Some Words...

When I was a little girl I prayed every night. My parents would come in my room, we'd kneel in front of my bed and they would listen to me thank God for the blessings in my life. As I got older my parents stopped coming to my room to make sure I said my prayers but even without their supervision, I still wanted to talk to God before I slept. There are a lot of people that remember saying their prayers when they were little. There are a lot of people that grew out of that practice, but I'm not one of them. Although I don't kneel beside my bed anymore, I do still talk to God every single night before I sleep. I don't really consider myself a religious person. I go to church, I pray, but I'm not someone who preaches my beliefs to the choir because for me, religion is personal. It is not something I wish to convince the world to believe in, it is not something that makes me better than someone who has no religion, it is something that makes me feel less alone in this world. When I started this blog I promised myself I wouldn't post about religion because it's not something I want to be debated. Yesterday I was speaking to a friend who is going through a hard time in her life. As I sat there listening my mind started to wander back to the moments in my own life when living seemed the most incredibly hard thing to accomplish. She asked me how I got through those times. Didn't I feel alone? Who did I talk to? Could anyone help me find hope to make through another day? I sat there briefly pondering her questions. I knew the answers but I was dangerously close to crossing the line I'd drawn. She needed me to answer - and so I did.

"When I was a little girl my parents told me that God was my friend. He was the ear that always listened. He had the arms that always held me. He had the mind that never judged. He had the heart that always forgave. He had the light that cleared my darkness. He had the coat that kept me warm. He had the answers when I was questioning. He had the hope when I was hopeless. He was my rock when I needed to lean. He was the hero when I needed saving. He was my map when I was lost. He was my mirror when I was vain. God was my friend." I told her about those times in my life where nothing seemed powerful enough to take away the pain. How I got down on my bare knees on a cold hardwood floor and sobbed until my chest hurt, begging God to save me. I told her that knowing and more importantly believing that there is some higher power holding you back from the edge, is the most rewarding belief you will ever put your faith in. She asked me how to start. "How to start what," I asked. "To start praying," she answered. "You start like this, talking from one friend to another." "And He'll listen," she asked. "He'll listen as long as you are willing to talk," I responded, "Friends are like that."

Life is about choice. Choices to leave. Choices to stay. The choice to run from something or the choice to face it head on. Some choices are made without foresight or contemplation. Some choices are pondered much too long and in your procrastination to make a choice, the choice is made by proxy. Some choices are full of regret, some cause us to be grateful. Some choices can change the course of many lives, some can ruin the life of one. A choice is not always yours by default, some never have a choice - to choose who their parents are, to choose who they love or who loves them, to choose safety over harm, to choose truth over lies. Some, take choice away from those most vulnerable, those too weak, those who rely on someone to love them enough to make the right choices.

One day in the life of you or me is roughly made up of at least ten choices. The choice to be in a good mood when you wake up tired from the night before. The choice to ignore the co-worker who treats you with disrespect. The choice to take a walk on your lunch hour or the choice to stay chained to your desk oblivious of the outside world. The choice to notice that the sun is shining or the choice to see only the clouds. The choice to wish upon stars or the choice to never notice they exist. The choice to share bits of your life with anonymous friends or the choice to keep it all to yourself. Some choices seem insignificant, some seem insurmountable, some come quickly, some never come at all. In all your choices, the ones you've made, the ones that have been made for you, which ones do you remember the most? Why not remember them all? Why not make the choice to make each one significant? Remember those who never live long enough to make any choice.

This post is dedicated to the two little girls who died within the last two weeks from stray bullets on the Westside of Chicago - one as she celebrated her surprise birthday party, one as she got ready for school. Death has stolen their choice. Be grateful people - make your choices with your eyes wide open.

My father sent me this...they are not his words but they are words he carries with him and he wanted to share them with me. Now, I want to share them with you.

" To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and
the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and
endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best
in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a
garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has
breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded."

How many of you can honestly say you have succeeded in this life? I hope that number is plentiful.

For many years I dreaded this day even though it seems almost sacrilegious to hate a day that celebrates my Irish heritage. When I was growing up this day meant some sort of legalized excuse for my father to take the day off work and get blitzed. He's Irish, the real kind, home grown from Belfast. It was in his blood, the tendency to drink that is. The rest of the days he was inebriated I had right to resent him but not this day, everyone gets drunk on St. Paddy's Day. I remember one year that my friends and I went to the parade then out bar hopping. I was pretty intoxicated by noon and as pleased as I felt with myself, I wasn't prepared to see my reflection staring back at me. As I sat there laughing with my friends I spotted my father sitting across the bar from me. He hadn't seen me but I saw him in all his drunken glory. He looked ridiculous throwing his head back in laughter, women hanging on him, slamming those beers one after another. My father is an alcoholic not only on St. Paddy's day, but every day. As anger swelled inside of me sounds echoed in my head. It was the sound of my own drunken laughter. I was my father, he was me. There is nothing more sobering than a reflection of disgust mocking you from the other side of the room. I left that bar, I left that place. I'm not an alcoholic but I believe it's because I'm always aware of who I could become if I let that path choose me.

This year is the first St. Patrick's Day that I don't dread. My father came up to see me about a week ago and he, my daughter, and I attended our first Chicago St. Patrick's Day parade, together. As I stood there watching my dad hold my sweet girl, kiss her cheeks, laugh a sober laugh that filled my heart with ease, I realized that my dad was giving me what he could, a day in his life where I was more important than booze. I caught a glimpse of the man I knew before that disease tainted my memories. My dad is still an alcoholic, that's something you don't erase, but he drinks less and more importantly he doesn't drink around me or my child. I've learned that sometimes you have to take what you can get and cherish it for what it is.

