Some Words...

My father told me once that the hardest task to accomplish as a parent is being the person you want your children to grow up thinking you were. I think the hardest thing to accept as a grown up is finding out your parents were not the person you grew up knowing them to be. It wasn't until having a child of my own that I really understood what he meant by that statement. When you become a parent even the tiniest mole hills appear to be mountains under the microscope your child is holding over you. My opinion I had of myself changed drastically after hearing my child repeat every word she heard coming from my mouth. Most of us rarely listen to what we say. We speak, sometimes we think first, but most of the time once the words leave our mouths they are gone and the ownership of those words goes with them. I won't say that having a child forces you to re-evaluate what you say but I will say that it should. Some of us live up to the challenge while others simply don't care. I don't want to be one of those 'other' parents. When I heard my sweet girl tell our dog to 'Shut Up' I gasped...shut up doesn't sound very nice when it's coming from the mouth of a two year old. Actually, that word doesn't sound very nice coming from my mouth either, but I never noticed because I do that bad thing...I don't listen to what I'm saying. So I made a mental note, remember to say "be quiet", it sounds much nicer. And I thought I was doing ok, I was a proper role model but then we were in the car and someone pulled out in front of me, "You are so stupid," I yell. "Stupid," comes from a tiny voice behind me. My God I am a horrible person, I just taught my child to say stupid. Let me tell you there is nothing in this world more capable of causing you to listen to yourself than a child. Maybe that's what we need in this world, more children sitting on the jury's that judge who we are. Nobody spots a phony quicker than a child. I don't want to be phony, I want to live up to every expectation that my child has of me. Your children become what you are so be what you want them to be.

Thank you all so much for the kind wishes on my daughter's birthday. The weekend was spent celebrating with family and I have to tell you that it amazes me how the presence of a child can bring so much love into any situation. Although the weekend was more about Alice's birthday it was hard to deny the fact that this was the last celebration my step dad will have in his home. Somehow I managed not to cry while I was around him, mostly I found strength from knowing that if he saw me cry he might actually remember that in a couple of weeks he'll be leaving all that is familiar to him. Can you imagine leaving the home you've known for so long, the bed you sleep in, the stairs that you walk every morning which lead you to a life you've become accustomed to? As much as I try to imagine it, I can't. I take it for granted that this world I know is mine for keeps. It hasn't always been that way, there were times in my life when I didn't know if the place I laid my head at night would be the same the next day. Those choices were mine, it was me that made the decision to run away from my life. When my daughter saw her "Papa," she ran to him and hugged his neck, planting kisses on his face. As he stood there hugging my sweet child I made a promise to myself and to her that I'd never let him forget how much we loved him. People can forget the road they've traveled, the people they have seen along the way, but the love, that's a memory we own forever.

Two years ago today I was laying in a hospital waiting to have my first child. I remember that day just like it was yesterday. I remember the pain of the epidural being administered, the pain of the needle that they had to stick in my back 6 times before they got it in the right spot. I remember being anxious not because I was scared of going through labor, but because I was scared of being a mom. In all of my life I never was responsible for any other human being other than myself, and most times I failed that task miserably. When I found out I was pregnant I was sort of in shock. I had resolved myself to the fact that I'd probably never be a parent because I'd never found that person or at least didn't find them at the right time, to make me think I'd actually be so lucky to have a family of my own. Although the relationship I was in was a good one, it was still fairly new at only 7 months old. As you know, it's hard enough to make relationships work all by themselves, add in the extra pressure of bringing a life into this world and they become more complicated in a matter of minutes. As surprised as I was at being preggy, there was never a moment that I thought, "I can't do this." From the very second that I knew a life was growing inside of me, I loved that little piece of me I couldn't yet see. My significant other didn't feel the same, he was scared, confused, not ready to be a father and although he eventually came to support me, it was a very long road getting there. I was alone most of my pregnancy, not physically but emotionally. My parents supported me, my friends were awesome, but I was on the edge of this cliff teetering, not knowing whether I'd end up a single parent or not. I was successful in my career, I made enough money, I knew that somehow I'd get through it all. But it was hard, I felt abandoned. As much as I wanted love to be enough, in reality, it's never enough. I spent so much time talking to my child, telling that little being that I'd love them enough for two parents but I was scared that I'd fail. I'd come from a broken home and although my mother used to say the same thing to me, I'd always felt cheated that my father wasn't present in my life more. Would my child end up resenting me? Well, things worked out. The man I fell in love with eventually became the man I could depend on but there's always going to be this significant difference between us where it comes to our child. I loved her from the second I knew she existed, he loved her when he saw her come into this world.

