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Motivated by a lack of material.

The Disappointed Idealist

 “Inside every cynical person there is a disappointed idealist”

– George Carlin

Maybe you know one. Maybe you are one. Has life thrown you a blow or two that has made it hard for you to get up? Has your mind finished the delivery of that blow with a dose of feeling inadequate? Now you have an excuse to be sarcastic and negative. Repeat the process a couple of times and the cynic is born.  Now I have to hit you one more time,” this doesn’t make you special or unusual”. We all know it is much simpler to take the easy way out. In this case, it is negative and effortless. Who could blame you, for after all this was a … then you must stop yourself. Stop before you go spiraling in to  the pity party

How did we get here though? Who did this to you? Let’s begin. Your education crescendoed with your post graduate degree, you married your high school sweetheart, the promotion is yours. What you did not realize is these events are not truly final acts as they imply. For though you have reached a goal, the hard work now begins. Of course you know this, but are you reacting like you know it?

Remember, you were going to change the world. That is until you ran into that road block. I submit that the idealist  falls short when they allow themselves to be short sighted. “OOH I didn’t plan on running into so much difficulty in doing this.” Why? If you thought it would be easy, don’t you think it would have been done already.

While it is relatively simple to join the ranks of a cynic, it is not a desirable state. Oftentimes,  it is not as easy to get away from that ” cynical sleeping giant” you awake.  Listen we all get a little down but you have to remember life is cyclic, ever changing and each morning brings a new opportunity for you to close the door on the cynic in you.

Let me go through life looking through “rose colored glasses”. The disappointments should serve as reminders that we have untapped resources that now need to be utilized. Finally, if the desired results are not achieved feel accomplished in the fact that things are not quite the same as they were before you began your endeavor. A true idealist would not give up or surrender to the challenges that would eventually bring their dreams and goals into fruition. While disappointments are the reality for some, know this is not the case or even a possibility for the idealist.

Special Moms

Hey first of all I want to say, they are/we are all special. Not a single one of us would not take away the hurt, no matter how minor no matter how major, from any of our children in order to spare them the experience of anything unpleasant. However, at 4 a.m. this is my “swan song” of sorts, to the Moms out there with children who are suffering with life threatening illnesses.

How many nights have  you paced the floors or rocked in silence? Giving your all, but feeling as though it is not enough. Praying to exchange places with the helpless one who came into your life and changed it forever. I catch my breath as I think of you , and though you are faceless you are not formless. My heart goes out to you as I pray for your strength. Not callously or unfeeling I do in a quiet reverie, thank the Lord that the task you are given was not given to me.  I know how very weak I am. The ricocheting effects have touched me through a niece and a nephew.

You hear “the Lord does not put more on you than you can bare”; I know that does not help in those times when your baby is suffering, for your heart aches from the inside out. The sounds of machines, the flickering lights that tell you, my child is still in the fight. You wonder how will you go on. Yet, you know as long as they are in this fight, you will be too.

Crying is a part of your process, so let the tears come. Think of them as a refreshing rain. Know that we, in the sisterhood of mothers, are thinking and praying for you. Though we may not know you by name or by your individual circumstance, any of us who has entered into motherhood knows “you” are out there somewhere. We feel you.

The touch of a nurse’s hand on your shoulder or a smile from a passing stranger; these are subtle little signs from God that say, “You are not alone”.  You are strong, you are beautiful, and you are loved by people who don’t even know your name. The very next time you hold your baby, be it in a rough time or one of the easier times, believe there is some faceless form out there who the Lord has touched, that is praying for you. “God can move mountains, but prayer can move God”.

Your Peninsula

I will always think of it as home. My ideal spot. The place I wanted to be. When we moved there, it just felt right.  Palos Verdes had an air about it. I can clearly see the beautiful Pacific as you came to the hilltop on Hawthorne Blvd to this very day. Whether the waves were crashing against the rocks beneath  Portuguese Bend or the full moon shone over  still waters of Malaga Cove, it  was/is breath-taking and for several years before we migrated south it was my home. As my roots are in Inglewood, California and I reside in Duluth, Georgia; This place holds my heart.

