doctor who cautioned me once about how careful I would have to be with my body in order to have a "normal life," I would be happy to tell you that my chiropractor, acupuncturist, and the God of my vast misunderstanding are working miracles in my body and my life.
So here I sit, drinking my tenth glass of water for the day, meditating on a Bible verse and occasionally humming a Yeah Yeah Yeahs song about being a warrior, swollen joints, upset stomach, and back muscles on fire... still happy as a clam, sitting here learning how to Be Still.
It's a process, not a processional.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
WILL WRITE FOR FOOD. But not just for fun because that would be a huge waste of time.... right?
I am not sure what I am supposed to write in this lifetime. I know what I enjoy writing, and I know what I enjoy doing. I know a few other things too, but they do not have anything to do with this blog.
I have kids, therefore, I want to be the best parent possible. I am motivated to be a good mother, as best as I can be, because I love my children and because it is my job. I also do things like cook (attempt), clean, take them to soccer and remind them to feed their hermit crab, or in the case of this week, teach them how to mourn when the crab dies. Parenting also includes those moments where you do things you never thought you would do, like ask someone at PetSmart if they ever do mini crab autopsies to soothe the nerves of children who are concerned that their pets had a disease. The answer, by the way, is no. But I promised my son I would ask if we needed to bring the crab in for examination, and I did what I said I would do.
Where I begin to misunderstand my purpose is in the realm of those facets of my life that do not pertain to other people. I am motivated to take care of myself because it is good for my children to see that as an example. I am happy to tell anyone any part of my "back-story" as if it will help them, it helps me see my past chaos as an attribute rather than a liability. I am motivated to be a good girlfriend because I am in love, but also because it is the right thing to do when you are attempting to be in a functional relationship. The same goes for friendships, family, etc. I want to do the right thing and be a positive part of the lives I happen to touch, on purpose or otherwise. I hate when I have negatively impacted someone, even a little bit. I am motivated to attempt to follow God's "rules" because I feel better when I try to live up to what He built me for, however much I misunderstand that whole ball of wax.
PROBLEM: How do I motivate myself when the only recipient of the good stuff is me? I was gifted with a lot of creativity, but I find it very hard to write for myself first. I find it hard to just write what I would like to read, not tailoring it too much for others, not talking to them as I think they would like me to talk. I love playing the piano, but only picked it back up after years because I was teaching others. I rarely do anything, even creative, if there is not a purpose or a person who will benefit from it.
This either makes me the best procrastinator in the entire world, or just plain mistaken. I misunderstand and continue to scratch my head at all these gifts I was given, as they do not seem to benefit anyone. It is not enough (my head tells me) to just do something because it sets your soul on fire and lights you up from the inside. HOWEVER, I would be the first to tell someone ELSE that they should do things that make them happy, even if no one else is impacted. So... aha, yep, there it is. I think I am so damn unique that the rules don't apply to me. YOU are good enough, but I am not.
You know what is awesome about realizing how extensive your own personal character defects have smeared their mess all over your self-perception? Not much, other than the simple fact that no growth can come from a garden that is full of trash. If the main problem in my life is that I NEED TO GET OUT OF MY OWN WAY, AND APPLY THE THINGS I SAY TO OTHERS TO MYSELF, then I guess I had better accept that and start being as good to myself as I ATTEMPT to be to others.
In other words, write because I love writing, paint because it's frigging awesome, and quit spazzing out over my ideas of wasted time. There is no better use for my time than to do the things I was built to do.
I tell my kids to be themselves, but if I don't show them how by my example, all they will ever learn is how to keep running until you have pleased everyone, then collapse in a heap, feeling guilty and unhappy and not really understanding why. Maybe someday it will be enough of a motivator to also just do what makes me feel alive because it, well, makes ME feel alive.
SARA AMMON 5/2/2013
I have kids, therefore, I want to be the best parent possible. I am motivated to be a good mother, as best as I can be, because I love my children and because it is my job. I also do things like cook (attempt), clean, take them to soccer and remind them to feed their hermit crab, or in the case of this week, teach them how to mourn when the crab dies. Parenting also includes those moments where you do things you never thought you would do, like ask someone at PetSmart if they ever do mini crab autopsies to soothe the nerves of children who are concerned that their pets had a disease. The answer, by the way, is no. But I promised my son I would ask if we needed to bring the crab in for examination, and I did what I said I would do.
Where I begin to misunderstand my purpose is in the realm of those facets of my life that do not pertain to other people. I am motivated to take care of myself because it is good for my children to see that as an example. I am happy to tell anyone any part of my "back-story" as if it will help them, it helps me see my past chaos as an attribute rather than a liability. I am motivated to be a good girlfriend because I am in love, but also because it is the right thing to do when you are attempting to be in a functional relationship. The same goes for friendships, family, etc. I want to do the right thing and be a positive part of the lives I happen to touch, on purpose or otherwise. I hate when I have negatively impacted someone, even a little bit. I am motivated to attempt to follow God's "rules" because I feel better when I try to live up to what He built me for, however much I misunderstand that whole ball of wax.
PROBLEM: How do I motivate myself when the only recipient of the good stuff is me? I was gifted with a lot of creativity, but I find it very hard to write for myself first. I find it hard to just write what I would like to read, not tailoring it too much for others, not talking to them as I think they would like me to talk. I love playing the piano, but only picked it back up after years because I was teaching others. I rarely do anything, even creative, if there is not a purpose or a person who will benefit from it.