The picture above is the Chicago river which was dyed green a week ago in honor of St. Patrick's Day. I'll leave you with my favorite Irish blessing:

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been
the foresight to know where you're going
and the insight to know when you're going too far.

sometimes I like to peer inside your windows
hoping to catch a glimpse of who you might become
will you be strong enough to survive this world
or will you run and hide the same as I
I see you so deep in thought and part of me wonders
are those thoughts of me
will you grow up knowing how much you've changed my life
will it comfort you on the days you feel alone
when your heart is breaking
will you let me hold the pieces in my hands
can I teach you to be kind and compassionate
will you remember it always
what are you thinking my dear child
maybe some day you'll tell me

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

I am not a good sick person. After nursing my daughter back to health after her bout with the flu over the weekend, it would seem she's passed it on to me. I guess children share everything when they are young, it's not until they are older that they start keeping things all to themselves. I spent most of the night tossing and turning because it felt as if I were going to lose my cookies at any moment. I made it through the night but wasn't so lucky this morning. I rarely take time for myself but today I'm in desperate need. What I really long to do is climb back in my bed, pull the covers up to my nose, and sleep until tomorrow. But as I said I'm a bad sick person because here I am sitting at work. I had too much to do, too many people relying on me, too many things...period. When I go home I'll have a little girl wanting me to play Barbies and make animals out of playdoh, I'll have a sig. other who has mysteriously made it through 34 years of life without learning to cook himself a meal. I'll have responsibilities that don't go away just because I'm sick. It's kind of unfair isn't it? Life should pause itself or at least go in slow motion when we're not feeling up to dealing with it. Maybe what I need to do is pick up life's darn remote control and push STOP. Why don't they invent TiVo for life? Hmmm, maybe I'll start working on that....see, there I go again, taking on more than I can handle.

Thanks to everyone for your well wishes yesterday. Although it was a hard day, it's done now and a new journey must begin. When my mom left the nursing home yesterday my step dad called her on her way home, "I don't belong here," he said, "these people are not like me." I thought about those words all of last night and I realized that seems to be the purpose of our lives, to belong somewhere. There are times in our lives when we feel alone. When we feel that we're the only stranger in a room full of people. Times when we try so hard to 'belong' that we end up not belonging to ourselves. Some of us travel miles on roads filled with heartaches and pain just to feel like we are part of something bigger than ourselves. We travel light leaving the parts of our identities that don't 'fit in' behind. And then one day when we're surrounded by those people we thought were like us, we realize that we've become a stranger to the one person we did belong to, ourselves.

I'll admit that most of my life I've wanted to be in a place where I thought I belonged, surrounded by people like me. I've hidden things about myself that others might not understand. I've pretended to be someone I'm not just so I could feel like someone they wanted me to be. In all those years of 'belonging' I realize now that I was always that stranger in the back of the room and no one noticed how out of place I really was. My life before, I didn't belong there. Those people that filled the rooms of my soul, they were not like me.

Before she hung up the phone she whispered the only words she could think of, "you belong in the hearts of all that love you and that's the only place worth being."

Belong somewhere - worth being.

As I walked out the front door this morning a warm fresh breeze danced across my face. It's been so cold here in Chicago that I'd almost forgotten how wonderful a warm breeze can feel. As the air filled my lungs I was hesitant to exhale, fearing that along with that breath the hope that came with it would disappear. I wanted to hold it in until my head swirled with euphoria casting a rose colored glow on the world that lay ahead of me. But my chest started to hurt and before I knew it I had to let it go. I took a deep breath trying to recapture some tiny bit of what I had before, but the moment had passed. Moments always pass don't they? But the memories of those moments lie somewhere between what is and what once was and if we're lucky enough, we can find more that resemble them.

Today my step father is going to his new home, the one filled with other people like him, people that try desperately to recapture the moments they are in much less the ones that have already passed. People that have a past yet can't remember it. People that are stuck between what is and what is tomorrow. My heart aches for him but I know this place is where he has to be. My hope is that when he walked out of his home today, a warm breeze caressed his face and he filled his lungs with moments. Moments of happiness, moments of love, moments when he was more whole than he is right now. Maybe tomorrow when he wakes up in a strange bed, a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, he'll find recognition when he exhales.

Some would say I'm lucky to have heard those words, "I love you," so many times in my life. Some would say I should feel special. I don't really. Maybe it's because most of the times I heard those words I rarely believed them to be true. People can tell you that they love you but really they are just words. They are nice to hear but if those words just hang in the air with nothing to hold them up, then they are meaningless. Some of us spend so much time trying to figure out if those words are meant or are real, the joy we should feel from them, disappears. I've had real love in my life, I think I have it now, but the knowing that it's real didn't come from hearing words; it came from the actions that came before and after them. There have been times that I relied on those words to protect me but as we all know words do not have that power. Words do not make things real. Actions do.

And then things change.

Last night as I was tucking my daughter into her bed she looked up at me with those eyes that reflect a perfect blend of her father and I. "I love you mommy." For the first time in my life words were enough. I never even had to ask if she meant it.

