A Little Something for Everyone on Valentines Day

For whatever reason (the commemoration of a saint, the Christianizing of a Pagan festival, or the marking of the beginning of the mating season of birds), we have a "holiday" in mid-February to celebrate love and romance.

Like Christmas,  this is actually an "event" that should be an everyday occurrence. Also like Christmas, nobody parties harder this holiday than those interested in selling it.

Unfortunately, those that are selling it are marketing to one market audience only: couples. This has created a backlash and many negative feelings from those who are not a part of that group. "Singles Awareness Day" and "VD" are two common references to Valentines Day from those who don't have a "+1".

The couples who choose to celebrate this day should party it up as hard as they want to. Wear red. Buy flowers, chocolates, or diamonds. Wear a special red thong and heart pasties under your clothes and rock your partner's world after an intimate dinner and a few glasses of wine. There is never a reason not to celebrate loving someone.

Even angry singles can find a way to make this day fun:

* Stand outside of Jared, and take pictures of everybody that goes inside. Then, use social media to spoil everyone's surprise. You could take that further, by posting pictures with the caption, "He DIDN'T go to Jared!"

* Offer to babysit for the most annoying couple you know, just don't tell them you are going to take their kids to the same restaurant they are going to.

* Make reservations for two at a restaurant that is known to be considered romantic. Make sure your table is in the middle of the room. Put a rose in a book and place it on the table across from you, and sit there looking like you are pathetically waiting for someone. Everyone around you might feel bad enough to buy you a drink. After an hour, begin to cry softly, making sure your mascara runs. That ought to get you a dinner.

I have to point out that these are things that could be done on any day of the year. Just like wearing special red panties, buying someone flowers or chocolates, enjoying a nice dinner and a bottle of wine.

Valentine's Day is a day to celebrate LOVE. Celebrate it or don't. But love is love is love, no matter how it is expressed; romantic, familial, or friendly, love is love. Celebrate the day, or celebrate every day with love. Everyone has it; it is in all of us. Whether or not you feel you have it to GET, I can assure you that if you have the awareness to feel that way, then you undoubtedly have it in you to GIVE.

SHARE love on Valentine's Day,

and EVERY day.

Sprinkle that shit on everything.

Small, Symbolic Validations of Connection

My "thing" with certain jewelry started about 16 years ago, when I worked in an office with a much younger girl who gave me the necklace she had been wearing when I complimented it. I had initially refused to take it - it wasn't valuable; I just didn't want to take something that was hers. She told me then that while she did really like it, she'd 'gotten her use out of it' and now it was time for someone else to enjoy it. She also said that she felt compelled to give it to me the moment I said something about it. This particular girl was someone I thought to be an old soul and who I considered to be much wiser than I was. She lived in the present at every moment, and always found something to appreciate. We were in and out of each other's lives in less than two years' time, but I learned a lot from her. 

Thank you, Katie. I hope you are well.

Since then, my jewelry - necklaces in particular - has become somewhat significant to me, as a talisman, a reminder, and/or a symbolic validation of a connection of some sorts - it could be a connection with another person, or a certain connection with myself. When I find the right piece, I would wear it for years - and with Katie in mind, would give it away when the time was 'right' (Elina, the spinning ring you gave me stayed on my left thumb for 11 years, until I passed it on to someone special three years ago - another short but meaningful connection. Thank you, Elina.)

I will wear other jewelry, sometimes, when I dress up, but I will still wear the pieces I consider to be a part of me. Right now, I'm wearing five rings on my fingers that I don't take off; one of them I've been wearing for almost two years. None of my 'staple' jewelry is worn out of habit; each piece means something. I never plan to pass anything on; when I buy it my intention is to keep it. Giving it away happens on a thought. Something inside tells me that "this person should have this", and I go with that thought (part of my promise to myself to stay in the moment).

I remember buying a particular necklace in 2005 that I was still wearing in 2007, when I started driving a school bus in Easton. I'd had my eye on it for a while, and was so excited the day I finally bought it. It was nothing overly spectactular or even shiny; it was a simple tear-shaped stone on a black rope. But it caught my eye. Every time I saw myself in a mirror, I would see it and it would always make me smile. I don't know why, I was conscious of the way it felt around my neck and it just felt good to wear it. Every day.

One of the girls on my bus, a high school senior, noticed it one day, and I remember knowing right then that I was going to pass it on to her, soon. It was a weird feeling, that knowing, but a good one. And it made me think of Katie, again. The girl mentioned my necklace a few times over the next few months.

On the last day of school, I put the necklace in an envelope. (I even remember making sure to wear a shirt with a higher collar, so my necklace - or lack of - wouldn't be noticeable.) I also put a note in the envelope, explaining that I was passing along the same good feeling that was passed on to me. I handed her the envelope as I wished her good luck when she was getting off the bus, and watched her in my rearview mirror as she walked down the street, her back to me, as she opened it. I know the exact moment she saw what was inside, because she stopped walking - she just stopped. I can't explain what I felt at that moment, but it was a rush of something quite good. Then, I just looked forward again and pulled the bus away from the curb, not wanting to look back again and maybe spoil that moment.