So there I was 8 hours into labor and all I could think about was if this child would love me when she came into this world. A good friend of mine said something to me before my daughter was born that I will remember for the rest of my life. She said, "you've been searching for that love of your life and pretty soon, you are going to meet her." When I heard my child cry as she entered this world it was like I was hearing music for the first time. They placed her in my arms, her eyes were wide open and she just stared at me, as if she'd been waiting for me just as long as I'd been waiting for her. "I've been waiting so long to meet you," I said. I held her closer than I've ever held any human being on this earth and that missing piece of my heart that I'd been searching for ...well let's just say that for the first time, I was whole.

Happy birthday to my dear Alice Margaret. Sometimes I feel selfish because I want to keep you all to myself, live in your laughter, drown my sorrows in your smiles. I know that I must share you because this world needs another reason to believe that love really can be enough.

If I could hold time in the palm of my hand...

I would rewind life to the parts you remember.
I would slow the hands to a pace where I could see the important parts of life more clearly.
I would make time less of a requirement and more of a benefit.
I would give you more and I would take less.
I would pause time in the parts of life I can't understand.
I would stop time so it would never be time for you to go.

If I could hold time in the palm of my hand I would, but I can't and so, time goes on as we wonder where it went.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

You were not invited. Through the windows of his soul you came as quietly as a thief, searching his possessions, taking what seemed useful, leaving behind half empty boxes. Pictures of his life thrown carelessly by the wayside, barren walls reflecting the cruelty of it all, shining a spotlight on what no longer remains. He stands there - confused. Was someone here before? Where did his life go? Why can't he remember? He laid it there on the nightstand, his self-respect, but now that's gone too. You couldn't leave anything behind, could you? The things you take, the objects that litter the backseat of your car, they are just fragments that are meaningless to you - to him they are moments that define him. The faces once drawn in pencil on the canvas of his mind, have been erased yet tiny specs of dust remain to cast a shadow on his last bit of hope. He can almost see it, his past. But the moments seem to slip so quickly from reality that some part of him wonders if he ever really existed at all. Was he real? We tried to make you give back those things you stole. But thieves have no conscience. You were not invited so please, go home.

Some of you may have read about my step father having Alzheimers, some of you may be reading this post wondering what the hell I'm talking about. The truth is that sometimes even my own mind feels burglarized but somehow I'm still whole. Tonight my mother told me that the time has come to put this magnificent man into a nursing home. The mere sound of those words clash so violently against my heart that I can almost feel it breaking inside my chest. I knew it was coming, that time. But I've become so good at pretending that I actually thought somehow, he'd get better. Better at remembering. Better at dressing himself. Better at being - the man I love so dearly. But he can't. I want you to know that this life we have, whether it's one you are thankful for or not, it's one you will want to remember some day. Remembering makes you free, forgetting ties you to a prison you will never escape. I hope that no matter what the memory, you always choose to remember. Some day, you might not have a choice.

I've been taking some guitar/song writing lessons, partly so I can finish putting music to a bunch of songs I wrote, and partly because I've felt the need lately to find that part of myself I seemingly lost when I became a mother. Being a parent is wonderful but whether you want it to or not, it takes away or covers up some parts of your former self. I suppose sometimes that's a good thing. Parenthood can teach even the most selfish of us to put someone else first but there are parts of me, bits and pieces, that I really liked about my old self. I considered myself somewhat of an artist, I wrote poetry and lyrics, I painted, I did things with my hands (get your mind out of the gutter). Before Alice, my edges were more defined. In a sense I had an outline of myself, one that took me thirty some years to trace, but slowly and sometimes painfully, I discovered how to make myself whole. I'm not saying that when I had a child I lost a part of myself, rather I misplaced it. As much as being a mother fills me up, it cannot be the one and only ingredient in my life. So slowly I've been reclaiming some of that old me and I have to tell you it feels wonderful. Some of us have spent a life time running away from who we are, from those pieces that sometimes define us. That distance you travel can seem endless but what I've discovered is that the journey back can take even longer.