Sometimes I hide. I run for cover when things get tough hoping that if I hide well enough, no one will see me. I feel safe when I hide, invisible to the everyone. And then...someone comes along, steps on my tail and I realize I wasn't as well hidden as I thought I was. Even when we think they can't see us, we're really still - half nekkid.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Sometimes what I need to say escapes me. The words are in my head, swirling around like oil in water. I can write them, that part comes easily. To speak the things that populate my mind, that requires more effort. Most days I'm too tired to put forth the effort. Most days I am a drifter, hiding beneath the comfort of things I can control, running from the ones I can't. It's amazing how fast you can run from something yet still be in the same place when you stop to rest. Life follows you. Behind every door, through every darkened hallway, at the end of every bottle of booze, it's there waiting for you to see it, to experience it, to acknowledge it. So I'm standing here looking at the life that surrounds me in this room and part of me is scared to see it for what it is. But I'm here, still. I know I need to tell you what's in my mind but I'm not good at leaps of faith. I'm weak like that. How do I know that when my words leave their safe haven that you'll be there to catch them? Or will they fall clumsily to the floor and be swept away with the dust and the dog hair? If only you could see inside to read the words scrawled upon my walls, this would be easier. But who am I kidding, we people rarely look past the steel door at the entrance. Maybe if I opened it just a little so you could peer inside you'd be able to see that I'm not as silent as I seem.

Some times my heart feels heavy. Some times it feels as if it just can't withstand any more pressure, it's stretched beyond capacity. You can love someone yet still feel like they are a complete stranger. Doesn't seem possible does it? You can want to be with someone and they can want to be with you but in reality wanting something and having something are completely different. I'm not naive enough to believe that love is enough to make a relationship work. I know that successful relationships survive in spite of love not because of it. I want my relationship with my sig. other to be as strong as I know it can be. But my heart is heavy, the weight of his financial problems lay over me. As much as I try to make him responsible, I can't. I am not his parent, I am not his conscience, I am not and never will be - his savior. There have been many failed rescue missions in my life and I have no desire to add to that number. It's not that I don't love him enough to try, I have tried, but how many times can I bail him out until it's too many? I'm tired of getting penalized because I make more money. I've worked damn hard to be successful at my career and just because he earns a lower salary, does that make it my job to pay more of of our living expenses. I sound bitter don't I? Maybe part of me is bitter because I feel taken for granted. I want to love him. I want love to be enough. I want love not to cost so much. Is that possible?

When I was young my father would pick me up from school each day. When I got into his pickup truck he'd ask me, "What did you learn today." It wasn't an option to say, "Nothin'." I tried using that answer...Once. I'd sit there picking my brain trying to come up with something I'd learned but sometimes...actually most times, I couldn't think of anything to say. I tried making stuff up but as soon as my dad figured out my full proof plan he'd ask me to elaborate on my new found knowledge. My father was an English professor which allowed him to spot a Tall Tale a mile away, he knew fiction when he heard it. More than remembering the pressure of how it felt to be put in the hot seat, I remember how awful it felt seeing the disappointment in my father's eyes. He told me once that a day without learning something new, is a day I've walked through the world with my eyes and ears closed. Eventually I actually started thinking about what my answer would be before I got in the truck and I made it a point to pay attention to life so I'd catch any lesson that was thrown my way. My life has been spent learning. Sometimes the lessons were not easy ones, sometimes they left me feeling more ignorant then when I started out. But after the haze clears...the mind and the heart, each lesson was invaluable. Sometimes I try to remember the most important thing that I've ever learned but it's hard because there have been so many turning points in my life. If I had to pick just one I suppose it would be the day that I learned how to forgive. It was a lesson that saved me from myself.

How often can you sit down at the end of your day and think about something new you've learned? How often do you walk through the world with your eyes and ears closed because you think you've seen it all, you've learned all the lessons this life has to teach? How often do you challenge yourself to open up your eyes, your ears, your heart, and learn something? Those days when I stumble through the passing moments...those days are the ones I've wasted. I hate wasting things...this I've learned.

It's been three days since I gave up clutter for Lent. I have to admit that I'm not much of a material clutter kind of person. I hate having things strewn all over the counter tops, I can't stand misc. items like shoes, socks, underwear - littering the floor. I was brought up to believe that everything has it's place and the sooner you put something back where it belongs the easier you'll be able to focus on what's important. I know those lessons were actually about the kind of clutter you have in closets or the back seat of your car not the 'emotional clutter' that I'm working on cleaning up. But as I look back on all those times when my mother lectured me about how an organized closet could lead to an organized mind, I actually have to agree with her. As much of a clean freak as I am I tend to shove things into the crevices where no one can see them. My counters are clean, my bedroom spotless, but if you open the hall closet you will see all the things I couldn't find a place for, useless things. Every day I walk by this closet I avoid having to open it. When I see what's inside my heart starts to race, my breathing quickens, I feel - out of control. I hate clutter...I said that right? But as much as I can't stand seeing clutter out in the open, I've somehow come to believe it's ok if it exists in places no one looks. There are very few people in this world that will make an effort to open that hall closet door and look inside. It's not convenient, they don't really 'need' anything from inside so they pass by and look the other way and pretend - there is no clutter, there are only shiny surfaces that are pleasing to the eye. I suppose it all goes back to that old theory, out of sight out of mind. The thing about that hall closet is that eventually you will need something from inside. You will stand in front of the door and pause before you turn the handle. You will close your eyes because you are afraid of what might fall on top of you, things that may be so heavy the weight of them might crush you. As the door opens, nothing falls out. You turn the light on. For the first time you see that the things you hid behind that door are not nearly as useless as you thought they were. Everything has it's place, even clutter.

