Constant conflict.
Both sides are always right, both are always wrong.
Lean one way, and you lean with the weight of the world.
Lean the other, and you can't keep your ground.
Constantly searching.
A separation.
Magnet, drawing in, trying to click and find the other half.
A matchless sock.
Constant expectations.
Proud public face.
Dynamic, influential, inspiring.
Follow me.
Constant turmoil.
Always searching.
Always off-balance.
Dark, tumultuous heart
hidden from view at all times.
Ecstatic and exuberant
and
simultaneously
Brooding and macabre.
Constant confusion.
No one knows what to do with you.
You don't know how to explain.
As you try and speak and express
you silence and stifle yourself.
So tired, ready to sleep.
But so energetic, ready to go.
Push and pull.
Crash and burn.
Get it together.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Naked raisins
Upon chit-chatting with a friend in Holland, the topic of traveling one another's country came up. She is coming to the United States in the spring, and I gave her the following advice, bearing the most recent screening approaches we're adopting in mind, "Just don't wear any shoes, underwear, bras, clothing, liquids... coming into the US, I'd dehydrate myself like a naked raisin."
I said it with snarky sarcasm, but then I got to thinking... that really is what we're going to be reduced to. As I tweeted the other day, the one positive thing about this is that there will be no question about what a "normal" body type will be in this country. The naked body scans may very well quell the fears of girls all over the world with body dysmorphic disorder. We'll see all the undergarments used to pull in people's guts, reduce their thighs, boost their boobs, enlarge junk in various trunks. There will be no hiding that we don't all have airbrushed bodies like on the cover of "Sports Illustrated" and, try as we might to pass ourselves off as their competition, we're all just as lumpy and dumpy as the next one.
Of course, I really hope that's the case. Because if it's not, then I'm going to feel like a potato.
I said it with snarky sarcasm, but then I got to thinking... that really is what we're going to be reduced to. As I tweeted the other day, the one positive thing about this is that there will be no question about what a "normal" body type will be in this country. The naked body scans may very well quell the fears of girls all over the world with body dysmorphic disorder. We'll see all the undergarments used to pull in people's guts, reduce their thighs, boost their boobs, enlarge junk in various trunks. There will be no hiding that we don't all have airbrushed bodies like on the cover of "Sports Illustrated" and, try as we might to pass ourselves off as their competition, we're all just as lumpy and dumpy as the next one.
Of course, I really hope that's the case. Because if it's not, then I'm going to feel like a potato.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
I am surrounded by amazing people
I really am. When I think about the diseases, the illnesses, the strife and struggles of so many people in my circle, I'm amazed at how much they have survived. They are pillars of strength. Beacons of their family. Some have faced death straight on, and by the grace of God, their family, and all they had in them, beat odds and walked away. Has life been easy for them after? No. (Why should it have been?) But they go on. They inspire.
They amaze me.
Does anyone have any concept of how impossible it is to be surrounded by such people? And, yet, at the same time, impossible to walk away? To not want to be in their midst? But to know you are simply too small to be there?
By comparison, it seems like what is enough to just make me throw up my hands and scream, "Uncle!" is so ridiculously miniscule compared to what these incredible people have gone through. What kind of a shallow, discontented monster am I to be ready to throw the towel in over something so inconsequential in comparison!
I'm a selfish rube.
I'm told to appreciate what I have. But how can you appreciate what you have when it's not what brings you joy? It's like giving chocolate to a drowning man. Yes, chocolate is incredible. And most people would be ecstatic to be handed a box of chocolate. But the man is drowning. What the hell is he going to do with chocolate? No matter how high the quality?
There are days, like today, when I am clearly not worthy to be in the presence of these people. I am completely undeserving. I'm a stupid, pratty peon.
I wish there were a way I could transfer what they see as valuable to them. They'll appreciate it far more than I ever will.
They amaze me.