This either makes me the best procrastinator in the entire world, or just plain mistaken. I misunderstand and continue to scratch my head at all these gifts I was given, as they do not seem to benefit anyone. It is not enough (my head tells me) to just do something because it sets your soul on fire and lights you up from the inside. HOWEVER, I would be the first to tell someone ELSE that they should do things that make them happy, even if no one else is impacted. So... aha, yep, there it is. I think I am so damn unique that the rules don't apply to me. YOU are good enough, but I am not.
You know what is awesome about realizing how extensive your own personal character defects have smeared their mess all over your self-perception? Not much, other than the simple fact that no growth can come from a garden that is full of trash. If the main problem in my life is that I NEED TO GET OUT OF MY OWN WAY, AND APPLY THE THINGS I SAY TO OTHERS TO MYSELF, then I guess I had better accept that and start being as good to myself as I ATTEMPT to be to others.
In other words, write because I love writing, paint because it's frigging awesome, and quit spazzing out over my ideas of wasted time. There is no better use for my time than to do the things I was built to do.
I tell my kids to be themselves, but if I don't show them how by my example, all they will ever learn is how to keep running until you have pleased everyone, then collapse in a heap, feeling guilty and unhappy and not really understanding why. Maybe someday it will be enough of a motivator to also just do what makes me feel alive because it, well, makes ME feel alive.
SARA AMMON 5/2/2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
Damage, Inc. - Sore Heart Syndrome
DISCLAIMER: I will not apologize for my own thoughts or feelings, and I welcome and even invite disagreement, disection, and discussion. I know I have quite often been wrong when it comes to MANY topics, to the point that I could have built it into a career.
Today, I find myself motivated to move because it hurts too badly to stay stagnant. I am not whining, not complaining, simply remarking. My body feels great, my emotions are intact and my spirituality and sobriety are both strong... but my spirit aches today and I need a heart band-aid.
As I approach, carefully, the idea of introducing spiritual activities into our lives, I am amazed at how protective I am of my children in this area. I know it is not unusual to be protective of ones children, but I am excessively nervous when it comes to introducing my children to new people, new places, and new things; especially when those things are in a church or spiritual setting. This has caused me to ache and fear and tighten my forehead in worry, and it has not gone away.
For me, when in pain or anxious, it is helpful to look for the bullet hole rather than just mop the blood up while still bleeding. So I paused. I looked for it, and I found it.
My heart was broken as a child when I realized God's world was a painful place. I was intelligent enough to know that a lot of scientific reasoning had to be right and true. Therefore, I understood that a human can feel pain, can die, and the globe keeps spinning. I also was exposed to religion, some of which made sense and some of it just felt correct with no proof. Some of it made no sense at all, but I felt in my heart that God was okay with me questioning some points of confusion. In later years I experienced the loss of loved ones, and I still marveled at the universe and found myself in full understanding of an Almighty God who didn't seem to be scared off by me, one of his children, bombarding Him with scientific curiosity. I kept to those two realms in my mind, the realm of fact and the realm of awestruck wonder. I understood that there are things in this world that can be proved through scientific method, and also a LOT of things that would remain questions in my mind to be asked at a later date, when I am no longer running around on this fine planet as a living, breathing human. I am okay with that level of ambiguity. I know that God and the universe both have some secrets they like to keep to themselves.
But today's heartache comes when I realize that my emotions are still very foreign and refuse to be litmus tested or pinned down. Some days, those early fears and losses are just there. They are there are holes in my spirit or heart or whatever you want to call it... soul. I have a Swiss-cheese soul, and although redeemed, I still feel the phantom pains from older wounds. Some of those wounds were exemplified by things that were said to me in religious settings. These things were meant to be helpful, but at the moment, they did nothing to stop the bleeding. I, therefore, fear that my children will have the same experiences. I fear that they will hear a human say something and overlay that upon God's unconditional love for them. I fear they will hear and see legalism and assume it is the truth.
Or maybe I am neatly avoiding my own pain and my own anger over the things humans do with their free-will by focusing on my children. Maybe instead of being scared for them, I need to look at myself. I cannot protect them from the world, but I can strengthen myself in order to be there for them to lean on if the world confuses them. I can continually learn and grow so I can answer their questions. I can have faith that nothing any person can say to them is more powerful than God's love for them, and nothing I do is more important than loving them with every bit of energy I have.
Usually when a muscle is sore, it is because it has been overworked or is growing. I hope today that my heartache is just your basic equation of muscle ache due to being worked, tested, and pushed. I also know that a muscle worked needs time to heal. So whether it is my soul or my heart, I hope today I walk a path upon which there is a first-aid kit.
Today, I find myself motivated to move because it hurts too badly to stay stagnant. I am not whining, not complaining, simply remarking. My body feels great, my emotions are intact and my spirituality and sobriety are both strong... but my spirit aches today and I need a heart band-aid.
As I approach, carefully, the idea of introducing spiritual activities into our lives, I am amazed at how protective I am of my children in this area. I know it is not unusual to be protective of ones children, but I am excessively nervous when it comes to introducing my children to new people, new places, and new things; especially when those things are in a church or spiritual setting. This has caused me to ache and fear and tighten my forehead in worry, and it has not gone away.