So much of my life has been spent looking in from the outside into a world that seemed foreign to me. I'd read how families were supposed to be - whole and peaceful but it was never part of my reality so I was skeptical that it could actually exist. Sometimes my friends would talk about their family outings, the ones with a mom and a dad and I remember being so jealous. I was like a peeping Tom, standing under the bushes outside a window hoping to catch a glimpse of this life I had no part of. The laughing, the love, the trust they had in each other would leave me feeling more like an outsider than I care to remember. Although both of my parents loved me, they were not together and they spent so much time fighting over me that sometimes I think they actually forgot what prize they were both trying to win. When I look back I think I became an independent person because I never wanted to rely on someone else to love me to make me feel whole. It took me years to realize that someone loving you isn't what makes you whole, it's knowing that you are worthy of that love that completes you.

My life is so different now and for the first time in a very long time I don't feel like that kid on the outside with her nose pressed against the glass looking into a life she thought she'd never have. Every now and then I still step outside myself, outside of my life, to get a better view of how much love I'm actually worthy of. I've come out from under those bushes, I've opened the door and stepped into my life. I never have to be on the outside looking in...ever again.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday

Today is the first day of Lent. Do you know what that means? Well it probably means diddly if you are not Catholic or Orthodox. Some of you probably celebrated Mardi Gras yesterday and I bet most of you didn't know the real reason that celebration originated. Fat Tuesday falls on the Tuesday before Lent. It's a day to 'live it up' before Ash Wednesday which marks the day you are supposed to start your 40 day journey of soul searching and repentance. I used to find it strange that although lent is supposed to be about finding some higher moral ground, the most common practice during Lent is to sacrifice something you really love or find hard to live without. I'm not sure why giving something up that you love, like sex or chocolate equates to soul searching. Unless maybe people find it hard to really see themselves or do any sort of repentance unless they are horny and devoid of sugar. I guess I can relate to that. There have been times in my life that sex overshadowed many truths. Like the times that I thought having sex with someone meant that they actually cared about me. Times that I thought having sex would actually fix problems that seemed unsolvable. Times that I thought having sex without emotion was just as pleasurable as when my heart was involved. I was wrong each and every single time. Maybe that's why we do it, give up something we think we can't live without, to prove to ourselves that clarity rarely comes without sacrifice. And the repentance part, I think that's about accepting what we find when that 40 day journey ends.

Today I'm starting my journey and for the next 40 days I'm going to sacrifice something I've been trying to get rid of for thirty some years. Clutter. I'm laying that load I've been carrying on my shoulders down by the roadside. I'm learning that it's hard to travel with so much baggage. Sometimes we hang on to so much junk.

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.

Sometimes my house is a zoo, literally. I have two dogs, two cats, a toddler, and a significant other...all living under one roof. I've always been one of those people that feels compelled to rescue things, friends, men, and animals. I've learned through my trials and tribulations to stick to the animal rescue part since animals seem much more grateful of my efforts. When I was a kid we lived out in the country and had about 7 acres of land so that afforded me quite a bit of space for my rescue missions. Twice I rescued baby rabbits after my dad mistakenly uncovered there nest while mowing, their mother wouldn't return after that so I took them in. I called a veterinarian to be sure I fed them the right milk. They were so little that I had to feed them with a dropper. When rabbits are babies they don't know how to swallow so you have to rub their little throats so they learn to swallow the milk. I built them a little house and filled it with the reminants of their nest so they'd feel close to their mama. I loved watching them grow and I wanted to keep them for a pet but I knew that was no kind of life...they needed to be free so I kept them as long as I could, made them feel safe and loved. Once they were old enough, I let them go. I also rescued a squirrel with a broken tail, no clue how it was broken but he was pretty upset about it. I rescued countless baby birds, a whole slew of kittens, a dog with a broken leg, and a baby raccoon who's mother was killed in a trap. I needed to rescue things. When I look back at all my missions of mercy I realize that it was actually me that needed the rescuing. I wanted someone to pick me up, mend my broken wings and make me feel safe. That never really happened so instead of playing the part of a victim, I chose the role of savior.

My life has been filled with many rescue missions, some successful, some failures. I've tried to rescue so many people from themselves that most times I ended up being the one that needed to be airlifted from the wreckage. My days of rescuing have become fewer in number, most likely because I learned that the only person that can save me is the person with the most experience in rescue missions, me.