Does anyone have any concept of how impossible it is to be surrounded by such people? And, yet, at the same time, impossible to walk away? To not want to be in their midst? But to know you are simply too small to be there?
By comparison, it seems like what is enough to just make me throw up my hands and scream, "Uncle!" is so ridiculously miniscule compared to what these incredible people have gone through. What kind of a shallow, discontented monster am I to be ready to throw the towel in over something so inconsequential in comparison!
I'm a selfish rube.
I'm told to appreciate what I have. But how can you appreciate what you have when it's not what brings you joy? It's like giving chocolate to a drowning man. Yes, chocolate is incredible. And most people would be ecstatic to be handed a box of chocolate. But the man is drowning. What the hell is he going to do with chocolate? No matter how high the quality?
There are days, like today, when I am clearly not worthy to be in the presence of these people. I am completely undeserving. I'm a stupid, pratty peon.
I wish there were a way I could transfer what they see as valuable to them. They'll appreciate it far more than I ever will.
What 2009 taught me...
- Just because you are related by blood, you are not family. In fact, good reason to sever any and all ties.
- Trust no one. Least of all your feet.
- When your gut tells you it's safe, it's not.
- Go back to 1992. Do not leave. Whatever you do.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
18 is supposed to be for life...
18 years ago, right now, give or take a minute, a bottle of Western Loganberry Clearly Canadian sparkling water fell out of my hands and onto the Commons floor. 18 years ago, right now, I was wearing a cranberry sweater, white turtleneck, favorite pair of jeans, my "shit-kicker" army boots, my black trenchcoat, a black backback, a burgundy hand-tooled leather purse, hair pulled back and still damp, but I felt naked and raw surrounded by a room full of people staring at me, watching my every move. Making sure I was breathing. For a moment, I wasn't. For a moment, my heart stopped.
18 years ago was the last time I could sing "Silent Night" without crying.
18 years ago was the last time Christmas carols were beautiful to me.
18 years and 1 day ago, I had my last conversation with him. And the last words that escaped my mouth were said in anger, but felt with love.
18 years ago, I had to tell my closest friends, aside from him, that he was gone. I'd become a verbal pall bearer.
18 years ago was a day that was supposed to be the highlight of high school for me. It was supposed to be the biggest event of my senior year - bigger, to me, than prom or graduation.
18 years ago was the last day that I thought snow was beautiful.
18... 18... 18... this doesn't add up. 18 is supposed to be for life.
18 years ago was the last time I could sing "Silent Night" without crying.
18 years ago was the last time Christmas carols were beautiful to me.
18 years and 1 day ago, I had my last conversation with him. And the last words that escaped my mouth were said in anger, but felt with love.
18 years ago, I had to tell my closest friends, aside from him, that he was gone. I'd become a verbal pall bearer.
18 years ago was a day that was supposed to be the highlight of high school for me. It was supposed to be the biggest event of my senior year - bigger, to me, than prom or graduation.
18 years ago was the last day that I thought snow was beautiful.
18... 18... 18... this doesn't add up. 18 is supposed to be for life.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Encouraged or Discouraged
On my other blog, ricalivestrong.blogspot.com, I'm chronicling my efforts as a LIVESTRONG Leader and LIVESTRONG Challenge particpant aiming for the Ride For The Roses. (What is the "Ride For the Roses"? From the LIVESTRONG website: What is Ride for the Roses Weekend?
Ride for the Roses Weekend is a celebration of LIVESTRONG's most enthusiastic supporters. Team LIVESTRONG participants who raise a minimum fundraising level of $10,000 by October 1 at 9 a.m. CST are invited participate in Ride for the Roses Weekend (held in conjunction with LIVESTRONG Challenge Austin) October 22-24, 2010) Why am I shooting for the Ride For the Roses? Two very good reasons. First, I want to raise as much money as possible for a charity I believe in. But, secondly, it's the only way that I can afford to attend. I can't afford the airfare, nor can I afford the hotel.
