“Inside all of us is a Wild Thing.”
— Maurice Sendak (Where the Wild Things Are)
Where The Wild Things Are was at once everything and nothing that I expected. I expected it to be beautiful, and it was very beautiful. I expected it to be dark, and it was terribly dark. What I didn’t expect was how it would make me feel.
Sitting in that darkened theater, entranced like everyone else around me by the artistry and grotesque beauty of the film, I felt almost uncomfortable with the myriad of emotions it conjured up in me. Flashbacks to the most awkward moments of my preteen youth danced rapidly through my head and my chest. I distinctly remembered how it felt to be filled with many confusing emotions, all so near to the surface and warring constantly with one another to be on top. That period of time I usually treasure as footloose and fancy-free was very often fraught with unpredictable fear and paranoia, both valid and completely irrational – and I think we adults often forget that.
Even more striking was how time seemed to be in a different dimension then – each day an adventure, each hour a surprise. Sometimes an hour flew by so fast that dusk fell before you could prepare for it, catching you and your playmates altogether unawares. Suddenly it was time to go in and you weren’t ready for it, so a game of Flashlight Tag was hastily proposed. Or just as often, Time slowed to a creeping crawl. After cramming what felt like a month’s worth of fun and activity into just one hour, you felt changed somehow at the end of the day, barely recognizing your own face in the mirror. I remember I spent ridiculous amounts of time in front of the mirror as a child, reconciling what I saw with what I felt changing inside.
As I sat there, mesmerized by the depth of character found in those amazing puppets’ facial expressions, all those memories and more flickered in and out of my consciousness. The absolute, all-consuming fear of what may be hiding in the dark shadows under my bed came rushing back in a stomach tightening flood. The euphoria of being found when I was lost and frightened, the confusion when presented with adults misbehaving, the desperation to be heard, to be noticed, to be loved…it all bubbled up to the surface of of my heart, reminding me that maybe those feelings had never strayed that far away after all. Reminding me that perhaps I’d just gotten better at ignoring it, or maybe just better at giving the unknown a name and a face, compartmentalizing everything in an effort to better make sense of the world around me.
I teared up at odd, unexpected moments in this world of the Wild Things where there is no clear bad guy or good guy, in this childhood version of the psyche where the battle for good and evil plays out in the jungle of your overwhelming heart and mind. As it is in real life, the life of the Wild Things is bittersweet, usually more bitter than sweet because they have the annoying tendency to eat their kings and 
they have no mommies. Carol, the impulsive, raging, angry, friendliest monster, was the easiest to relate to. No one plays the wronged, temper-tantrum-thrower like James Gandolfini. Something about Gandolfini’s voice and way makes even Tony Soprano, the murdering mob boss, lovable. Carol moved me to tears, especially when he felt compelled to show Max the wooden city he’d built. It was a vision of what Carol wanted life to be, his paradise where everyone lives together happily in one house, they have fun all the time and sleep together every night in one giant pile.
Carol: It’s going to be a place where only the things you want to happen, would happen.
Max: We could totally build a place like that!
Without changing a single important piece of the story, director Spike Jonze and writer Dave Eggers, managed to subtly address the most common pain children experience today, the pain of divorce. We all forget, due to the frequency of it’s occurrence, how terrible a toll divorce takes on the innocent victims, the children. Wild Things doesn’t let you forget. Especially the most important question children have, “Do you still love me just as much?”
For those of us adults still possessed of an active imagination and jealously harboring the bits of the child still left inside, Where The Wild Things Are is a strange, dark and yet beautiful journey into all of our not-to-distant pasts. And for those of you shaking your heads, muttering about your extended age and life experience, don’t forget that the world is ancient and we are each nothing more than seconds on it’s considerable time line. Let the wild rumpus start!
“There are things that we never want to let go of, people we never want to leave behind. But keep in mind that letting go isn’t the end of the world, it’s the beginning of a new life.” -unknown
It is such a profoundly strange thing to end a long-term relationship with someone, despite the frequency of its occurrence. It is one of those things that happens every day, so we become immune to its power. Like the sun rising, or just the mere fact that we are alive, thinking and breathing in and out. In a rare, non-hectic moment at work, I was struck by how odd it felt to have little pieces of my heart left behind in various places and how remarkable it is that I, myself, most likely hold a few pieces that belong to others.
We unload untold amounts of ourselves into a relationship. Sharing silly thoughts and random, private stories in those quiet moments before falling asleep, or the softness of that sweet morning light. When the beginning part calms and you begin to take it for granted that the other person will be interested in your little, daily stories; the real sharing takes play.You find out how your partner 
deals with commonplace things, like work stress and family events. They learn your unique little habits; like how you always tap your left foot when you think about bills, how you lean your forehead against the window when you’re sad, or how you absentmindedly play with a tiny strand of your hair when lost in a serious daydreaming session. You reveal things about yourself you never wanted to or never even thought to share with your friends. All the while, like it or not, the two of you become ever closer.