Do you have any secrets? Can you keep one? When I was a kid I was horrible at keeping secrets. I'd always tell my brother what he was getting for Christmas, even though my mom told me it was a secret. I'd tell my friend's deepest darkest secrets...well as deep and as dark as you can get at age twelve. I just couldn't keep my mouth shut no matter how hard I tried. Once when I was about 14 I saw my friends whispering to each other but as soon as they saw me, they stopped. "What were you talking about," I asked them. "Oh NWC we can't tell you because you cannot keep a secret," they replied. "Of course I can," I promised even though history had shown my lips were rarely ever sealed. They refused to let me in on their secret and I was left an outsider. I was devastated and I made a vow that I would learn to stop 'telling secrets'. I started with little things like not telling my mom where my brother hid her cigarettes and I moved on to bigger things like not telling my mom that my dad received secret calls from various women while she was away at work. I got pretty good at not 'spilling' and eventually I earned the trust back from my friends. When I was 15 my best friend was having some family issues at home. Her father was an alcoholic, I, better than anyone, could relate to how she felt. We used to pretend that we lived in a far away place where no one knew our name, our history, our family. A place where there were no parents fighting, no doors slamming, no tears shed over what was...only hope of what could be. Although I knew these were fantasies that would most likely never come true, my friend became obsessed with finding a way to make them reality. One night while she was sleeping over, we lay in bed telling secrets. I told her about the crush I had on our History teacher, she told me about losing her virginity to the boy next door. I told her that I took twenty dollars from my mom's purse, she told me she wanted to die. I wasn't sure what to say, I was 15. She told me about how she just couldn't imagine living in a world with so much pain. Part of me understood, my own world was filled with pain but still, taking your own life, I was too much of a coward for that. I hugged her and told her that it would be ok, it's all I knew to say. Even though I knew that pain could consume you, I still believed that some day, it would go away or at least - hurt less. In the morning when we woke up she made me promise that I wouldn't tell anyone her secret and since I'd become such a good secret keeper, I never told anyone those things she whispered. I look back now and I wonder why I couldn't distinguish between keeping a secret and telling the truth to save someone. I guess when you are 15 the fear of being an outcast is enough to over shadow any truth that needs telling.

My friend would be 38 years old today, if I didn't keep a secret.

Secrets can destroy things. We keep them out of fear, out of loyalty, out of shame. We keep them because if people knew our deepest and darkest secrets, they might not love us anymore. We keep them from friends, for friends, because we're friends; we keep them because we're afraid of change. We keep them and we keep them and we keep them. We've all become champion secret keepers. Something to be proud of?

I want love to be enough.
Enough reason to open your eyes.
Enough incentive to close them.
I want love to be enough.
Enough of a friend to comfort me.
Enough of an enemy to let me go.
I want love to be enough.
Enough strength to hold me up.
Enough of a coward to let me fall.
I want love to be enough.
Enough that the hurt matters less.
Enough that the scars don't run too deep.
I want love to be enough.
Enough to make you stay.
Enough for me to let you.

Have you ever tried to control everything around you? Everything that affected you? I have, I mean I do. Sometimes it can be an annoying trait, even to me, but as much as I try to let it go, relinquish control - I can't. I sometimes say that I have no interest in controlling the things that have nothing to do with me, I'm flexible like that. In reality everything in your life affects you. Things you see, things you hear, people you know..and sometimes even people you don't know. Once, I was in denial that I was a control freak, well maybe freak is a harsh word, I am a control maniac. Better eh? When I was young I controlled nothing. I couldn't control how much my father drank, how much my parents fought, how much life - hurt me. It seemed that everything I knew, every bit of my experience - was controlled by outside forces. You know that saying, "people only hurt you as much as you let them?" I never believed that statement because as much as I tried, people hurt me, regardless of how I felt about it. As I grew older I watched my mother go from being the 'dominated' to the 'dominator'. She survived her life the only way she knew how - by controlling it. So I watched her and I learned. It took me a long time to realize that I had the power to control things. It took me many broken hearts and sleepless nights to stand up and say, "I'm not taking this anymore." Although my plan seemed full proof I forgot to figure in a few pertinent factors, people will only be controlled as much as they want to be. Ironic isn't it because that means your control over them is really controlled by them. Now that I know this tidbit I realize that is exactly what happened to me. I let people control me, control how I felt, and control how I reacted. One day I stopped letting them - control me. I guess just like everything in life there has to be a fine balance between control and loss of it. You have to know when to lay down your sword and when to hold up your white flag. It's not easy...oh it's so not easy. The thing is that if you keep trying to control your world you will actually lose the very thing you are trying to gain - security. We control things because we want to know the outcome, we want to ensure that our hearts are safe, our worlds are peaceful, are existence is what we want it to be. Each day will become a battle, between the things you can control and the things you cannot.

I'm learning, slowly but surely that the things I can control are much less in number than the things that are beyond my control...but it's ok, because you know what? I'm actually not as tired as I used to be. We can really only control one thing in this life - ourselves.

Sometimes it's ok to hold on to someone...for balance.

Happy HNT

I've been through a lot in my life, come through most of it a pretty strong person. But tonight as I sit here typing this post I've found out that I have a weak spot. My daughter has been waking up the past few nights just when it's time for me to go to bed. I try to be really quiet so that she doesn't hear me, her door is shut, the lights are off...but still she senses my presence. The ritual of the past nights has become that I go and sit on my bed, feet firmly planted on the ground so I don't run to her too quickly. I sit for what seems like an eternity until her screams get too much for any human heart to bear. I go to her, hold her, kiss her forehead and tell her mommy loves her. Her reply every night has been, "Alice lay down with mommy?" My God, what sort of mother am I to deny this precious little being? Well I've read all the books, I've watched Dr. Phil, I know if I start letting her come sleep with me it'll be pure hell getting her to go back to her own bed. But really my bed is big enough and the thought of her little warm body pressed into my curves is really appealing. Her breath on my face, her baby soft smell permeating my nostrils...yes it sounds almost like heaven. But wait...no I cannot be weak. I lay her down, scratch that...she's clinging to me so tightly there is no possibility of laying this child down again so I hug her and put her back in her bed while I pry her tiny little fingers from around my neck, she sobs so uncontrollably as if her heart has just been ripped from her chest, yet still I leave her there - in her space. She screams my name, "mommy, mommy," and now I feel it too, my heart is being ripped apart. Usually I go back to my bed, get under the covers, and wait. Did you know that in 2 minutes you can count over a thousand sheep? I swear those 2 minutes are the longest I've ever experienced in my life. As she finally quiets down, her breathing returns to normal...and so does mine. I've wondered why all of a sudden she's decided she needs me to make it through the night, she slept so peacefully for the first two years of her life. Part of me hopes she's over it soon but if I'm honest there's a bigger part of me that secretly longs to hear that cry at night. Yes I'm selfish, I like to be needed. I know too soon she won't be clinging to me, she'll be pushing me away. So it's ok right? I can hold on to her for now. I wonder if she knows that I need her just as much.