On April 30, 1789, George Washington, stood on the balcony of Federal Hall on Wall Street in New York, and took his oath of office as the first President of the United States. "As the first of every thing, in our situation will serve to establish a Precedent," he wrote James Madison, "it is devoutly wished on my part, that these precedents may be fixed on true principles." Principles are what this country was supposed to be built on, is it? Most of you probably don't know that I'm actually quite a political buff. I'm opinionated but educated because one of the most dangerous things to be, is a person with an opinion with no reason or cause to back it up. I'm not about to tell you what my political beliefs are, they're mine and I choose to believe in them not preach them. In this country we each inherited the right to have opinions. What we don't have is the right to force our opinion on someone else. We can express it, we can voice it but we cannot or never will have the right to hate, to criticize, to harm, to discriminate against someone because their opinion differs from ours. It's called freedom and as much as I'd like to believe we all know that, I know that's not the case. Regardless of what you believe, in this country you have the right to own it, to voice it, to express it. Why don't we cherish that as much as we claim to? When you form a like or dislike of someone else based on what their political beliefs are, you are taking away the very thing the soldiers of this country defend, freedom. Every single day of your life you have a choice. A choice to live, a choice to die, a choice to love, a choice to hate, a choice to make a choice. Some may not believe that because they've allowed their circumstances to rob them of choice. In reality, even that is a choice. Regardless of where you come from, how much money you have, the color of your skin, how big your house is or how small, you have the same rights as me. When you reach a certain age you get to vote who you want to lead this country. Your vote may not always be with the majority but that's just life, we don't all agree on the same things do we? Then why when something doesn't match our own opinions do we stomp our feet, throw our hands in the air, curse the existence of another human being simply because they used their vote differently? Recently I sat at work and listened to a couple of coworkers talk about how stupid people are that have certain political beliefs. What surprised me was not their opinions of what qualifies as stupidity, it was their arrogance in thinking that they actually had the right to set those standards.

I want to say it again, the quote from George Washington as he took the very first oath of office, "As the first of every thing, in our situation will serve to establish a Precedent," he wrote James Madison, "it is devoutly wished on my part, that these precedents may be fixed on true principles." I guess the real question here is which principles you are going to uphold, the ones that protect our right to have an opinion, or the ones that take it away.

Happy President's Day.

My sig. other wrote something for me, left it lay upon my pillow. He's not usually a romantic man so when I read his words they made me cry. I wasn't sad, I was surprised. I thought I knew everything about him, everything he would or wouldn't do, but this time, I was wrong. Sometimes it really is nice not to know everything. I wanted to share his words with you simply because they seem too beautiful to keep to myself.

Know that...
When you do amazing or mundane things for us, and we forget to thank you...you are still appreciated.
When you feel out of control or vulnerable, you are our rock.
When you feel all alone, you are our family.
When you yearn for more time, you have an eternity with us.
When you do anything or nothing and you are just who you are, you are loved.

His words may not seem pretty to some, but to me they had the most beautiful glow that warmed my heart. I realized something after I read his words. All those times that I feel taken advantage of, unappreciated, and over looked, those are really just the times that I've forgotten to open my eyes. I wonder why it's so hard sometimes to see what's standing right in front of you.

These feet were made for walking.
Walking into lives, and inevitably out of some.
These feet were made for standing.
Standing on my own, and sometimes hanging on to someone else.
These feet were made for journeys.
Journeys far from home, and ones that bring me back home again.
These feet were made for running.
Running to something, not from something.
These feet were made so that when I'm too big for mommy to carry,
I'll have two things to stand on.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

If success were measured by how many things in your life turned out the way you thought they would, some would consider me a failure. Life can be so difficult. It can be disappointing. It can be down right unfair. Isn't it unfair that we all don't get what we expect? Or is the unfairness in the fact that we have expectations at all? Who told us to do that, expect things? Every self help book you pick up tells you that you must have expectations because if you don't, you'll find disappointment around every corner. Isn't that backwards? We learn to expect things from people. Expect them to love us the way we want them to. Expect them to know us better then we know ourselves even though we refuse to really let - them -know - us. We expect for people to be everything we want them to be simply because, it's what we expect. What would happen if we had no expectations? Would we live a life without disappointment? Would love be easier because it just exists or doesn't and we never expect it to be one or the other, it just is...or isn't. Would life be a success because it met every single one of...well you wouldn't have expectations so life would just be. Where would happiness go? What would happiness be? If we never expect for something to turn out the way we wanted it to, when it did, would we still be happy? There are so many questions, most of which I have no answers. I'm a thinker, as painful as it is sometimes I question things. I want to be happy but in all honesty, I'm afraid as hell to expect it to happen. My life isn't horrible. I have a beautiful daughter who is my sun and moon and most days that's enough. But sometimes I remember that old me, the one that made lists, the one who expected things. I always come back to a line in a song that I came across, "I wanted life to be an easier proposition, but it isn't. I wanted to be perfect but I'm not. I wanted love to last forever, but it doesn't. Things change." Maybe the irony in it all is that as much as we long for things to change, we really just want them to stay the same.