It has always quietly called to me. I would hear the wind whispers as a teen,  on a clear day it’s outline stood there south west of my then comfort zone. I knew I would be there one day,  and that it would be a part of my life. The world is filled with beautiful spectacular places, but like a garment tailored especially for you, I believe we also have a spot on this Earth that we are directly connected to.

If I were a painter I would spend my days in Lunada Bay doing one seascape after another, never tiring of my view. I could do my interpretation of the Point Vicente Lighthouse from memory.

I have yet to see the islands of Hawaii and I do hope to go  and visit there in the very near future. I have always thought of it simply as paradise, a place like no other. Then as I wrote this brief little piece it came to me; I lived in paradise and it felt so very good.

Maybe it is in the wooded hills or bustling city. Perhaps the desert calls you to . Wherever it is you feel the tugging, you have to go there, you have to be there. When you are not there in this place that you are drawn to, you are lost and don’t know how or why. You search for it aimlessly and when you do arrive you know it. The connection, the oneness, your”peninsula”.

Smart, In Degrees

For as long as I can remember, there has been a part of me that felt like I had above average intelligence. After moving to sunny Southern California I came face to face with the fact I was not pretty, therefore my being smart was something I held onto for dear life.

It gave me credibility, it gave me a reason to be proud. After all looks could fade but no one could take what you had inside your head away from you. I  had a whirlwind affair with school. Subject came easy to me and I would do well with little or no effort. As time went on I became increasingly lazy, but I still got good grades. Junior High(middle school) brought about a series of changes and awakenings. Enter puberty, what a let down school was. Other girls now  were interested in boys and vice versa, while I may have been interested in boys they were not interested in me. Well at least I was still smart.

I tested well and had above average classes, but then I discovered there was something beyond having above average classes.. there was the “gifted program”.

The “gifted program” probably meant nothing to other students who were not in it because they had other things on their minds. The students that belonged in it were recognized and put into the program. Yet, I belonged to a very small quiet group; someone who wanted to be in the program, and someone who was certain they should be in the program. Remember, my “sets-me-apart” reasoning was at stake here. I had “friends” who were in these special classes and “I” felt like they were no smarter than me. I made the inquiries and managed to get information necessary in order for me to be tested for the program. Turns out I was NOT gifted, I was above average which allowed me to take certain classes but to be a part of this program that I thought was so elite… I did not make the cut. I was quietly devastated. For a couple of years I tried to stand apart and be noticed, then I came to terms with.. above average with the AVERAGE glaring at me.

Fast forward, I received my acceptance letter from U.C. Irvine and after the excitement came the fear. How would I fare in a foreign environment. Was I ready for this culture shock?  Could I handle it because after all I was, just above average. I took the “chicken” way out and enrolled in community college because I thought it would be easier for me to do well and after a year or so I could transfer. That did not happen. I went back a couple of times, but something was missing.

I realized that the only thing average about me was that I did not put any extra effort into achieving what I said I wanted to achieve, and I truly had made myself the very thing I did not want to be AVERAGE-the norm. I abandoned the very vehicle that could have catapulted me to where I felt I wanted to be, my drive. I did not need a piece of paper to tell me that either. I said I wanted this validation, but when it came right down to it perhaps I did not want it enough or even as much as I thought I did.

I am surrounded by people who collectively possess an array of certificates, degrees, and doctorates. They are my family, they are my friends, and no simple formula can explain me. My predecessors, contemporaries and heirs have somehow done what has eluded me. Perhaps one would be surprised to hear, I still believe I am smart. I now know I am not dedicated. I now know that paperwork does not positively elevate you to a place deserving of admiration and awe. I now know my motivation was what was lacking and no on had more control over that than me.

Therefore, take heed in what I finally learned. Realize my friends you have a choice and do not allow yourself to be the victim or recipient of self inflicted failure.

Breaking Bread

Eating is a very important process in our lives. We need it in order to sustain ourselves, first and foremost. However, there is something more. As we tie certain songs to events in our lives, there is a connection that exists with us and our meals.