You begin to promise each other things. On one of those evenings (those evenings when the sun has just gone down and you’ve both crawled into bed after a long, busy day) when you’re both grateful for the stillness, you draw close together for a lazy hug. One of you whispers, “Promise I’ll never go to sleep by myself again.” A whisper comes back, low and gentle with meaning, “Never. I promise.” Or it’s an outing with friends you attend and it’s with another couple that argues loudly and endlessly. They are obviously nearing some kind of ending. You look at each other and squeeze hands simultaneously, eyes full of promises to never be like that. You talk and laugh about it later, high on your current success, and gleefully dreaming of a bright future in love, you play-fight all the way up the stairs to your newest apartment.
Later, out of sheer boredom, you find yourselves doing things you never thought of before. Like lying on your front lawn, pointing out satellites or falling stars. Talking all night long until neither of you know who fell asleep first. Harmonizing lazily together while he learns a Bob Dylan tune on the classical guitar you bought last year. Walking idly around the nearest library. Playing Try-To-Guess-The-Number-I’m-Thinking game. Seriously. You get bored!
And one day, it’s all over.
Simple. Fast. Final. Like the door to your childhood home slamming in your face, you are never ready for it and the ache will always linger in some form or fashion. Even with copious warning signs; the incessant fighting, not touching while you sleep, no longer maintaining eye contact, and eating dinner in oppressive and total silence – nothing prepares you for that severed cord. It’s grief, it’s loss. The severity of the loss is directly related to the amount of yourself you ended up sharing. And while the pain and hurt fade and even disappear with the relentless but welcome erosion of time, that piece of you will always be gone.
It’s fascinating and unbelievable to me how this process happens. Even more so, how it happens over and over again. To tear off that piece time and again creates a new worry. What will be left of you when it’s all said and done?
I have a girlfriend (a sweet, energetic, and wonderful girl) who refuses to have an ex-boyfriend disappear. She, being the wonderful person I just described, places the utmost importance on not burning a single bridge. I don’t know how she does it. I’m most certainly not friends with even one of my exes! But she, even in her young age, has made this a huge focus in her life for the very reasons I’m discussing. The idea of losing people she’s given any part of her heart to makes her sick. And I think we all know why.
I really don’t have a succinct bubble to wrap this particular meandering up in. Like the subject at hand, I’m left and leaving you with more questions then answers. Sometimes, things are just the way they are. And even when you look at these endings as a valuable learning experience, you are still left standing there, hands open and awkwardly full of these various emotions, asking plaintively,
“Hey, I get it, but seriously, what do I do with these??”
In my experience, absolutely nothing but time can answer that question. Time and a lot of pondering.
Like I said earlier, profoundly odd.
“Access to your true essence will also give you insight into the mirror of relationship, because all relationship is a reflection of your relationship with yourself.” – Deepak Chopra
When the road gets dark
And you can no longer see
Just let my love throw a spark
And have a little faith in me- John Hiatt
I’m thinking about starting a new blog or at the very least, heavily editing this one. It is time to embrace the turning over of a new leaf and just in time for the best of all the seasons, . . . Fall.
Each day, (unbeknownst to me) the heavy burden I’ve been lugging around for the last few years has been getting lighter – in difficult to notice and tiny amounts that finally added up. The unpredictable and frequent tears I cried in those still, quiet moments have blossomed into small, private grins and genuine laughs for absolutely no reason at all. I’m finding delight in the small and wonderful things and learning to take the big things one piece at a time. My most recent bout with rampant cynicism is dropping off rapidly and what remains is just enough to keep me feisty and spicy. (Two things I love to be.)
I made some huge steps forward recently. Steps I was wearily beginning to think I would never take. For the first time in such a long time, I feel more grateful and silly than I do pensive and sad. More excited about what the future might bring, instead of dwelling on the scars that the past has left so deeply on my heart. I’m looking at my life with new hope, clearer eyes and even feeling proud of what I’ve accomplished these past few months.
More important than all of this, and for the very first time in my life, I’ve learned to have a little faith in myself. I’m more confident in my abilities because of each difficulty I’ve had to overcome. Coming out of this last year not only intact, but better than I was, is a real revelation. One that I welcome with wide open arms.
I do not know what my future holds. Will I travel the world like I have dreamt of since I was just a little girl? Or am I destined to live in Texas forever? Will I get the job of my dreams one day or just one that pays the bills? I don’t know. But what I do know is that I have people in my life that love me. People that have shared my burdens when they didn’t have to, people that really care about me and I, for them. I also know that I treasure life and writing and nature and laughing. I know that I am thankful for each new day I am alive to greet and I can’t wait to see what the next few years bring to a still flawed, but wizened and gentler me.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in. ~John Muir
It’s another rambling mood for me tonight.