Somehow I have managed to reserve a space in this existence where I can be free. I have learned that freedom can be complicated. It may be something we are born with, the freedom to breathe, freedom to exist, but to actually feel it, revel in it, cherish it, becomes a battle in self-discovery. How do you know if you are really free?

It seemed that I would never pass this place in my life where pain seemed to prevail over all else that existed. The parts of me that once mattered, the parts I cherished and relied upon to carry me through one day after the next, were buried beneath the rubble of my experiences. I tried to brush away the soot and ash that colored my life gray, but my arms grew tired and weary and the light at the end of the tunnel began to fade. It’s amazing how much strength it takes to pretend life is bearable. I had become a wonderful actress, always smiling; the world took no notice of the tears that streamed down my face because I always turned away. The world saw a networkchic that was strong and witty; a networkchic that never let anything hold her down. What they didn’t see was the fear in my eyes, the fear in my heart, fear that at any moment I would forget my lines. I’d lose the part, never get the Emmy, and be left with a shell of someone I’d hoped to become.

So here I stand. Appearing empty-handed to most, but to myself, I’m richer than I have been in years. Sometimes I sit quietly and ponder how I arrived at this place. The course I mapped out for myself proved worthless and after all was said and done and I discovered the only real map I needed was the one engraved on my heart. Life has a funny way of leading you right back to the place you started. It still amazes me how many times we run miles around ourselves just to travel one kilometer. Now my feet are almost firmly planted on the ground. I hesitate when I say that because sure enough just when I get my wits about me, life will throw me another curve ball and I’ll lose course again. I know this much is true, that light at the end of the tunnel, it’s getting brighter and if I squint enough I can almost see the promise land on the other side.

So many people have passed through the doorway of my life, some leaving traces of themselves behind and some vanishing as if they never existed. I have had promises broken and some kept, I have cried tears for others and many more for myself. I have lifted myself up when my arms were tired and I have walked through misery even when the blisters on my feet threatened to prevent my swift escape. I have loved and I have hated, both with equal intensity. I have questioned others motives but more often questioned my own for those are the ones that seem to lead me down the same familiar path time and time again. Pain has plagued my heart and many times my soul, yet in the face of adversity I somehow grasp onto to what I know, onto what I trust in, and it leads me through. What I know is that no matter where I travel or what strangers I may encounter along the way, the friends that I have held dear, new ones and old, the friends who have seen me at my worst and at my best but choose only to remember the best, are the reasons that I survive. They are the reasons I have strength, the reasons I believe in myself. Because of them I am able to make promises, ones I know I can keep.

I promise to remember who I am and when I forget, I promise to ask my friends to remind me.

I promise to listen to my friends and place as much faith in them as they have placed in me.

I promise to be honest, even when it hurts, and be comforting even when I myself am in pain.

I promise to lean when I am falling and lend my shoulders when I stand strong.

I promise not to run away, because I've run too many circles around myself.

I promise to use my heart even when it feels broken, and my head even when it's spinning.

I promise to remember that this journey is a bridge to something better and on the other side is a door which I can unlock with my faith...and if I lose the key, I know my friends will always have the spare.

I want to be a strong person. A person who has normal happy days where memories stay where they are supposed to stay - in the past. I want every step I take to be a solid motion towards something better, but this is reality. My reality. Sometimes it's just so hard to loosen the chains that tie you to the ground. Some days I think I'm strong enough to break free of the jail I've put myself in, some days I think I'm lucky enough to find someone with a key and they'll scoop me up in their arms and say, "NWC, it will all be alright," and I'll believe them. But I'm smarter now, I know no one else can save me. Some days I write things on this blog that inspire some of you to be strong, but sometimes I forget to read my own words, some days I feel illiterate. I wonder how many times I'll have to go to the back of the line and learn the same lessons all over again.

This morning when I came into work I was feeling a bit defeated. Somehow I'd let my positive outlook slip away, how could that happen? I started to read some of the comments left on my post yesterday and one of them really moved me. Lance said, "You are building a bridge. A bridge to a relationship with yourself again." And then it hit me, this is the way it's supposed to be, good days, bad days, days filled with reflection. A bridge is a passage, a means to get from one place to another. Right now I'm on the middle of that bridge, sometimes I have to turn back to look at where I've come from - so I remind myself that the grass truly is greener on the other side. No one needs to come rescue me, I have the key to my own jail cell - I just need to remember which pocket I've put it in.

I used to believe that only other people could buy you presents. After years of setting my expectations too high for what other people should give me, I finally realized that sometimes the best presents are the ones you give yourself. This necklace was my birthday present to myself. I didn't go searching for it, which kind of made it more special. It's a blue sapphire on a silver box chain which was made in Nigeria. Strange eh? I bought it because it came from a far away place - kind of like me. Some days I feel a million miles away from myself.