In my thirty some odd years of living there is one thing I can say for certain, I know myself. It wasn't always that way, or maybe it was but I too often questioned my own instincts. I lost faith in what I knew and who I knew, myself. I used to wonder where that came from, the doubting myself, but then I figured it out. We learn to question what we know or how we feel because of other people. I read a post on NYM's blog the other day about people that lie and not being able to forgive someone once they lie to you. I have to agree with her because when people lie to you it causes you to doubt yourself. You trust someone to be honest with you and when they are not, there's only one fool left standing. Lies hurt twice. Once when their told and once when they are discovered. Knowing this rarely prevents us from telling lies, even the small ones. Maybe we tell them because we think no one will get hurt, maybe we think no one will ever really know, but that in itself is a lie. Lies eventually come back to the place they started. Although I've been lied to many many times in my life I've learned how to separate someone's lies from determining how much I trust myself. The thing is, when I listen to my heart, when I remember that I truly know myself, lies don't work anymore. Lies only have as much power as you give them and if you reduce them to what they are, useless words, they lose power to define who you are.

Recently someone lied to me, the words matter less than the reason. As I stood there watching their mouth form the words I knew were not true, I had to step back from it all, step back from the black cloud that was sure to hang over my head. When I took that step backward, the only words I could hear were the ones in my head telling me to walk away. I know that if I stayed I'd end up believing those lies, not because I'm gullible, because I'm compassionate. I want to believe in other people as much as I believe in myself but the fact is, some people don't deserve that loyalty. Walking away from people who cannot be honest will save you many sleepless nights and a whole lot of pain. It doesn't matter if you walk away before you hear the lie or after, it matters that you walk away when you discover it. Staying, will take away the most important thing you'll ever have, faith in yourself.

Inside your heart there should be love.
Not love put there by someone's actions.
Love put there despite of them.
Inside your heart there should be faith.
Faith that love can exist.
Even when we lose faith.
Inside your heart there should space.
Space to grow.
Space to redefine what love means.
Inside your heart there should be a list.
A list of reasons.
Reasons to celebrate the love.
Inside your heart.
Inside your heart there should be scars.
Hearts that never break.
Are hearts that never learn how to be whole.
Inside your heart there should be no expectations.
Expectations that hinder your ability to accept love.
Hinder your ability to feel love.
Inside your heart there should be hope.
Hope that inspires.
Hope that motivates.
Inside your heart there should be forgiveness.
Forgiveness for the person you are hardest on.
Yourself.
Inside your heart there should be something.
Something other than muscle and tissue.
Something other than pain.
Inside your heart you will find it.
Love that is.
Inside your heart you will search for it.
For the love you've misplaced.

No matter how small your bed physically is, it can seem boundless. A place where you can get lost beneath the covers you've gathered around you, hoping that the tighter you pull them, the less afraid you'll feel. Our bed can be the place we retreat to when we want to escape from something, a broken heart, a broken spirit, a broken mind. When you are in a relationship...or not, you may invite someone to your bed in hopes that they will intrude on your space. You offer up your once sanctuary and in an instant, your bed becomes something else all together. But as time goes on and the love becomes more familiar, lines are drawn, rules are set, and penalties apply for crossing them. You take ownership of one side and it's yours and no one can have it...not one single inch.

I'll admit that my bed has one single bold line down the middle and I spend most nights defending the borders of 'my country'. It's not that I don't love my SO (significant other) because I really do. I have learned that if I give too much, if I compromise the limits I've set, I will soon be clinging to the edge. I've fallen off that edge one too many times and I have the bruises to prove it. This past weekend my daughter was sick and she woke up screaming. Despite my best efforts to comfort her and place her back in her crib, her cries of "lay down with mommy," broke my will. I gathered her in my arms and brought her to our bed. I laid her down between us, on top of the line, and soon there were no borders, no rules, no boundaries. Two countries united for one cause. When I woke up in the morning with two little legs draped across my body I realized that some lines were made to be crossed. Sometimes we need to reach over to the other side, not to compromise someone's limits, but to expand them.