Yesterday, as I went with the roommates to the doggies’ agility class, I got an unexpected break from my suburban cement jungle and took a meandering trip down a two-lane country road. It was a perfect time of day, right before sunset when the sun trades in its brilliant sparkle for a warm golden gleam. Weaving and winding our way along this bush-lined, overgrown road, we let the windows down and a rare, cool summer breeze swirled through the car. In the backseat, I raced the dogs to a window and leaned my head out, inhaling the sweetness of the fresh air. Each mile brought with it a new scent; pure wild honeysuckle, a pine-scented bush, faint hints of horse pasture, lilacs, yesterday’s rain and the thirsty earth.
Immediately, all my awareness and worry eased, the day’s problems melted away and I was left with the bittersweet contentment I always experience when confronted with Nature’s beauty. With Bailey, a Lab mix, standing mouth open and wriggling excitedly on my lap, I leaned my head against the car door and watched the countryside unfold lazily in front of me. Houses and farms, separated by at least 3 acres apiece, were each unique, representing every style under the sun. Some were outlandish and loud, others quaint and cottage-like; one a a log cabin, another a single-story ranch home with a well-loved tire swing out in an ancient, friendly tree – they all felt like home. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny with large clouds that provided just enough shadow to hide away in, ensuring that you could feel the tiny breathless wisps of refreshing air.
The surrounding area was filled with gently rolling plains and dotted with thick, dark green splashes of tall trees. The occasional pine dropped a carpet of yellowed needles all around and my feet itched to leave the SUV behind, exploring every inch of the land until I fell asleep under the stars, exhausted but sated.
I do find myself in Nature. The constantly spinning thoughts in my head slow down to a more manageable speed and I breathe in deep and slow. The ache of loss is eased, the worry from work is forgotten and the fears for the future are set aside. For that moment in time, serenaded by the welcome warped whistle of the locusts, the repetitive buzz of crickets and the random burp of hidden frogs, I let go and loose myself to the universe.
The bittersweet part comes in because I can’t help but recognize my infinitesimal and fleeting role in the world. The sunset is so beautiful it is arouses my soul, bringing with it a familiar ache. I at once remember all the people I’ve said goodbye to and the people I’m grateful to still have.
Last night’s sunset was wondrous to watch. Out there, away from the lights of the city and blanketed only by wide open Texas skies, I stood quietly in awe as the dark, vibrant colors lit up the sky. Royal purple and blue layered neatly over a shocking pink and mild yellow. They all fought the encroaching black in a valiant but futile display. Finally, the last bit of dark blue was swallowed up in the night and the stars winked their tentative hellos. The clouds dispersed and left the sky stunningly clear for the full moon to shine in all its glory.
I realized then that I was where I truly belonged. One of these days, someway, somehow, I must find my way to my own quaint country home, complete with a wraparound porch, a giant, old tree and sun tea in a cracked glass pitcher on the deck. On that porch, I’ll watch the sun climb down the sky and wave as the world passes me by, leaving me with a peaceful, if still thoughtful mind.
On another note, I think I’m going to have to start a category for my nature posts. If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you’ve probably seen them. I’m going back through them and it gets pretty extensive. Let’s see, Saying Goodbye is one, and this one, Life is Chess ….another, Captured Moments and Tours of Duty. There are more but you get the idea.
Nature is an infinite sphere of which the center is everywhere and the circumference nowhere. -Blaise Pascal
I shocked a male friend of mine the other day when I was telling him about a terrible date I had about 7 months ago. The date wasn’t the part that rocked him, it was a throw away comment I made regarding the date that did it.
My bad date, a.k.a Mr. Riddles due to his proclivity for insisting on leaving me riddles to solve each and every time he left my presence, did a great many things to bother me during that interminable evening we spent together, but nothing was quite
as uncomfortable as the hand holding. Oh dear, the hand holding. I’m gesturing wildly while telling my friend about how Mr. Riddles and I ended up walking around the town square at one point, heading back towards the bar and the welcome effects of numbing beer…and then he did it. Mr. Riddles reached for my hand.
I pause at this point to tell my friend something a lot of people don’t know about me.
“You know, I think hand holding is almost…well, it is more intimate than having sex.”
“What?!? You do?! I’m surprised to hear that, especially from a woman.”
I shrugged. What else can I say? It’s the truth, I do feel that way. Rather strongly. I didn’t even realize I felt this way fully until that date. Setting aside that topic for a moment, I went on to describe the several attempts Mr. Riddles made to procure my hand that evening – not taking the hint each time I yanked my hand back to play with my hair, pick at my nails or even when I did nothing but stare. It is unlike me to be so obviously off-putting, but apparently boys from Boston are dense…or just incorrigible. Maybe both. Regardless, Mr. Riddles never got the hint and I eventually had to forcefully pull his arm from around my waist and say firmly that it was time for the evening to end.
My friend began to question me about this hand holding issue mid-story though, so he missed out on the ending. It’s a doozy of an ending, but I’ll save that for another time. After being asked to rate my comfort level with hand holding against other forms of intimacy, my answers continued to surprise my friend. As far as intimacies go, hand holding is right up there at the top. I’ve dated and kissed my fair share of boys and men, but I’ve only been comfortable holding hands with three. They were serious relationships; in each one marriage was either proposed or very seriously discussed and/or we shared the same dwelling.