Happy HNT

Most of the time I don't think about my favorite things. Most of the time I remember the bad things, the things that make me angry, the things that annoy me, the things that fill up my moments so that anticipation of the ones to come, dwindles. But today as I walked up out of the train station, the cold wind hit me in the face and I took a deep breath and remembered something, I'm alive. Regardless of my circumstances - I'm alive. We all base so much of our existence on circumstance, where we live, what we do for a living, who we know, how much pain we've endured - that we lose sight of the things in our lives that make us happy. Favorite things, things that make you smile and sometimes even cry, things that make you get up every morning or sleep soundly at night. Circumstances are merely moments waiting to be redefined. I want new circumstances, I want to rejoice in the things I love, my favorite things. Here are some of mine:

finishing a good book and wanting to read it again because something in it moved me
having someone notice that I changed my hair, and complimenting me on it
my daughters smile
knowing I'm the reason someone is smiling
smiling for no reason at all
vacation days
sand between my toes
the smell of salt air while walking on the beach
full moons
driving in the country by myself with the windows down and the radio turned up
a good song that makes me feel something
holding the hand of someone I love and feeling as if we were fused together as one
watching my favorite tv shows in my easy chair with the blanket tucked around me
rainstorms
the first snow fall
laughing so hard that I pee my pants and then forgetting what I found so funny
waking up without being tired
make-up sex
surprising people that think they know me by proving their assumptions wrong
writing - and have people feel something through my words
knowing I have favorite things...and remembering them

I hope you have favorite things...and that you get to experience them often. Please give a shout out to msmegnolia because today she is going to stop smoking...right MsM? Go on over and give her some support.

I've missed you all...really I have. Honestly there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't wonder how you all were, wondered if your days were good ones. Somehow each and everyone of you has become an integral part of my life, the people I look forward to knowing, your stories, your pain, your laughter. You are like spokes on the wheel that carries me through each day. I'd be off balance without you. I never thought this would happen, that I'd find friends so far away yet so close to the place that matters - my heart. I've always found it easy to make friends but it wasn't until I came here, this blog place, that I realized the friends I'd made, except a very few exceptions, were not friends that really knew me, knew my history. Mostly that's my fault; I never trusted anyone enough to let them know me. I never trusted they would stay after knowing me, knowing the pain that has shaped who I am. But right here, I was able to open up and start the process of healing myself. I feel so lucky not only to have you visit my space, know my bits of history, but return the favor by letting me get to know you. As JJ always says...I see you, I'm grateful for that. Now I'm off to catch up on the wonderful bits of your days that I've missed. It's nice to be back.

I went on vacation to relax, rejuvenate, and to leave some pieces of myself behind. Pieces that have become to heavy to carry, pieces that weigh me down so that I often find it too hard to forge ahead. I was able to succeed - somewhat. Although I came back with more than I expected, still I was able to clear the fog from my head. The ocean has a sort of healing power, washing over you and exposing even the best kept secrets. As I sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, it felt as though I were watching the stories of my life. So many times I've been pulled out to sea, lost in something bigger than myself, only to come crashing back to some reality that throws me off course again. But this time, when the motion moved me, I let it. My life - here in reality, is filled with pain that I've held on to. I'm not sure why I do that but somehow the pain that has so haunted me has become company. Sometimes we get so used to the pain that when it starts to subside we find some way to bring it all back to the surface. The pain becomes all we know and trying to escape it seems near impossible. I thought I knew the source of all my pain, parts of my childhood, the sins of my father and the men I wrapped myself around trying to rewrite history. Some of the pain, I created myself, partly as an excuse. If I was in pain, then I didn't have to worry about healing. Sometimes healing is harder to deal with than the wound itself. The ocean is filled with salt water and we all know salt may burn a wound but it also helps it heal. I let that water wash over me and I can feel it now - I'm starting to heal. I left some things behind at that vacation hide away, but I brought something back too - strength.

I couldn't miss a HNT so I popped on here to post a cute little pic I took yesterday. Vacation is wonderful and I'm seriously thinking I must find a job down here...just somewhere that hurricanes don't hit.

Happy HNT.

It's taken a few days but it's finally happened, I'm relaxed. I've been on vacation since Friday and upon my arrival it was questionable whether or not the weather would warm up enough for me to lay on the beach...but it has and today I spent the better part of my day laying in the sun and building sand castles with my daughter. Life should be this blissful all the time shouldn't it? Or maybe if it was we would appreciate these moments less.

I had a chance earlier this evening to walk on the beach by myself, something I have not done in at least a couple of years. My life always seems to be filled up with other people and other things, so much so that taking a walk alone becomes near impossible. But tonight, I walked, I drank a glass of wine, I remembered what it felt like to have space on the inside and the outside of me. So many thoughts swirled in my head, thoughts of the past, questions about my future, but through every single one of them one thing remained constant - I felt at peace. The turmoil I so often feel, the regret, the guilt, the pang of wanting something more, disappeared. I could be me, the good me, the bad me, the selfish me, the me that belonged to no one else except me. I want more of these walks, more of these days that seem so full of possibilities. Can I leave this place and take this new found peace with me? Can I pack it away like a souvenir, take it home and put it in my scrap book to look at when I have forgotten what it felt like to be at peace? I'm going to try.

I think everyone should take a vacation at the beginning of the year so that they can wipe their slate clean, start over, leave the bad stuff behind, find hope, take a walk alone and realize - some things have to be done all by yourself. I'm going to hold on to this, the Peace in me.