For me, when in pain or anxious, it is helpful to look for the bullet hole rather than just mop the blood up while still bleeding. So I paused. I looked for it, and I found it.
My heart was broken as a child when I realized God's world was a painful place. I was intelligent enough to know that a lot of scientific reasoning had to be right and true. Therefore, I understood that a human can feel pain, can die, and the globe keeps spinning. I also was exposed to religion, some of which made sense and some of it just felt correct with no proof. Some of it made no sense at all, but I felt in my heart that God was okay with me questioning some points of confusion. In later years I experienced the loss of loved ones, and I still marveled at the universe and found myself in full understanding of an Almighty God who didn't seem to be scared off by me, one of his children, bombarding Him with scientific curiosity. I kept to those two realms in my mind, the realm of fact and the realm of awestruck wonder. I understood that there are things in this world that can be proved through scientific method, and also a LOT of things that would remain questions in my mind to be asked at a later date, when I am no longer running around on this fine planet as a living, breathing human. I am okay with that level of ambiguity. I know that God and the universe both have some secrets they like to keep to themselves.
But today's heartache comes when I realize that my emotions are still very foreign and refuse to be litmus tested or pinned down. Some days, those early fears and losses are just there. They are there are holes in my spirit or heart or whatever you want to call it... soul. I have a Swiss-cheese soul, and although redeemed, I still feel the phantom pains from older wounds. Some of those wounds were exemplified by things that were said to me in religious settings. These things were meant to be helpful, but at the moment, they did nothing to stop the bleeding. I, therefore, fear that my children will have the same experiences. I fear that they will hear a human say something and overlay that upon God's unconditional love for them. I fear they will hear and see legalism and assume it is the truth.
Or maybe I am neatly avoiding my own pain and my own anger over the things humans do with their free-will by focusing on my children. Maybe instead of being scared for them, I need to look at myself. I cannot protect them from the world, but I can strengthen myself in order to be there for them to lean on if the world confuses them. I can continually learn and grow so I can answer their questions. I can have faith that nothing any person can say to them is more powerful than God's love for them, and nothing I do is more important than loving them with every bit of energy I have.
Usually when a muscle is sore, it is because it has been overworked or is growing. I hope today that my heartache is just your basic equation of muscle ache due to being worked, tested, and pushed. I also know that a muscle worked needs time to heal. So whether it is my soul or my heart, I hope today I walk a path upon which there is a first-aid kit.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
The Weird List, As Promised
The following are the oddball things that motivate me lately. Who knows why. The muse, if you will, is part of each of our psyche, our brains, or souls or whatever that wants to be fed various stuff or it will not cough up the goods. I do not have the slightest idea why my ego is such a big baby, but it keeps my brain going so fast that the muse/creative part of me has to struggle to get out. It didn't used to be this way, but as an adult, or someone pretending to be one, I have these weird things called responsibilities. The to-do lists never end, the budgeting, the laundry, the things we think about and write down and build schedules around... as a child, I never worried about those sort of things. I was very, very concerned about whether or not I could convince my mother to buy me a new box of crayons. I was threatened by the idea of bedtime, as I would have to stop creating, imagining. playing. I didn't have the vortex of worry... well, actually, I did but creating made it slow down.
THE WEIRD LIST
I can't write in the same place two days in a row. I have to move around the house, around town even. This flies in the face of everything 'they' tell you about developing a sacred space. Maybe I will grow out of this...
I need to hand write, sometimes with marker, with different types of paper, and then type, then dictate, then note-take... yeah, again, I have to mix it up.
I am oddly motivated by Bruce Springsteen (he reminds me of someone I used to know) this week, and also American Horror Show and Bjork. Next week it will change. I have to try and keep up.
Chaos has to go. I used to think it fueled creativity. Now I think it eats it.
Juxtapoz and Hi-Fructose magazines. Just trust me. Phenomenal art of the best kind; the type that makes you want to jump out of your chair and go paint something or someone, whatever happens to cross your path next.
Hmm... I will add more to this some other day, but the muse part of my head is pissed that the CD ended and is hungry again. Off to switch the music and to switch on the creative, hopefully.
THE WEIRD LIST
I can't write in the same place two days in a row. I have to move around the house, around town even. This flies in the face of everything 'they' tell you about developing a sacred space. Maybe I will grow out of this...
I need to hand write, sometimes with marker, with different types of paper, and then type, then dictate, then note-take... yeah, again, I have to mix it up.
I am oddly motivated by Bruce Springsteen (he reminds me of someone I used to know) this week, and also American Horror Show and Bjork. Next week it will change. I have to try and keep up.
Chaos has to go. I used to think it fueled creativity. Now I think it eats it.
Juxtapoz and Hi-Fructose magazines. Just trust me. Phenomenal art of the best kind; the type that makes you want to jump out of your chair and go paint something or someone, whatever happens to cross your path next.
Hmm... I will add more to this some other day, but the muse part of my head is pissed that the CD ended and is hungry again. Off to switch the music and to switch on the creative, hopefully.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Funnels and Rubber Ducks - The Master List (Tomorrow: The Weird List)
There are obvious things that motivate me and keep breathing in and out each day. These things keep me on the straight and narrow, the drugless and drunkless path, the path I personally am meant to be on at this point in my life. They keep me steady when my body hurts and my mind cramps up over some past painful thing.