Think of the imagery of the 1950’s a family sitting down to dinner, sharing the events of their day.  How about the “romantic comedy” you just watched a couple of nights ago where the couple shared a romantic dinner, or the mother’s day surprise of breakfast in bed. Food and who we eat it with is a very personal passionate thing. You just don’t sit down and eat with anyone, at least you don’t plan to.

We went to an interesting eatery when we first moved to Georgia almost 20 years ago at the urging of our new neighbors (Georgia natives). This place served typical southern cuisine, the thing that was most exciting to them was the sitting down to enjoy your meal in the company of complete strangers. I thought it was a novel little idea, but wasn’t quite as excited. We were new and felt like we should get familiar with the regions traditions and customs. Well it was very uneventful, and not even in the slightest manner interesting.

I was taken back to another piece I wrote called, “All We Do Is Eat” and I realized how very personal this act of eating is. We do it so often and so mechanically that we really do not  think of the intimacy involved.

When I worked in “Corporate America” in an effort to demonstrate “they” cared; there were often luncheons, celebrations, etc. where we, the employees would get together with the bosses and “break bread”. I was always the outspoken and standoffish one. I thoroughly enjoyed declining or not showing up to these functions, knowing questions would be asked, and I would have the opportunity to tell “them” exactly why I had chosen not to be a part of the function. In a way I was being completely honest, in  another I was being completely mean, but at the time I did not realize how completely valid my reaction/response was to being invited to come and “make nice” with an individual in a forum that is normally reserved for people you really and truly want to be around. Later when the title change happened and I became “them” the the challenge was once again presented, for I now not only had to participate in these function I oftentimes had to plan them. Oh the hypocrisy of it all….

Today as I attempt to be a better person, I am a volunteer that works with a team that serves my community. It is a good place and a good thing we do, yet I would not be honest if I said that I feel close to any of the other members. I attributed this to my being the newer member, but as time has gone by I think there may be another reason. I do not believe that my personal feelings are important,  for what we do is what is most important. The problem is now we are having a meeting in which food will be served. This will be the third meeting of this type I have been invited to. The first I did not go to at all, the second I did not eat. I have and feel the obligation to be there for this meeting, but I cannot overlook my feelings toward these people I am teamed with. Perhaps a more relevant question would be, “do I need to continue to be with a group I do not want to or feel comfortable being around”? Do I have the right to interrupt/disturb this part of a program we are all a part of because of MY personal feelings? I think maybe if I allow myself to get into this intimate setting with them maybe I will connect, but the questions remains, what if I am right, what if this vibe I feel is the vibe the are sending out. I would rather walk away than to have them send me away, but that is all about ego isn’t it.

Therefore, I will go and I will be on time, but I will not eat once again. I guess the test will be how many meetings will I go to before I feel comfortable enough to get intimate with my team members, or how long will I stubbornly work with people I may not like and who may not like me for the sake of doing something good.

Then in the midst of revisions and additions I came face to face with it; maybe I am sending a signal to my team members as well. While I am sitting here feeling ostracized, maybe I have ostracized as well. Wow, maybe I  should eat.

Done-But Not Ready

A cautious glimpse at the possibilities. Was Cinderella held prisoner in the home of her evil step-mother? Was Sleeping Beauty held in a deep sleep by a spell? Does circumstance help our minds to help us escape unhappiness?

Years in a situation that one sees no end to can breed contempt as well as creativity. Something woke me up this particular morning. It was a troubled mind. I had a plan, but things surrounding me kept interfering. Yet the unsettled feeling would not leave me.

Our princesses seem to be trapped by the forces of something outside of self, but what if their escape was the very prison they existed in? As terrible as one may feel their existence is, does it overshadow the fear of the unknown? There is a real fear of falling. The inner “daredevil” has long retreated into the  poolside lounging chair. Yet, what can be worse than falling? Is it the devastation of defeat, what about the embarrassment of failure.

Growing older there is a stronger need for the certainties of life. We need stable, predictable outcomes now more than ever. The trouble is now we must look to ourselves to provide those confident stable situations.