Yes it's true, I'm actually going on a vacation. It's to nowhere exotic but it's not Chicago and my company doesn't have an office there...that's what matters. It's warmer than 35 degrees so to me, it's balmy. There is white sand and an ocean just footsteps from where I'll be laying my head at night. I'll be able to spend the entire day in my flip flops and bikini with no lawyers in sight, at least not ones I have to cater to.

So my friends I will try to post while away but it most likely will be sporadic since the last thing I'll really want to do is turn on my laptop because then I'll be forced to check my email and be reminded a reality is back here waiting for me when I return. It's ok to be in denial as long as it's only temporary right?

À bientôt mes amis, être bon et être heureux.

stumbling through the hallways of my life
knocking my knees on misplaced furniture
feeling the walls around me
hoping they would lead somewhere
tripping on memories thrown by the wayside
swallowed by the darkness
frustrated by the blindness
I rubbed my eyes
a glimmer of light
I can see it now
wide open spaces
no hallways
no walls
no broken pieces to make me stumble
just light
and hope
and something - better
my eyes are open

We all leave things behind, people we cannot love anymore, those who cannot love us, memories that are too painful to carry, pieces of ourselves - intentional or not, there are things we discard. I've become a champion runner, dashing towards some finish line that is barely visible. I've run marathons away from myself, trying desperately to be - someone else. Rarely have I looked back at the debris littering the road I've followed, most times ignorance is bliss. Yesterday I was cleaning out old desk drawers, drawers that I have not opened for more than ten years. It sounds crazy doesn't it? I've moved this desk from place to place, decorated it's surface with vases and pictures, ignoring what it carried on the inside. I've bumped my hips on it's corners as if it were trying to reach out and speak to me, "look inside," but still - it's drawers remained closed. It's amazing how something so material, so solid - can still be invisible. I'm not sure why yesterday became the day for me to look inside, maybe it was a step I needed to take to move on, to become that person I long to be. Whatever the reason, yesterday I opened up my past, reminders of the things I left behind. I found pictures of my ex-husband and I, happy and smiling, young and ignorant, in love with the people we thought we were. I found letters I'd written to my father and never sent, letters that exposed the most broken parts of myself - the parts he owned. These things made me cry, not because I left them behind, but because as fast as I'd run away, as much distance as I thought I'd put between that life and this one, here they were - exactly where I'd left them. I guess I've avoided opening these drawers because they contained pieces of the self I have tried so many times to heal, but couldn't. I loved my ex-husband but I didn't deserve him - so I left. I thought I'd forgiven my father, but I hadn't. Pretending pain doesn't exist doesn't mean it's not still there lurking in the shadows waiting for a ray of light to expose it for all that it is. So I sat down an I looked at those photos, I smiled at that girl who thought she'd had all the answers, I smiled at the boy who loved her with all his heart, and then I put them where they belonged - in the past. I read those letters, part of me wanted to send them to my dad but I knew that wouldn't accomplish what I really needed it to so instead I called my dad up and told him I loved him. It took me so long to look inside that desk, maybe before I wasn't strong enough, but now I am. I emptied those drawers and placed everything in a box labeled, "old junk." I think for now, I'll leave those drawers empty.

Well I made it - past a new year and another birthday. I was sort of depressed yesterday for many reasons, getting older is never easy especially when you feel you've failed yourself. As I sat around feeling pity for myself I decided to think about the past year of my life, look at where I'd been both physically and emotionally. I remembered what I posted about New Years, going places or doing things with full conscience. So many times this year I've gone forward with blinders on, relied on others to forge a path that I could follow, it seemed easier that way. When I started this blog it was for reasons I wasn't completely aware of, but then I started to type the stories of my life, the things that so often defined me - or at least I thought they did. I used to think that the easiest task was keeping people out but over the past year I've discovered it's easier to let people in than to keep building walls. So I'm here now, forging my way on to something else, something better. I used to think life would be an easier proposition, but it isn't. I used to want something from every person I loved - acceptance. I used to think that perfection was the only thing that could make me desirable, but I was wrong. Now I know life is hard, but that's ok because every day I grow strong enough to endure it. Now I love without expectations, that's what love is supposed to be. I'm not perfect and now I believe that's what makes me worth knowing, worth loving. This new song I've looped in the background is by Kasey Chambers and it's named "the Captain." We all need someone to lead us - sometimes, but eventually we have to grab a hold of the wheel and set sail on a new course. There's a line in that song, "I tend to run away and hide," well that was me last year, this year - I'm done hiding.

Well hopefully you've all made it into this new year with a smile on your face. The new year has always been hard on me because I not only have to ring in a new year, the very next day I have to do it while celebrating being a year older. Today is my birthday. It's hard not to be a little bit depressed because most of us are never really where we want to be, in life that is, when our birthday comes around. I try to stay positive but honestly it's hard. I guess I just never feel as special as I want to be, as loved as I know I deserve, as strong as I know I need to be. I'm not seeking pity as much as a sounding board. This is a brand new year, a chance to change things, to make myself as special as I want to be instead of relying on someone else making me feel that way. Have you been able to get past it - the doom that lingers over turning another year older? How? I know I should look at the good things in my life, and I do, but how do you accept that you are not where you want to be, and if you do accept that, does that mean you sacrifice something you may never be able to get back? I don't ask for help very often, I can usually pull myself up by my boot straps, get back on the horse, and ride off to some place that makes me feel better - but I'm asking, how do you make it all ok?