To make things even more "interesting," my son has decided to join me. Which means that he, too, would need to qualify in order for us to afford the practicality of participating in the Austin Challenge.
Through an AMAZING turn of events, a fellow (and far more established blogger, Eldon "Fat Cyclist" Nelson), wrote a humorous letter to Johan Bruyneel, the Team Director for Lance's new Team RadioShack, requesting consideration as a new team member. Johan responded, with what seemed to be a near impossible feat - to raise $25,000 for LIVESTRONG and $25,000 for the World Bicycle Relief in less than a week. Fat Cyclist did it in less than 3 days. $50,000+ raised in less than 3 days.
Don't get me wrong - I am NOT begrudging him his victory. Not one bit.
But, my goodness. How amazing would it be for me to be able to do that? To be able to tell my son (and daughter, who'd be coming with my comp-guest pass (she's not riding, therefore, she wouldn't need to earn her own Ride for the Roses incentive), that we could take it easy for the rest of the year?
Ride for the Roses Weekend is a celebration of LIVESTRONG's most enthusiastic supporters. Team LIVESTRONG participants who raise a minimum fundraising level of $10,000 by October 1 at 9 a.m. CST are invited participate in Ride for the Roses Weekend (held in conjunction with LIVESTRONG Challenge Austin) October 22-24, 2010) Why am I shooting for the Ride For the Roses? Two very good reasons. First, I want to raise as much money as possible for a charity I believe in. But, secondly, it's the only way that I can afford to attend. I can't afford the airfare, nor can I afford the hotel.
To make things even more "interesting," my son has decided to join me. Which means that he, too, would need to qualify in order for us to afford the practicality of participating in the Austin Challenge.
Through an AMAZING turn of events, a fellow (and far more established blogger, Eldon "Fat Cyclist" Nelson), wrote a humorous letter to Johan Bruyneel, the Team Director for Lance's new Team RadioShack, requesting consideration as a new team member. Johan responded, with what seemed to be a near impossible feat - to raise $25,000 for LIVESTRONG and $25,000 for the World Bicycle Relief in less than a week. Fat Cyclist did it in less than 3 days. $50,000+ raised in less than 3 days.
Don't get me wrong - I am NOT begrudging him his victory. Not one bit.
But, my goodness. How amazing would it be for me to be able to do that? To be able to tell my son (and daughter, who'd be coming with my comp-guest pass (she's not riding, therefore, she wouldn't need to earn her own Ride for the Roses incentive), that we could take it easy for the rest of the year?
Monday, November 23, 2009
Epiphany
For years, I've wondered about the notion of "only the good die young". In my life, I've known amazingly good people who have died too young. (One of whom, I'll be remembering very soon on December 15.)
Why is it that the "bad" outlast the good? And how do we know if there is a hell?
I think I figured it out.
The "good" die young to leave the "bad" behind. And hell is having to live out life without their presence. Hell isn't fire and brimstone and demons and pointy tails. It's the constant questions of "why them and not me?" It's "what's wrong with me, that they never stay?" "If I'm so great, so amazing, so strong, why am I always the one left behind? What did I do wrong and how can I fix it?"
The fact that those answers are never given is hell. You will die never having those answers.
That's the definition of hell.
Who knew that one of my favorite blonde jokes would, indeed, be my greatest undoing...
"How do you keep a blonde in suspense?"
Why is it that the "bad" outlast the good? And how do we know if there is a hell?
I think I figured it out.
The "good" die young to leave the "bad" behind. And hell is having to live out life without their presence. Hell isn't fire and brimstone and demons and pointy tails. It's the constant questions of "why them and not me?" It's "what's wrong with me, that they never stay?" "If I'm so great, so amazing, so strong, why am I always the one left behind? What did I do wrong and how can I fix it?"
The fact that those answers are never given is hell. You will die never having those answers.
That's the definition of hell.
Who knew that one of my favorite blonde jokes would, indeed, be my greatest undoing...
"How do you keep a blonde in suspense?"
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