In seven more hours the door to my cell will open.
I've earned a 2 day pass with my loyalty and dedication.
Faces that have become so familiar will fade from my memory when I cross the finish line.
This machine that holds me hostage will lose power when I leave, without me it's just a box with nuts, bolts, and wires, it's just parts.
Parts are useless when they have no one to assemble them.
Maybe I'll glance over my shoulder one last time to remind me to be grateful for this pass I've earned.
It's so easy to take it for granted, freedom that is.
I'll smile when I walk through the door to my chosen reality.
If she runs to me I'll hug her, if not, it will be me that does the running.
When he reaches for me, I'll let him.
I won't pull away.
I won't create requirements on how to love me.
I will just be loved.
It will be enough.
Time will pass only as quickly as I let it.
Moments can last forever if you keep them in the right pocket.
My life will be full because I refuse to be empty.
And I will be.

I tried to post a photo for Half Nekkid Thursday but blogger decided it wasn't going to play nice so here I sit, posting without a photo. I started thinking about this half nekkid thing some of us do on Thursdays and although I get quite a giggle from it, honestly I think I've started taking the whole concept of being naked to a new level. I tend to like the photos posted that reveal something about a person on the inside; yes photos can do that. I write on this blog almost every day and my words leave me exposed, almost more than half way. So much of the time we all wear so many cloaks, not literally but figuratively. We cover ourselves up, the emotions we feel, the heart that's been damaged, the bodies that we've abused. What would happen if you tore off the mask, ripped back the covers and let someone see the scars and bruises that make you who you are? Would they turn away in disgust, probably not, but believing that would mean you'd have to trust in something and in someone. Trust can leave you half naked and that's scary. I think from now on I'm going to start posting photos on this Half Nekkid day that do not reveal the curves of my body but the surface of my soul. I have to wonder, which part of me you'd find more appealing, the bare skin or the naked heart.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Thanks for all the well wishes yesterday. I'm back at work today and although I'm not 100% at least my head is throbbing less. I hate that feeling you get when you have a cold, the fog that seems to surround your brain and makes even the simplest tasks ten times harder. Yesterday while loafing on my couch while my daughter's nanny kept her busy so mommy could rest, I started to think...dangerous thing to do when your hopped up on cold medicine. I started remembering other times in my life when my head felt 'foggy'. Times when I couldn't think clearly and it took all my efforts just to get out of bed in the morning. It wasn't always because I was sick, or at least not the kind of sickness that you can take medicine for. They were times that I sunk so low in depression that I just couldn't see through the haze of my life. The strange thing about those times is that everyone around me had no idea how lost I felt. People would always remark, "NWC you are so strong, how do you do it?" In actuality I wasn't strong, a strong person would have asked for help, I chose the easier task, hiding. I remember going through days and sometimes even weeks without lifting my head, or at least not lifting it high enough so that I could see that the grass was greener on the other side. The difference between the fog from a cold and the fog from depression is that when you have a cold you remember how it feels to have clarity. When you are depressed, all you see is what's around you, inside of you, on top of you - the weight of the world.

The past few days I've felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, maybe that's why I was reminiscing yesterday. Holding yourself up to everyone else's expectations is difficult enough to do when you're healthy and damn near impossible to do when you are sick. I know in theory that I cannot please everyone but knowing something and actually believing it are two different things. I wake up each morning and I tell myself that today is the day that I will start thinking differently. Today I will see through the fog. Guess what? From where I'm standing, the view is pretty darn clear.

Sorry I've been slacking on my blogging the past few days but I'm sick...again. I swear ever since having a child I've gotten sicker more than I ever have before. They are little germ mongers and it's impossible to keep my face away from her sweet cheeks. So..I suffer the consequences for snuggling my sweet girl. I'll be back up to par tomorrow so stay tuned....

This past weekend was Superbowl Sunday. Traditionally this is a day where people gather to watch football, whether they like the sport or not, drink, eat, be social. I can remember many of these celebrations and the hang hang-overs that came afterwards, but the past two years have been very different - I'm a mom now. I didn't know that when I had a child that most of my 'non-parent' friends would virtually disappear. It's almost as if I caught some disease and their afraid of coming too close for fear of catching it. Some friends remained but most didn't. Sure they still talk to you but the invites to parties and social gatherings become fewer in number. Sometimes I feel like I'm on the outside looking in, my nose pressed against the glass while I whisper, "I'm still me." I've always made friends very easily and I guess I took it for granted that they would still be my friends even after I had a child. I was wrong and honestly that really hurts. It's tough to keep friendships alive and even tougher to do it while balancing a career and motherhood. The friends that remained are precious to me but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the rest of them. Before I became a parent I had friends with children and I never looked at them differently, in fact I thought they had more than I could ever hope for. I know that I have to meet more people that have children, set play dates, have social gatherings where children are allowed, but it's hard and I don't have that much time to start all over again. I just can't figure out why I'm so different, or at least why I appear that way, now that I have a child. If I've changed at all, it has to be for the better. After all I now know how to be selfless.