The following items are on the "obvious" motivational item list. When I need to simplify my focus, I draw back to these things, funneling down into them. I try at those moments to forget about anything and everything else.
God - For me, this includes my personal spiritual beliefs as well as sanity, sobriety, sanctity of life... this is a wildly personal relationship that I will not attempt to explain in this format. God, the Universe, everything.
My children - I love them. Even just watching them sleep motivates me to be a better person. Heck, when they are challenging me, I am motivated to rise to the occasion. Children are the most efficient ego removal system known to mankind. They reflect my defects, they enhance my attributes, they remind me that I am not the youngest generation. Plus, I love them to pieces and they are pretty damn awesome people. It is a privilege to parent, for any length of time, for any reason.
My friends, boyfriend and family - These people know me and have not ran yet. They are brave.
The creative spirit of mankind - This is one of those goofy concepts that I can feel in my heart and I celebrate it as often as possible.
Nature and all that good stuff - The basics are often good enough. If I can get around things that are growing and alive, I remember that this is not all about me, and my ego goes off into a corner and pouts, allowing my soul some time to hang out.
Purpose - When I am allowed a chance to pass on my experiences and how I got through them, or how I didn't... only then are the horrors of life given a chance to come into the second act as heroes. If I lose my rubber duck, for example, I am alone in my search and my sorrow. If later I realize that you, too, lost your rubber duck, we have an instant bond, and we can either find our ducks together, or sit and talk about how much we loved them and how hard it is to let them go.
TOMORROW: I will reveal the not-so-obvious list. I would love, at that time, for others to comment and add the things that motivate them, especially if those things are on the non-obvious side.
The following items are on the "obvious" motivational item list. When I need to simplify my focus, I draw back to these things, funneling down into them. I try at those moments to forget about anything and everything else.
God - For me, this includes my personal spiritual beliefs as well as sanity, sobriety, sanctity of life... this is a wildly personal relationship that I will not attempt to explain in this format. God, the Universe, everything.
My children - I love them. Even just watching them sleep motivates me to be a better person. Heck, when they are challenging me, I am motivated to rise to the occasion. Children are the most efficient ego removal system known to mankind. They reflect my defects, they enhance my attributes, they remind me that I am not the youngest generation. Plus, I love them to pieces and they are pretty damn awesome people. It is a privilege to parent, for any length of time, for any reason.
My friends, boyfriend and family - These people know me and have not ran yet. They are brave.
The creative spirit of mankind - This is one of those goofy concepts that I can feel in my heart and I celebrate it as often as possible.
Nature and all that good stuff - The basics are often good enough. If I can get around things that are growing and alive, I remember that this is not all about me, and my ego goes off into a corner and pouts, allowing my soul some time to hang out.
Purpose - When I am allowed a chance to pass on my experiences and how I got through them, or how I didn't... only then are the horrors of life given a chance to come into the second act as heroes. If I lose my rubber duck, for example, I am alone in my search and my sorrow. If later I realize that you, too, lost your rubber duck, we have an instant bond, and we can either find our ducks together, or sit and talk about how much we loved them and how hard it is to let them go.
TOMORROW: I will reveal the not-so-obvious list. I would love, at that time, for others to comment and add the things that motivate them, especially if those things are on the non-obvious side.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
The Art of IDK
There are the basic things that we need to do, the things that need to be done. They are obvious, right in front of our faces, or pleading loudly, responses needed. I do not need to ponder the meaning of the dishes. They just need to be done. No philosophy supports the basic need to wash the clothes or keep food in the house. These things are obvious and easy. Parenting is even simpler - love them, feed them, attempt to do for them that which is right and take the actions needed to help them prosper as children now and as adults later.
The basic To Do's of life are not the things perplexing me today. My brain is tied up at the moment with the task of deciding my path, my future. It is attempting to calculate the pros and cons of things yet undone, basing calculations on possibilities and guesses. It is practicing the fine art and science of I DON'T KNOW. And it hates it.
I like logic. Add to this the opportunity to choose my own fate, and my brain gets fogged. I am in the middle of my own Choose Your Own Adventure book, but none of the options are written out. It is the writer's dream, really, to be able to craft a story. But what to do when the story I am writing is my own?
I know I want to go back to school, and also know I want to write. I want to work for myself and set my own schedule, as I have children who have appointments during the week, and my health goes in spurts. I can work an eleven-hour day, but the next day need a three-hour lunch. I have a beautiful resume' which served me better when I didn't have children who needed me to be home more and when I was able to work as long as it took, when I had childcare that was flexible so I could work longer hours.
I am talented and have potential. I have a varied work history that has allowed me to be trained in many different fields. I have skills to burn.
I can't narrow down a major, can't pick from all the options. I can't decide which of my ten writing projects to focus on. I do not know if I should attempt sales or transcription. I am interested in everything from art history to chemistry to computer programming.
So what do I want to do with the rest of my life? I don't know.
I am tempted to start throwing dice or flipping coins or letting my kids pick options at random like cards from a deck. I am glad they love me enough to humor me. Mommy will figure out what she wants to do when she grows up, eventually.