The other reactions are difficult but for me the stagnant, atrophying, paralysis which occurs when you fear movement is the worst. You are a prisoner, one of your own creation in part. Not a very creative one either. Choosing to stay and be miserable simply because it is familiar is NOT a good choice.

Begin at the beginning, work on YOU. If it is a workplace problem, what measures or steps are realistic for YOU to take? If it is a personal relationship, where you can see the other person’s faults and contributions to the bad situation, maybe examine what YOU are doing. If it is  a spiritual  issue and you feel conflicted, perhaps begin with YOU being committed. As an individual YOU is the only factor one has complete accountability for and control over.

Therefore, we are very much like the pastry fresh out of the oven; one stage is complete, but more has to happen before it is ready to be served.

Turning Point

90 posts and average of 300 words, I ask the question can I write? Clearly in a physical sense I can, but is it worth reading. I do not know that yet. I have had some hits and some flattering comments but I am a “green pea” in this area.  The only thing I am sure of is the writing bug hit and it has stayed with me for almost 12 months. I  now have the drive to finish a project I have long thought about and played with. I have made an effort to test the water; it appears to be slightly cool and possibly deep, but I only have a couple tips of toes in.

I want a guarantee, but that is really not possible. Yet I feel ready. It is rather early on a cool, overcast Sunday morning the 5th day February 2012.  Republican Party Caucuses pending, Super Bowl XLVI results looming. I begin my journey and I will keep this piece as a starting point of my journey.

Church was amazing and I convicted myself to make some changes. I told no one about them. This was not a plan, but all seems to be falling in line. The timing feels so right, yet time is going to be a challenge and an obstacle that I must overcome. It truly feels like a turning point!

After that entry I ran into a brick wall. My writing became erratic and even stagnant.  Two weeks had gone by and I had not put anything down on paper of significance I did not know what to do. In the midst of a lonely and blue Monday morning, it came to me so I prayed. I did not realize it at the time, but when I started this piece I was troubled. I misread some things. Upon that realization I virtually dropped to my knees. The peace was astounding and calming. I knew this time I was on the right track, would this now be the turning point for me. Would the amazing changes I anticipated come to pass? I think they  already have.

Heart-Felt

Sometimes when I write it is deliberate, sometimes it is inspired. This piece is both. This is  the result of five decades of February 14th memories and opinions.

In 2012 it falls on a Tuesday. I will be working. I will not expect anything spectacular and even if something spectacular happened no one would know, but two others in my immediate family. So what is all the hype?

Mine have been an cyclic battle of “here we are again or it doesn’t phase me” in my adult life. Have you guessed my Valentine’s Days have been less than desired by my standard. To begin with I am a hopeless romantic,  now you know the task of making me happy was daunting. Roses, chocolates, diamonds, sweet breakfasts in bed, romantic dinners… those would have been good starts. Now using reasonable deducing one might think this person is STILL a candidate to be a fan of the day. Maybe the celebrations have “just missed” and the “mushy-hearted”  fool is waiting to emerge. However, that is not the case. Then you explore the disappointed cynic and perhaps that is a part of my feelings too.

How did I get to this place? Well the greeting card industry had a great deal to do with it, but I am not going to bash them. There have been times that I believed I would be better served in that very industry, the flip side of that is I have made myself indifferent due to an industry filled with something I have an on-going love affair with, WORDS.

In elementary school you may recall little heart shaped cards and  hard pastel colored candy that were associated with the day. Nothing noteworthy happened here, that is until the tuggings of adolescence began to surface. At first mostly girls gave valentines and some boys, with their mother’s insistence participated. Then you could see the popularity contests start. It went from everyone in the class to actually recognizing fond feelings, friendship or budding “puppy-love”. You were either giggling about the reality of it, fantasizing about it, or feeling isolated for a lack of it. I spent a great deal of time in the fantasy realm where it was safe. Allowing me to protect my heart, but it happened. He came  mid-school year, I was in sixth grade, and he was the prettiest boy I had ever seen. He didn’t know I existed and as time went on I would hope that I had remained in that place, but I never forgot him.  He wasn’t particularly mean to me, he was being an eleven year old boy who was as guided by his hormones as he was by peer pressure.