I’ve explored this more since that last discussion and realized that I’ve always just taken for granted that others feel the same way as I do.
For me it is so simple and clear -when you love someone, you hold hands.
You know when you’ve been in a relationship for long enough that you ca
n predict your partner’s order at any restaurant? When you are comfortable enough to leave the bathroom door open and he uses your deodorant because he’s in a rush for work and you just smile because you know he’ll smell like you all day? When you come home from work and the kiss is perfunctory because you’re both rushing to get the pizza/living room ready ready to watch your new favorite HBO show? And when you finally settle into the couch together your bodies fall naturally into routine patterns, twisting until you find just the right place – his arm around your shoulders, her head on your lap? That is the deliciously sweet spot.
It is then that you entwine your hands together, fingers falling naturally into place, (someone’s thumb always in front, the other one’s pinkie always last) without even thinking about it. You stand in line at the grocery store together, your hands stretching apart, fingertips still grasping each other lightly when you lean away to check out the impulse items that always snag your attention. He tugs you back to his side and gives you a mock stern look that says, “No. You always regret this.” You giggle in agreement and silently nod, not a word spoken aloud, now leaning against each other…still holding hands. Or perhaps someone loud, crude and potentially unstable is ahead of you in line and you instinctively reach out to grab your significant other’s hand, only to find them already grabbing yours.
That is hand holding. Anything else is pretend and I just don’t like it! It gives me the heebie jeebies. One-night stands are almost commonplace these days. Ask anyone who watches even the commercials for Sex and the City.
One night hand-holdings are far rarer.
So, my friend’s final question to me is this-
“So, you have to choose, sex or hand holding. Which one is truly more intimate?”
I hesitate and tilt my head questioningly, making seesaw motions with my hands.
“You’re serious?!”
I nod. He laughs. We grab another brewski and talk about bleu cheese versus smoked gouda.
Am I alone in this? Is it that odd?
I was walking hurriedly down an aisle at work yesterday and something I saw stopped me dead in my tracks. I’m still fuming about this two days later.
A young girl, no older than 10 and followed by her slightly older brother walks casually toward me. Oblivious of her surroundings and talking in that usual, self-conscious pre-teen way, she says “Oh c’mon, Jess. WHAT-evah!” She giggles and flips her hair behind her to irritate him. He shook his head and asked in a weary voice, ” Would ya please stop talking like that?” His tone left no doubt that this question was oft-repeated and just as often ignored. None of these things were my particular irritant. In fact, I barely noted this interaction. I was too busy looking for something I needed about 10 minutes ago.
What shocked me, annoyed me and rankled me, was the girl’s attire. This young child, not necessarily old enough yet to have a monthly cycle, was wearing a very low cut tank top. With a Wonderbra. And crotch cutter shorts. The little boobs she had were on display and out to play. Are you KIDDING me?? Where are the parents? This is unacceptable! Will I one day see the parents of this child on the news, sobbing out their astonishment that their child was kidnapped or worse? Or scaling it down a bit, maybe their daughter has a hard time knowing how to conduct herself in relationships in the future? Her parents certainly condone the “show a lot of skin to snag a man” theory. Maybe she’ll be a stripper and they’ll say they just don’t know what happened.
Is this what we want them to emulate??
I’ve seen a lot of this lately. Especially in the retail line of business. Young kids love to hang out in stores. They, thankfully, still can’t get into bars. Barnes and Noble (where I used to be employed) is a hot bed of preteen dating. I actually saw a 13 year old girl in a mini skirt drop a book and slowly bend over in front of about five 17 year old boys. Yes, on purpose. Yes, without underwear. Their reaction was exactly what you’d expect. What I see disgusts me, concerns me and more than anything, fills me with shame. Shame for everyone involved. The culture of Can’t Show Enough Tits & Ass that we live in. The celebrities that promote it. The men that drive it and drool over it. The women that don’t teach their daughters that brains matter just as much as beauty, and that sometimes, less is more. Even shame for myself. I’ll admit it, I like my legs and I wear my shorts, short. However, I’m 26 years old and my Mommy and Daddy don’t tell me what to do anymore. Plus, the shorts still cover both cheeks, completely.
We are so fortunate to live in a time of freedom. Women have every right a man does here in America. Every single one. The battle was won, many years ago, not that you can tell. I think we’ve accomplished as women, what men never could. We’ve let ourselves be a sex symbol first, and a person second. We lowered our standards and never made anyone rise to ours. A long time ago, women (and even some men) fought hard to have their voices heard on this matter. Bras were burned, marriages shattered, marches organized, families destroyed. All over the issue of equality. An issue that we take for granted today. Of course equality is right! “Pish posh, we aren’t ignorant fools anymore. Hardy har har.”