The basic To Do's of life are not the things perplexing me today. My brain is tied up at the moment with the task of deciding my path, my future. It is attempting to calculate the pros and cons of things yet undone, basing calculations on possibilities and guesses. It is practicing the fine art and science of I DON'T KNOW. And it hates it.
I like logic. Add to this the opportunity to choose my own fate, and my brain gets fogged. I am in the middle of my own Choose Your Own Adventure book, but none of the options are written out. It is the writer's dream, really, to be able to craft a story. But what to do when the story I am writing is my own?
I know I want to go back to school, and also know I want to write. I want to work for myself and set my own schedule, as I have children who have appointments during the week, and my health goes in spurts. I can work an eleven-hour day, but the next day need a three-hour lunch. I have a beautiful resume' which served me better when I didn't have children who needed me to be home more and when I was able to work as long as it took, when I had childcare that was flexible so I could work longer hours.
I am talented and have potential. I have a varied work history that has allowed me to be trained in many different fields. I have skills to burn.
I can't narrow down a major, can't pick from all the options. I can't decide which of my ten writing projects to focus on. I do not know if I should attempt sales or transcription. I am interested in everything from art history to chemistry to computer programming.
So what do I want to do with the rest of my life? I don't know.
I am tempted to start throwing dice or flipping coins or letting my kids pick options at random like cards from a deck. I am glad they love me enough to humor me. Mommy will figure out what she wants to do when she grows up, eventually.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I smell something burning.
I am not sure where I heard this, but it lodged itself in my brain and is one of my favorite sayings. "Not everyone does what they do because they see the light but because they feel the heat." Motivation - which is better, the drive to do the right thing, or the intense action that comes from trying to back away from flames?
I am the CEO of my household and my life at this point in my life, and my job is to motivate and inspire my employee, who is also me... there are days that this is a confusing process, and both boss and employee are jumping up and down on my last nerve. I will never get an award for my ability to motivate myself, and my God knows I struggle with this as I whine and even yell in prayer and meditation, usually when I am confronted with a task that seems insurmountable. I forget the things I have accomplished and stare at one stupid thing, asking for it to be removed when the still, small voice says, "Um, just climb over, or walk around. Stop being a wuss."
I am attempting to motivate myself, and at the same time, annoying myself... a perplexing and obnoxious concept. God and the universe have keen senses of humor, and someone is watching all of this, eating popcorn and cracking up, I am sure of it.
But, the task is mine, and I wholly accept and surrender to it. I usually cannot persuade myself to keep the energy going just by patting myself on the back. If I light a fire under my own ass, or set up deadlines for myself, or even time myself, race myself, it gets done. Those are the days when there isn't a fire already lit.
Today... today fires are lit. Plural. I need to make some major decisions about how to proceed, career-wise, and that overlaps two children's schooling and medical treatment plans and all the other fun add-ons that everyone has such as bills, family obligations, and friends. So today - today I am motivated because I need to move forward, and need to make decisions with the rapid-fire succession of a fire chief making life or death calls, deciding what needs to be ignored and allowed to burn away in order to focus on what needs to be saved, with the main focus being the safety and saving of health and life.
Also, on a side note, if I hear that Girl On Fire song one more time on the radio, I am going to lose it.
In the end, it doesn't matter if I am focusing on the light, or running from the heat the way a toddler scoots away from a swat on the behind. Either way, I need to keep moving and doing the next right thing. Fire or light, I can work by the glow of either, and the outcome is often the same.
I am the CEO of my household and my life at this point in my life, and my job is to motivate and inspire my employee, who is also me... there are days that this is a confusing process, and both boss and employee are jumping up and down on my last nerve. I will never get an award for my ability to motivate myself, and my God knows I struggle with this as I whine and even yell in prayer and meditation, usually when I am confronted with a task that seems insurmountable. I forget the things I have accomplished and stare at one stupid thing, asking for it to be removed when the still, small voice says, "Um, just climb over, or walk around. Stop being a wuss."
I am attempting to motivate myself, and at the same time, annoying myself... a perplexing and obnoxious concept. God and the universe have keen senses of humor, and someone is watching all of this, eating popcorn and cracking up, I am sure of it.
But, the task is mine, and I wholly accept and surrender to it. I usually cannot persuade myself to keep the energy going just by patting myself on the back. If I light a fire under my own ass, or set up deadlines for myself, or even time myself, race myself, it gets done. Those are the days when there isn't a fire already lit.
Today... today fires are lit. Plural. I need to make some major decisions about how to proceed, career-wise, and that overlaps two children's schooling and medical treatment plans and all the other fun add-ons that everyone has such as bills, family obligations, and friends. So today - today I am motivated because I need to move forward, and need to make decisions with the rapid-fire succession of a fire chief making life or death calls, deciding what needs to be ignored and allowed to burn away in order to focus on what needs to be saved, with the main focus being the safety and saving of health and life.
Also, on a side note, if I hear that Girl On Fire song one more time on the radio, I am going to lose it.
In the end, it doesn't matter if I am focusing on the light, or running from the heat the way a toddler scoots away from a swat on the behind. Either way, I need to keep moving and doing the next right thing. Fire or light, I can work by the glow of either, and the outcome is often the same.
Friday, February 22, 2013
What's My Motivation?