The teen and early adult years would be a series of  near misses with  significant others or simply lack there of. The lukewarm would-be cynic began to develop and grow. Somewhere in between there were some really special ones for me, ones that will remain in my heart and mind forever.

Therefore, I felt compelled to research Saint Valentine, whom of we have to thank for the name of our sentimental fool’s holiday. He was beheaded.  I am laughing as I bluntly put that out here, for while this was not intended to be a super serious piece it was not the intention to poke fun at either. Irony at it’s roots.

Finally and all put aside; I truly hope your Valentine’s Day is filled with chocolate hearts, beautifully worded poems and the sweet embraces of the one who holds the key to your heart. That is a sincere heart-felt wish.

Ahhhh..Mondays

Whether you listened to them or not we grew up with groups that bemoaned this day of the week. “The Carpenters”-Rainy Day and Mondays, “The Mamas and the Papas”-Monday, Monday  come to my mind first and foremost; no one I can think of right off hand has written a song saying  YEAH Monday, can’t hardly wait! Today I am feeling all the dread associated with this day of the week.

It began about 7:15a.m. I saw the light filtering  in from my bedroom and bathroom windows, and my thought was,” Oh No…..” Once again the weekend had flown by and all I was left with was another MONDAY. From my “Facebook” posts  I wasn’t alone.

I don’t know why this Monday January 30,2012 was so very bad. I certainly have seen worse ones. By that I mean I was faced with things that would actually contribute to a bad day, while this Monday was simply bad  because.. Maybe it was because I didn’t get enough sleep, maybe it was because it was the last Monday in the month, maybe it was bad because I was looking for a reason to feel bad and Monday just happened to be available.

Happily I can report it did get better. Once I started the day, once I realized Monday was not going to disappear because I wasn’t ready for it to be, my universe returned to “normal”. I had to come to grips with as bad as I may have thought my Monday was and facing the day ahead, it sure beat the heck outta the option of not being able to face that same Monday.

The day far behind me and nothing significant to report. Either consciously or unconsciously I did not let a particularly bad start direct the remainder of my day.  I submit this to you; if your day starts off bad, make a decision and take a stand. Do not become one of those folks who lets things happen, and  the only thing they have available to contribute is a complaint.

You Already Know The Answer

I have been so fortunate to be put in contact with and befriended by some pretty fabulous, bright, smart, insightful, intelligent people. However, I have also be plagued with the misfortune of encountering their polar opposites. When I am in contact with the ones I find less desirable, it is very difficult to call upon my resources and remember they are only one aspect of my people dealings.

Living in the south only a “transplant” understands my plight. Though it was a path I chose willingly, it  periodically challenges my entire being. My “Yankee” friends probably are imagining all sorts of menacing horrors, but I can and do assure them it really isn’t more than a minor annoyance. Yet it is /they are annoyances just the same.

The election years are always thought provoking and amazing. A few days ago a couple of neighbors that I would consider civil were reduced to the mindless drone classification. Now that is okay, because they were never very far from that position in the first place.  Yet it is disheartening just the same. I ask how can adults behave in such a childish way?

History if for nothing else will have to record like it or not that Barack Obama was the first president of these United States Of America of obvious African American decent. President Obama is a black man, for the people who have “challenges” and “issues”. He has provided certified documentation of his birth, he has stated he is a christian, and in spite of the frivolous accusations and distractions he has done/is doing his job. I ask how can people be so uninformed?

On the eve of my Sabbath; a day that I proudly proclaim, my church would make Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  smile for it is NOT  a party to “Segregated Sunday”, I am writing about an overall feeling of unrest.  Plagued by the question who will I be sitting next to in church?

I am comforted with a video slideshow, that was sent to me a couple days ago by a high school classmate, of President Obama on  election night 2008. Images as diverse as the world we live in; faces with smiles, faces with tears, faces with hope. I remind myself where I was, how I felt. Irony interrupts my thoughts with the images of another time and place and the words of, not a poet laureate , nor a head of state come to mind. “Can’t we all just get along?” Tonight my answer saddens me.

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