Wake up. We are pissing away opportunity every day. We as a people, not just women. Our values suck. My generations seems to think we’re more enlightened than our fathers. I’d say we are. But being more enlightened assholes doesn’t make us smell prettier. And if we don’t do anything with that enlightenment, that just makes us outright stupid.
People will say that women make more strides everyday in the workplace, in college, in test-taking statistics. Ok, fine. Lovely. I don’t give two flying rats asses. Look around you!! What are my eyes telling me? What does my heart know? What do you see? I see an entire new generation, raised on TV as a substitute for parenting, that think it okay to dress like a slut and/or treat women like sluts, and worse.
Someone I worked with once told me to always strive to be better than the best, and not to pride myself on being better than the rest. It was something I needed to hear at the time. I was complacent with being better than most, and had stopped trying anymore, content to settle in the top percent. I think we’ve done the same, but actually one step worse. We’ve lowered our standards as a people. We look at Jerry Springer shows and think, “Ha! I am way better than them!” And you know what? I don’t blame TV/movies, I don’t blame the media, and I sure as hell don’t blame music. Those things are forms of expression, don’t you know that? They are birthed from us! Blame yourself first. Ugh, people who want to point an accusatory finger at today’s media piss me off even more. How about this? MONITOR what your children watch! I know, it’s a tough concept, but just follow the bouncing ball. YOU control what your children absorb.
Baywatch is popular because a bunch of guys, all ages, shapes and sizes want to watch boobs jiggle around. It’s simple enough. Sex has always sold, in whatever form was popular for the time. In Muslim territory, I am sure an ankle glimpse can sell the crap out of some Cola. Back in the Roaring Twenties, sleeveless dresses sold cigarettes by the millions. Millions of cartons, I’m sure. This is not going to change. We are hardwired for sexy time, and there isn’t anything wrong with that.
The problem is that somewhere, down along the path of time (now strewn with discarded clothes, empty synthetic drug containers, older weapons abandoned as newer and more advanced models take their place) at some point, we started communicating these messages to our impressionable youth in a way we never had. Coincidentally or not, our youth has become a demographic for the first time in our history. Children not even close to old enough to work, have oodles of dollars to spend and oodles of time to shop. I again, blame the parents. Stop giving your 5 year old’s cellphones and your 12 year old’s padded bras. I promise that your child will one day recover from the crippling damage that lack of brand name clothing will have on their social status. There is a world beyond the doors of high school, thank god.
Our youth, unable to drink, smoke, even be outside alone legally, should not shape our TV programs. They should not be a stock on Wall Street. We, the adults, should shoulder that responsibility alone. As adults, we’ve found out that the world can be heart-achingly unfair. That no matter how hard you try to be the best, sometimes you still fail. We found out that you can be kicked out of your home, compensated with a paltry sum because the government needs to build a lake there. That sometimes the people you love will not love you back. That parents die, that dreams don’t always come true and we learned that our childhoods were precious gifts. So, we now have the responsibility of keeping it precious for them. Keep them young.
Better yet, learn to say no. It’s a small but effective word and boy, does the world ever need to hear it.
We are spoiled, world. Straight up, mad spoiled. Just think, less than 100 years ago, people were going through a real depression. A wide spread, deeply felt dark depression. They were worried about how they were literally going to clothe their children. Parents were watching their children starve because they didn’t have enough to feed them, much less educate them. Alcoholism hit an all time high as did child labor. Bank robbers were idolized because they represented fighting the system. Big bad government was born. Those people shouldered what life gave them and swore to give a better life to their kids. This was not what they had in mind. Kids throw a shrieking fit just because they didn’t get an iPhone for Christmas? I’m sorry, what is so important that you do in 2nd grade history class that you need unlimited access to the Worldwide Web and text? Gluttony is not the opposite of poor. It is the opposite of wisdom. There is a difference between what you need and what you want. I should know, my father told me that on a weekly basis.
I just hope that we all wake up before we go hurtling down some trash chute, stuck all over with a label that reads Rotten to the Core.
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you lived and lived well.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
While desperately pursuing a sweet spot in life, a carefree happiness that’s eluded me for some time, I’ve recently lost sight of any higher purpose. I, like a child, wanted instant gratification. Intentionally forgetting that enlightenment and wisdom most often come through great adversity and pain, I’ve just been trying to get the pain to stop. Doing so, I believe I may be inadvertently slowing the process to that eventual goal. When we set aside our problems to be looked at later and drown our sorrows in the protective presence of friends and beer, those problems don’t disappear. I know this, but I am not living this.
I don’t want to just get by in life, I want to experience it to the fullest, to the absolute hilt.
What I am doing now, how I make use of my time now, will never get me to the hilt.
“In the end, it’s what gets you through the day that counts.”
So many people repeat and/or subscribe to this theory, but dwelling on it this evening, I realized it couldn’t be more wrong. Making the most of your life means doing the exact opposite of that, for sure. It has everything to do with what you choose to do to get you through the day.