A day with no errands and no place to be is a mirage. It appears, from the distance, to be the perfect spot equipped with all of the trappings needed for peace and perspective. Upon arrival, it is what it is - a blank computer screen and "all the time in the world," which to a writer who is presently blocked is not a vacation destination but rather a lesson in self-brutality. I am kicking myself for all those times that I whined to people, claiming that if I had more time, less interruptions, etc. I would be the WRITER I wanted to be. I blamed the distractions, blamed the hurried schedule, blamed so many things. But today, I am left with a clean slate and my own self-discipline. I could make you a list of all the things I would like to start in order to avoid writing, but that would be writing... sigh.
So what motivates me today? I will write, no matter what, and I will work on my other projects no matter what in honor of the girl I used to be, the one who claimed she never had time.
I am my own boss these days, and as my own boss, I need to crack down on my employee. She is willful and lacks direction. She needs to finish this blog and then plant her sweat pant-clad ass in front of the screen until something comes out of her brain and filters down into her fingers, types itself, and breathes on its own.
Man, my boss is so bossy. Off to write and begin an inventory of the items we will be selling as a family on eBay, as well as read one of my many books on how to motivate oneself. I know I am leaving out the fact that I am also motivated by my children, by my dreams, by the support of those who love me and the awesome arms of the Creative Intelligence who planted these seeds in the first place, but some days... some days it's just as simple as admitting that I don't want to do anything except pull the blanket back over my head and wait for the snow outside to melt. Because then I will write, right? There is no time but now, and excuses are just fancy things to say when it is too painful to admit that I am either scared or lazy.
So what motivates me today? I will write, no matter what, and I will work on my other projects no matter what in honor of the girl I used to be, the one who claimed she never had time.
I am my own boss these days, and as my own boss, I need to crack down on my employee. She is willful and lacks direction. She needs to finish this blog and then plant her sweat pant-clad ass in front of the screen until something comes out of her brain and filters down into her fingers, types itself, and breathes on its own.
Man, my boss is so bossy. Off to write and begin an inventory of the items we will be selling as a family on eBay, as well as read one of my many books on how to motivate oneself. I know I am leaving out the fact that I am also motivated by my children, by my dreams, by the support of those who love me and the awesome arms of the Creative Intelligence who planted these seeds in the first place, but some days... some days it's just as simple as admitting that I don't want to do anything except pull the blanket back over my head and wait for the snow outside to melt. Because then I will write, right? There is no time but now, and excuses are just fancy things to say when it is too painful to admit that I am either scared or lazy.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Damage Jr.
Damage Inc. - Kids and the Process of Elimination (continued disclaimer)
My children have been fascinated by this decluttering and dejunking process, as I am trying to make it fun. But truthfully, I am thankful that there are people in my life who I love and who I am responsible for. I am not sure how I would have felt if I had leveled the structure and been left standing alone and unaccountable.
I explained to them after yet another failed attempt at ego-driven fortitude that Mommy needed some things to change. I told them, frankly, that they were being taught by outward example a way to live that didn't fit in with the things they were being told. I asked them their forgiveness, and quietly included a sidebar that they had been given too many things when I wasn't sure what else to do, that instead of salving a wound, I handed them something to play with because I didn't know any better. My attempts to instill order and peace were in the material world. I was telling them they were loved unconditionally, but showing them that if you make it all pretty on the outside, if you keep the structure upright, the foundation doesn't really matter. I thought I was loving them and providing for them, giving them things that they needed and wanted. I was failing in the most simple way. We didn't have time to be grateful for the little things, the simple things, because we were staring at the shiny stuff, holding on to the physical things and cramming the emotional questions and truths into neat, tidy Rubbermaid bins, stored in the back of overstuffed closets.
The humor of it all comes when I ask my son if he remembers any of the times I talked to him about my guilt, about how I handed him toys when he was young and I was a young mother, unsure of what to do when he was sad or our situation was scary. I asked my kids just now, in fact, if they remembered any of the things I said to them while we were packing to move this last time. They both said no. The words, again, in the end, mean little and the outcome means little, but we rolled our eyes at each other when we remembered how MUCH stuff we used to have, and how we are still overly, extremely blessed.
Tune in for Part II - Running a Home Like a Business, and a Heart Like a Non-Profit, when You Don't Know How to Run Either. Or maybe a title that is shorter.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Damage Inc. - Remodel
If we are buried in things, we will be distracted by the shininess, like a baby raccoon or a hyper cat. Wiggle some thread or flash a shiny object, and the animal forgets everything else and stares, or darts toward it, totally focused. Darts away from food. Darts in front of a moving car. Instantly switches gears.
Downsizing meant admitting to myself that there was too much. I've only mentioned the physical baggage that we were carrying around, the things that made the people who helped me move over the years cuss me out when it was over, and groan in agony when I asked them to help again. The physical was the easiest to start on.
Starting on the "stuff" unearthed the real mess. Years of fear, sadness, financial leaps and bounds and subsequent falls, moves, divorce, illness... the death of friends and the birth of babies, the birth of relationships... that was all under each item, fresh and raw. It was all waiting patiently to be looked at, inventoried. It all wanted to fit. I would have paid someone to have done this for me, because under all the physical was the realm of the spirit, the stuff of the mind, the things I didn't want to look at. I felt like the biggest fool in the world, sitting in her self-built tower of protection, built on her own avoided issues. Other people and even my God offered me better places to live, but I would make it here on my own, thank you very much for the offer, and stop pointing out that my sturdy walls look like they were built atop Jell-o.