This morning after I bought my coffee and bagel I walked by this guy laying on a garbage can. Really, he was spread out over the top of the garbage can...sleeping. I thought to myself, "Nasty, that has so many germs (the garbage can not the person, well ok the person probably had them too)." I kind of stared at him for a few seconds, I'd never seen a person sleeping on top of a garbage can. I've seen them many places, in boxes, on park benches, on the train, on the beach, on the ground - but never on top of a garbage can. When I finally was able to look away I continued on my journey to my job, the one that pays me lots of money, the one that allows me to spoil my daughter...and myself - sometimes. Just as I was about to walk into our brand new billion dollar building, I realized something. I've become something I promised I never would be, oblivious. When I saw that man laying on that garbage can, my first thought was of how much I was repulsed; thoughts of compassion never crossed my mind. I didn't feel sorry for him because he had no family, no home, no one to love him enough to give him shelter. I didn't wonder how he got to that place where the only bed he could find comfortable enough - was on top of a garbage can. I walk by homeless people every day. I see them when I leave my house, Harold is our alley bum and the only reason I know his name is because he told me once - while he wished me a good morning. How did it happen? How did I acquire selective sight? It isn't that I think I should take every homeless person I see into my home, or give them money, it's that I should at the very least give them an ounce of compassion instead of being repulsed by their existence. I should not be oblivious.

We're all guilty. We see people that are less fortunate than us and we give them nothing more than a sidewards glance because we don't want them to come too close. We're put out that we have to ride the train while smelling urine, we have to step over them to get to where - we need to be. We're annoyed that they are begging us for money while they stand on street corners in sub-zero temps. We are oblivious.

I'm not sure how to change you, how to change me, how to make it so that every single time I see someone that clearly has NO PLACE ELSE TO GO, that I find that place inside myself where compassion resides. That instead of looking in disgust, I look at them - not with pity, but with the loving heart that I know I have. I think posting this to my blog is a start, a small one, but still - a start.

When I was a little girl my mother would always make me hold her hand when we walked down the street. I remember wanting her to let me go, to let me be a grown up. When we're children one of the most important moments is when we finally get to cross the street on our own. When it came my time, I placed my little feet close to the edge of the curb and looked both ways to make sure it was safe. When my mother finally gave the go ahead, I carefully placed my foot on the street and began to walk across. When I finally made it to the other side, I waved to my mother and shouted, "Mommy, I did it - all by myself." That day my mother let go of my hand, I wonder if she knew that it was really and ending for her and a whole new beginning for me. When my own daughter places her little hand in mine part of me wants to hold on for dear life...partly so she'll cross the street safely...partly so I will.

Place your hand in mine and walk with me
I'll show you some things I've seen
Some things you'll take with you, tucking them gently inside yourself
Some things you'll lay along side the road while you forge your own path
I'll be here, watching for traffic
When you make it to the other side
Wave to me to let me know you arrived safely
I'll wave back to remind you - I knew you would

Happy HNT

Do you like this song playing in the background? It's Amos Lee and I discovered him awhile back. I love his voice, his words...and he's not bad to look at either. Just about every one of his songs touches me, makes me feel as though he's singing about my life. Isn't it amazing how a song can make you 'feel' something? I remember my first broken heart and the song that I kept playing over and over, "Hard to say I'm sorry," by the group Chicago. I played it so much that my mother finally came into my room, took the cassette tape and smashed it to bits. I was devastated but in a way, she did me a favor. Although music can move you it can make you 'stand still' at the same time. Music can keep you some place that you really need to leave behind but sometimes, it can carry you to some place better, if you let it. I have a hard time picking a favorite song but I've made it a point to pick a song almost every day that reflects how I feel, where I want to be, who I want to be. So far, it's making me feel a bit less 'damaged. Tell me, has there been music that has moved you, made you feel, made you hope, given you faith?

P.S. Remember if you like any of the music I have playing here...you can download it from the 'My Favorite Music' link on the sidebar.