For the people who regularly end a long workday with a six-pack of beer and mind numbing television programs, they are making a choice. A life choice. That choice, poor or not, is to zone out, veg out and otherwise zombie-walk through the rest of their lives. Rather than face each day clear-headed and vulnerable to life’s inevitable disappointments, they prefer to immune themselves to trials and tribulations with numbing agents that narrow their fields of perception. There are nearly endless ways to zone out; video games, movies, talking mindlessly on the phone, bottles of wine, whatever. And I’m not saying that a few mind numbing nights are not in order…we all need to zone out once in awhile. However, the ease in which you can slip into that numbing process is dangerous. Suddenly, it’s every night and you wake up one day, wondering what the hell you’ve accomplished in your life. Well, the answer is in the moments you let slip away.
I made some serious promises to myself about a year ago. Promises concerning patience and kindness to others, pursuing wisdom in all things, learning from my mistakes, indulging my insatiable pursuit of knowledge and realizing important goals. I’ll admit it. They’ve been put on the back burner recently. No, not just on the back burner, if I’m being honest with myself. They’ve gone largely ignored as of late and the fault lies only and solely with me.
Coming to the realization a few years ago that I’d lived my life somewhat indulgently and even been reckless with other’s feelings and hearts, I decided then to be more cautious in all aspects of life. That is a difficult task for me, considering my naturally flighty and spontaneous nature. Well, I would say that in many aspects, I was successful. Today I can say with confidence that I am an honest, straight-forward and thoughtful person.
Unfortunately, I can not say that I am any closer to realizing my goals and I am no longer learning or moving forward. I’ve reached a wall in my evolution, and in order to scale that wall, I think I’m going to have to accept a certain amount of fresh pain and grunt work is a must. It’s time for me to cleanse, refresh and start over. Since I don’t have outrageous sums of money to hide away, contemplating in a lake cabin for a year, I’m going to have to suck it up and say no to the temptations around me. I must learn to focus, or I will never reach a single one of these goals.
I see a long and winding road yawning before me.
Deviating from my usual indoor routines, I stepped out into the sunshine this afternoon, fully intending on taking a little detour through the nearby woodsy area and sit languidly beside a stream, while reading my book.
The dogs had other plans for me.
As soon as I exited from my cave (my horrendously messy room) and stepped into the backyard, they eagerly rushed towards me. Bailey’s butt was shaking back and forth at warp speed and Diego, with his signature single-mindedness, was pushing his slobber covered, floppy red Frisbee on my leg. Diego dropped the slime covered thing on my bare foot, and looked up at me expectantly with watchful doggie grin. Meanwhile, the little Maltese mix my roommates and I are babysitting danced excitedly around, trying not to get squished.
I abstained from throwing the toy and stared back at Diego, smiling, waiting to see his next move. Bailey took this showdown as an opportunity to grab her ball and come back wriggling in sheer happiness. Diego looked down at the Frisbee in confusion, as if astonished that it hadn’t moved of it’s own accord by now, and nudged it with his long nose impatiently toward my foot, his eyes never leaving the red disc. Nudge, nudge. Nudge.
I giggled to myself and backed up, watching him. Ooh, a nudge and a bark this time! Jumping forward and batting me with both his front feet, Diego barked his wants at me. He ripped his eyes away from the Kong Frisbee for only a second to glance up at me anxiously and butt me with his head.
Unable to resist the elation and play of the pups, I grabbed both the ball and frisbee, at once deserting my plans for a nature walk and changing them to an afternoon in the backyard. I threw Bailey’s ball on one side of the yard and Diego’s Frisbee to the other. They both sprinted off, sublimely happy for that moment in time. Bailey’s ball bounced off the fence and she leapt her large body straight up off the ground, twisting to snatch the ball right out of the air. Diego, lithe and inexplicably fleet, beat the Frisbee and spun to catch it. All lean muscle and sinew, he resembles a cross between a Short-haired German Pointer and a Whippet. The boy can fly. They both returned to me and quickly dropped their toys at my feet, completely ignoring the tiny, still dancing Maltese mix, Toby.
Grabbing up the toys, I repeated my previous throws and spent the next 30 minutes trying not to accidentally toss the damn things into the neighbors’ yards. Bailey, panting heavily, finally stopped at my feet and keeping her ball safely in her mouth, dropped unceremoniously onto the cool, freshly cut grass. Diego, he of the unlimited energy, was also out of breath and content to temporarily accept my pushing away of the Frisbee. After a quick glance to ensure no piles of dog crap were underneath me, I took my cue from Bailey. Stretching out on the lawn, I rubbed her black fur idly with one hand and ran my fingers through the newly shorn grass with the other.
Sounds from the neighborhood swelled around me, intermingling with the heavy pants from the dogs. Shouts, from kids and parents alike, broke the relative quiet of the late afternoon. They were accompanied by lawnmowers and weed wackers, all blending together into a relaxing low hum. The sweet smells of cut grass and barbecue lingered in the strong wind, which countered the warm sunshine perfectly.