There is nothing worse than tearing into a house to remodel and finding out there is rotting wood and mold behind perfect-looking walls, floors. If I wanted, I could just built right back over it all, and keep adding until my world got small enough to manage. I could keep doing what I had been doing since I was sixteen - add another layer, brick myself in a la Poe.
Instead, I leveled the place.
More in Part II, as well as a disclaimer about my kids and how they have fit into this 'renovation', and a reminder that no, I didn't ACTUALLY and/or literally level the place.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Damage Inc.
Inventory Rhymes with Gory
I was taught the inventory process first by my mother. We would file, organize, color-code and sort the things of life with the nimbleness that, on her, always looked like intense professionalism. Still does. On me, it ended up taking a spin down OCD Road heading to the land of Found Buried in a Pile of Stuff, but that will, over time as you read the additions to this blog, become obvious. She taught me the basics of how to create a home filing system, how to organize a drawer, and we even went so far as to sort my dolls' clothes by season and fold them into neat piles. When I played teacher, my students' desks (shoeboxes) were lined up into neat rows, and I preferred symmetry (my coloring books were lined up by size and genre) in my decor.
The inventory process expanded when I learned new skills and obtained new neural tracks. I gathered experiences, people, places, things... in my mind, I put them where they fit. If they didn't fit anywhere, I was baffled. I never understood what to do with people. I never really felt comfy in any of the places I was, went to. But things... ah things. THINGS could be sorted and piled. Things could be keys to memories that no one could see but me. Things were what they were, regardless of how badly you had treated them the night before, unless you broke them.
My point? If people confound you, and places don't fix you, things are where your frenzied spinning self comes to rest. I live in a country where there are a lot of things, a lot of places to buy more things, sell things, trade things. Objects are detachable, sortable, file-able. If you are not careful, they accumulate with astounding speed. There are entire sections in bookstores on how to organize and make the best of your stuff. There are books on the worth of collectibles, how to make (something) out of a used (something), or who to donate that (something) to so they can use it, and you will then have more room for more (somethings).
The beginning of my inventory process started when I realized that the stuff of life was a nice, sturdy wall, a pretty but alarmingly sharp-edged container that I had formed around me and my children. If we had toys, if we read the right books, if we had the right cooking supplies, if we made sure not to waste items that could be used again, we could somehow circumvent the obvious and live in entertained bliss amongst our objects d'art. I also realized a side effect of compulsive spending and emotional shopping (two hobbies I, er, enjoyed in my 20's and am paying for in my 30's) was staring around at lots of random crap. The side effect of the randomness was a busy buzzing in ones head that distracted from the problems of the day. For example, if I never, ever got my closet overflow under control, I wouldn't notice that I didn't fit into half of my clothes, and I wouldn't take the time to examine why. If we had lots of books and movies and games, lots of electronic devices, lots of noise around us, we wouldn't have time to notice that we were still healing from wounds that were oozing, untended, with slapped-on sloppy bandages made in haste while watching the next season of some show, bought of course online, on sale.
(More tomorrow as I teach you how to build walls with stuff. It's a DIY Defense Mechanism Starter Course.)
I was taught the inventory process first by my mother. We would file, organize, color-code and sort the things of life with the nimbleness that, on her, always looked like intense professionalism. Still does. On me, it ended up taking a spin down OCD Road heading to the land of Found Buried in a Pile of Stuff, but that will, over time as you read the additions to this blog, become obvious. She taught me the basics of how to create a home filing system, how to organize a drawer, and we even went so far as to sort my dolls' clothes by season and fold them into neat piles. When I played teacher, my students' desks (shoeboxes) were lined up into neat rows, and I preferred symmetry (my coloring books were lined up by size and genre) in my decor.
The inventory process expanded when I learned new skills and obtained new neural tracks. I gathered experiences, people, places, things... in my mind, I put them where they fit. If they didn't fit anywhere, I was baffled. I never understood what to do with people. I never really felt comfy in any of the places I was, went to. But things... ah things. THINGS could be sorted and piled. Things could be keys to memories that no one could see but me. Things were what they were, regardless of how badly you had treated them the night before, unless you broke them.
My point? If people confound you, and places don't fix you, things are where your frenzied spinning self comes to rest. I live in a country where there are a lot of things, a lot of places to buy more things, sell things, trade things. Objects are detachable, sortable, file-able. If you are not careful, they accumulate with astounding speed. There are entire sections in bookstores on how to organize and make the best of your stuff. There are books on the worth of collectibles, how to make (something) out of a used (something), or who to donate that (something) to so they can use it, and you will then have more room for more (somethings).
The beginning of my inventory process started when I realized that the stuff of life was a nice, sturdy wall, a pretty but alarmingly sharp-edged container that I had formed around me and my children. If we had toys, if we read the right books, if we had the right cooking supplies, if we made sure not to waste items that could be used again, we could somehow circumvent the obvious and live in entertained bliss amongst our objects d'art. I also realized a side effect of compulsive spending and emotional shopping (two hobbies I, er, enjoyed in my 20's and am paying for in my 30's) was staring around at lots of random crap. The side effect of the randomness was a busy buzzing in ones head that distracted from the problems of the day. For example, if I never, ever got my closet overflow under control, I wouldn't notice that I didn't fit into half of my clothes, and I wouldn't take the time to examine why. If we had lots of books and movies and games, lots of electronic devices, lots of noise around us, we wouldn't have time to notice that we were still healing from wounds that were oozing, untended, with slapped-on sloppy bandages made in haste while watching the next season of some show, bought of course online, on sale.
(More tomorrow as I teach you how to build walls with stuff. It's a DIY Defense Mechanism Starter Course.)
Monday, January 28, 2013
Damage Inc.
A explanation of my own need for not only organization but the mental focus necessary for motivated living, for any measure of success, is what I bring to you today. As does a business, a person can utilize the inventory process. This can apply to other ways of improving oneself, and the concept is ABSOLUTELY not something I thought of on my own, but rather heard about and learned about from quite a few different sources. My hope in the following week or so's posts is not to wax on about my own story, but to shed light on the process.
It means little to nothing for me to say that I went from completely unsure about my path to totally sure. It means even less to say that I got rid of over 50% of my stuff in less than a year (true - my son thinks the percentage is even higher), took a close look at the financial burdens I created for myself and picked them apart with plans to deal with each (true), and came up with a plan that my children and I could start using to make our lives calmer and more productive, as well as intensely happier (also true). What IS meaningful is the truth that is in the process. The outcome is not the point. The process... I will always love to look back at this time of my life because of what the process has done for me, what learning each step has done to my head and my heart.
Tomorrow: Part 1 - Inventory Rhymes with Gory
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
A long talk with a wise friend funneled my thoughts today. I have been collecting tools to post here - items that have helped me, organizationally, through the years. I have been making lists, checking them more than twice, rewriting, rereading, corralling, pondering... everything but actually, well, blogging. Fascinated by this process, I brought the issue to the attention of said wise friend, and we laughed about the wonders of procrastination.
She reminded me that there is a piece that is missing from a lot of motivational materials. A piece that, if missing, cannot be seen until a lot of other pieces have been put into place. An example at this point is needed if I am to hold your attention much longer.
I have books about organization. I have collected articles about the topic, even written a few. I have given speeches on time and project management. I have books about motivation. I listen to speaker tapes, watch videos, and attend workshops. So Piece #1 is in place: I am informed.
I have all the time in the world at the moment, as I am attempting to carve a freelance career out of thin air. I have a ridiculous clean and organized home (after getting rid of 70% of my stuff, but that is another entry, probably titled "Former Hoarder with OCD Repents"). My children are in school and my time commitments during the week are minimal compared to times in the past... Piece #2: I have time on my side, for the moment.
Piece #3: Loving family, friends, boyfriend, awesome neighbors - support. Check.
Piece #4: Inner life is at rest, personal relationship with the God of my Midunderstanding is a work in progress but is in place. Check.
I would go on, but you get the idea. My circumstances are utopian compared to times in the past, so what piece is missing? What is keeping me from meeting my personal goals, i.e. taking the actions, small baby-step actions toward my goal(s)?
Me. I am standing in my own way, getting in my own way... I can learn all there is to know on motivation, but none of that knowledge will crawl into my head and change my habits. I can have all the love and support in the world, but no one is going to tackle me and hold my goals list in front of my face, screaming that they will no longer speak to me if I don't meet my goals. And I know my God loves me, even if I don't meet my own goals. The piece that is missing is self-discipline + conflicting character defects + general stubbornness = great big mess. But it is My Mess.
Next on Motivatica: My Mess gets inventoried and analyzed by me in simple steps you can try at home in your spare time, as always, free of charge.
She reminded me that there is a piece that is missing from a lot of motivational materials. A piece that, if missing, cannot be seen until a lot of other pieces have been put into place. An example at this point is needed if I am to hold your attention much longer.
I have books about organization. I have collected articles about the topic, even written a few. I have given speeches on time and project management. I have books about motivation. I listen to speaker tapes, watch videos, and attend workshops. So Piece #1 is in place: I am informed.
I have all the time in the world at the moment, as I am attempting to carve a freelance career out of thin air. I have a ridiculous clean and organized home (after getting rid of 70% of my stuff, but that is another entry, probably titled "Former Hoarder with OCD Repents"). My children are in school and my time commitments during the week are minimal compared to times in the past... Piece #2: I have time on my side, for the moment.
Piece #3: Loving family, friends, boyfriend, awesome neighbors - support. Check.
Piece #4: Inner life is at rest, personal relationship with the God of my Midunderstanding is a work in progress but is in place. Check.
I would go on, but you get the idea. My circumstances are utopian compared to times in the past, so what piece is missing? What is keeping me from meeting my personal goals, i.e. taking the actions, small baby-step actions toward my goal(s)?
Me. I am standing in my own way, getting in my own way... I can learn all there is to know on motivation, but none of that knowledge will crawl into my head and change my habits. I can have all the love and support in the world, but no one is going to tackle me and hold my goals list in front of my face, screaming that they will no longer speak to me if I don't meet my goals. And I know my God loves me, even if I don't meet my own goals. The piece that is missing is self-discipline + conflicting character defects + general stubbornness = great big mess. But it is My Mess.
Next on Motivatica: My Mess gets inventoried and analyzed by me in simple steps you can try at home in your spare time, as always, free of charge.
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