In that moment, if only for just that second, all the things that have been weighing me down so much lately, lifted and I was free. I distinctly remembered doing this very thing as a young kid. Lazing in the grass, listening to the sound of friends playing nearby and choosing to daydream my time away, participating in the world from a distance. Firmly in the grips of nostalgia, I felt a flimsy ghost of the blanket of safety from my youth. The world was wide open before me then, nothing was impossible, and no dream too big. Books had opened my mind at a very young age to endless possibility and a promise of exciting adventure someday, thrilled through my bones.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled the clean air through my nose, calming my heart, and absentmindedly (yet again) ran through the journey from Then to Now for the hundredth time in my head. Countless decisions, unrestrained joy and searing pain, detours and surprises litter my path. My father’s deep voice reverberates off the walls in my mind. “Jennifer, if there is a hard way to do something, you’ll find it. You’re stubborn, like me. You need to learn from others mistakes! You don’t have time to make them all on your own.”
Yes, instead of taking the path less traveled by, I took the one you have to chop down with a machete and even occasionally, bulldoze. And that has made all the difference. Brambles and wicked looking trees, prowling lions, swamps, quicksand…you name it and I’ve most likely been there.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about a few things more often than others. One is forgiveness, and the other, is the uncertain road ahead. I yearn…no, I ache to fulfill a few of those youthful dreams I still hold so dear and the difference is now I feel the newer, unchanging pressure of time running against me. I want to start having more of an answer to the question, “Who am I?” and it is going to require something specific from me…I’m just not sure yet what that is or what direction to head in.
Shaking off these cyclical musings, I jumped up, spilling little Toby onto the ground and dusting off the dirt. The pups jumped up with me and we started another game. My days are often this way, as of late. Filled with these thoughts, I mean. Something’s trying to happen inside me and I’m not going to be happy until I get it all sorted out.
Don’t get used to it.
Although I always maintain that my political viewpoints are far too scattered to attach myself to a specific party, I’ve found I often lean right, at least financially. Socially, I still find myself agreeing more with the left. I fought my Republican father tooth and nail throughout my youth on most of his politically incorrect opinions, but as I grew older and became a tax-paying citizen, I saw the truth inherent in quite a few of his words.
A friend of mine asked me once about what I thought it would take to encourage younger people to get excited about or at the very least, understand the Republican party. My response is as follows.
The media, the world, the liberals, even the conservatives themselves have done an excellent job of painting a pretty awful picture of the Republican party. Remember the younger generations were raised by Vietnam war protesters, Haight Ashbury survivors, Free Love supporters, even just the silent observers of the political mess that was the 60’s and 70’s. The Civil Rights fighting, a Nation divided in thought, and truly the first example in the US of total irreverence for all things tradition and government. “Down with the Man” was born. Nixon, Reagan, Bush…these faces do not have too much of a difference and come with a HUGE negative slant when it comes to a young person these days. We’ve inherited the cynicism of our fathers, perhaps in spades. War monger’s. Power Tripping A-holes. Uncaring, rigid, unbending jerks with a private agenda and would take any measure to reach that goal. These thoughts are but a few of the ones running rampant through any typical 20 to even 30 year old’s mind.
Most of these people (my age group) are operating under the idea that their thoughts are their own and original, however, these stereotypes of the Right I just mentioned have been encouraged in many ways, mainly by the conservative party itself. Whether through media bias (which DOES occur on ALL fronts, liberal & conservative, but predominantly liberal) , through the cynicism of the previous generations battle scars with lost causes like Vietnam, through our liberal leaning educations, through the birth of the instant gratification culture where we know more about the new Mortal Kombat game and the new Batman movie than Prop 8, through excellent word-of-mouth campaigns, the ill-advised choice of the awkward Pres. Dubya Bush for a representative of the party,…and much more, it is hard to distinguish the real people involved in the party through the ugly blanket thrown over the entire Right. Remember, I am talking about the VERY common perception, not the reality.
My generation hates soccer moms and all that they stand for. They sneer at the traditional values that the members of the Right so often hold dear. They are almost exclusively children of divorce, infidelity, abuse, R-rated movies, and cynicism nurtured from the womb. They are not voting because they want to preserve the values that they see fail every single day. The failures of our parents and authority figures to uphold the truth of goodness and virtue that they preach have much more far-reaching effects than we can know. This isn’t a rebellious, teen angsty POV. It is an abhorrence of the hypocritical image so often associated with the religious and the virtuous, because the attempt to be more enlightened and a good person is no longer enough.
The common excuse of being human and failing doesn’t matter to this scarred and often childish generation. This has evolved into a preciously held belief. We can’t believe in marriage, love, happiness, and virtue (look at our examples of that epic fail) so as usual, people must find something to believe in. The Anti-values Belief. When you believe in being “groovy” with everything, being PC about everything and accepting all forms of relationships and life, it leaves little room for disappointment and failure. Everything is cool.
And this is where the Left makes its grand entrance. Liberals are associated with beliefs that are harder to pin down and harder to be scarring hypocrites about. Scarring was the key word there. The environment, animals, civil rights, women’s rights, seemingly against big business, a more hippie, earthy, open approach to life…who doesn’t care about these things today? The requirements from our country, both economically and politically, to fulfill some of the more idealistic dreams of the Left don’t factor in with my age group. Instant gratification, remember, not a ton of forward thinking. Half of us secretly believe we are headed to some kind of alien Armageddon, for crying out loud. You see how ridiculously easy it is for this generation to walk into the libs camp and act like they were destined for it? We were raised for it.
There are less differences than one might think between the Right and Left. This is an arguable point but I would deviate from this point far too much if I went into specifics. The party differences are at the core and issue related and people are forgetting that. What seems to be the new thought and new common belief is that the differences are more emotional and more personal. What I mean by that is, our two parties seem to be divided more along lines that have less and less to do with the real issues and more to do with the surface politics, the perceived faces. Each day the parties seem to polarize more along these new, ill-defined fault lines.
SO the first step in reversing this trend before it is too late would be analyzing the situation correctly then applying a well thought out treatment that adapts to the problem, versus sticking to your guns and refusing to change.
If you haven’t heard about Susan Boyle by now, you must be living in a cave and not able to read this. Whatever the case may be, you’re missing out.
On Britain’s Got Talent, a 47 year old woman with caterpillars for eyebrows and a quirky personality simultaneously admonished and won over the heart and minds of the world. Near 48, never dated and never-been-kissed (not by choice) this aptly described as “cheeky” and guileless woman stood bravely in front of a jeering audience and cynical judges, attempting to fulfill a lifelong dream. If you have any imagination at all, you’ll know what a lifelong dream means to someone near the age of 50.
I’ll admit, as I slowed the elliptical machine long enough to plug my iPod headphones into the nifty box that allowed me to hear one of the several TV’s in the place, I was expecting another William Hung incident. We’ve been conditioned by shows like American Idol to expect to laugh at the hilarity of truly terrible singers trying to make it as a singing sensation, marveling at their audacity to even try. As I geared up for the waves of cringing and pity sure to follow, I turned up the news at just the right part…and received the smack in the arse that I so richly deserved. I found myself hiding a sniffle from my fellow gym rats and wiping away a few stray te
ars. This was all nothing compared to the downright deluge when I watched it in it’s entirety at home.
To say that this video changed my outlook on life would be dramatic, yes, but not so far off the mark. I think this video is circulating so rapidly because it means just that to so many. In these turbulent times of economic instability and rampant cynicism, Susan Boyle is a bright shining star of hope and dreams realized.
We, society today, are like the skittish children of a really bad divorce. We’ve been lied to, used and manipulated so much that we’ve found solace in expecting the worst of everything. As a shield, I think we’ve childishly adopted costumes of apathy to disguise the calluses and fend of further disappointment. We’re all trying to find a happy pill these days, when one doesn’t truly exist. Life is hard, it is pain and yet, it is also beautiful, as our Susan reveals this night.
I don’t know if you all have noticed the attitude I’m referring to, but it seems to be a common ground these days; in our humor, children and normal discourse. No longer is the cool, nonchalant attitude being left in high school halls where it previously held court. Now, it’s being adopted nation, if not world, wide. I’m always running up against the “too cool” factor and it never fails to piss me off. I think my views on elitism are well documented by now. The cool policy seems to require we don’t be idealistic, overly emotional, or excitable. Instead, remain aloof, hands in pocket, and slam every single establishment we have with snark and sardonic wit.
How much more courage it would take to be vulnerable, to approach a moment with childlike excitement and glee. There is so much more to admire there, the humanity of it could bring you to your knees.
As with anything negative, it starts to wear away at you after awhile. It was one such night, when I felt weary with the weight of the world and it’s disappointments, that I watched Susan Boyle. This woman, having been through a lifetime of trials and disappointment, trots out on stage and faces her demons with a giggle and a hip swivel. In the face of Simon’s eye-rolling and a packed house of ridiculing laughter, Ms. Boyle opens her mouth and unleashes the full-bodied voice of an angel. As the song crescendos and her voice swells effortlessly out to accommodate, ruthless Simon Cowell actually sighs and smiles like a little girl in love, chin in hands.
I found my heart joining her voice, circling joyfully in wide arcs toward the vaulted ceiling and outwards, into the fervent shouts and applause surrounding her. Exalted and untouchable, if only for that moment, she wowed much more than an audience and three entertainment hardened judges that night. She wowed the world, replacing derision and exclusiveness with belief and love. The power of music to inspire and change has never failed to astonish me. This is a shining example of that exact thing.
As an added note, I don’t know if she choose the song deliberately for it’s message or to show off her vocal range, but the lyrics are stunningly perfect for her situation. Anyone who has had to let loose some long coveted dream will identify with this excerpt from Les Miserables. I’ve included them below.
doneI Dreamed A Dream
from Les Miserables
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untastedBut the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shameHe slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn cameAnd still I dream he’ll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weatherI had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.