It was almost 6 years later before I wore another special necklace; this one wasn't on a chain, but on a woven strand of rope. I wore it until it wore away - and even the timing of that happening was momentous.

Two years ago, I found one that 'called' to me. My moon. The moon has always held a special importance for me; I can't explain it, it just does. As events changed in my life, that necklace became even more meaningful.

When things changed again, as they always do, I realized it was time for a new one. I needed to get a new one, and I was having a hard time parting with this one. I knew it was just my own unwillingness to accept the newer changes going on.

My friend Kara took me out for a drink on my birthday. I don't know how the subject of jewelry came up, and I hadn't told her about my 'thing' with jewelry - I don't even know if she sees that night the way I did. All I know is all of a sudden, she reached up to her neck and grabbed hold of the pendant she was wearing and said that she 'felt she should give it to me'; and she insisted on it. I knew that the stone was very special to her, too. I did take it, with the promise to return it when I was 'done'. I put it on the same chain with my moon. It wasn't a total change, but change enough. Thank you, Kara.

(It was that same birthday that my 'mentor' Sindy handmade a tiara for me to wear, out of crystals. I won't bore you today with more talk of tiaras. Thank you, Sindy.)

I wore it for exactly one year, on the same chain with my moon. When my next birthday came (5 months ago), I felt it was time to give it back to her, and to get a new necklace. I found one, and gave her her stone back. The new one was only 'good' for me for about a month - it was a cheaper necklace; I started taking it off occasionally out of fear it would turn my neck green, and then I stopped wearing it altogether. I knew it wasn't right for me, and inside I knew why; part of my reason for purchasing that particular necklace had to do with a continued refusal of letting the past go, but it was still important enough in that it got me to finally take off the other one.

My best friend Donna 'gave' me a necklace to wear about two months ago - I may have pestered her for it. :) I just really wanted to wear it. It was a large labradorite stone in the shape of a heart.Thankfully, she gets me. (Thank you for that, Donna.) Another loaner, but I do feel that sense of timing. And, every day I have enjoyed wearing it; I can't explain the comfort (best word choice I could find) that I get from feeling the weight of it, and seeing it.

Two weeks ago, I knew I was going to see her again and harrassed her about possibly having to give it back - and she let me keep it, saying I still needed it.

Today, I got a pendant in the mail from a friend. She'd messaged me on New Year's eve with a picture of it, saying that my posts about Donna's necklace made her think about it and "It's not a heart, but if you like it just send me your address and it's yours and you never have to return it." She said, "I saw your post last night and thought about this piece (I've had it for ages and never wore it), and the weird thing was that it was in the first place I looked for it."

It's a moonstone - one of my favorite stones. And it's huge. And gorgeous. And I LOVE it. Thank you, Cindy.

Donna will be happy she'll get her necklace back - she'd been wearing it when I kind of begged for it. Right now I'm wearing both the moonstone and Donna's necklace, until I see Donna. Both of them feel right together. I have a feeling the moonstone and I will be together for a long time.

Why am I talking about any of this? There are so many things tied in to these little, seemingly nothing stories, and the main one is of connections. The people that come in and out of our lives are not part of chance or any idea of randomness. There are no coincidences. It doesn't matter if you cannot understand how I feel about symbology or jewelry; you have your own measure, definition, or marker for that which is significant and meaningful (think of the meanings behind engagement and wedding rings; this is similar). My last three out of four necklaces came to me (an event in its own right), and the one I chose didn't 'stick'; through friends in different circle-widths around me, each piece carrying it's own different meaning to me, yet each one necessary. I spent a very short time with Katie - she literally disappeared from my life as soon as she left the job, but she is still with me and still a part of things I do. The high school girl I gave the necklace to was not a friend of mine; she was a student on my bus for ten months and I haven't seen her since - and she is still with me, because I still remember the pure pleasure I got from giving her something that I really enjoyed (and I don't miss it). Kara, a dear friend that I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I see her a year, loaned me an item special to her - something irreplaceable if I'd lost it. Donna - I can't say enough about her. That bitch has my back (and most of my secrets). She sees what I refuse to admit (and tells me); I got one of her 'good' pieces of jewelry. And Cindy, who I only actually met in person once at the house of a mutually dear friend who passed less than two months later, just 'thinking' about giving me something that she couldn't have known the depth of its meaning to me. They are always with me. Connections.

I have to acknowledge noticing all of these little serendipitous synchronicities, tied together by seemingly insignificant items. No, things do not matter, but it is not the things themselves that I am realizing that I am humbled by (and I've just limited myself to talk of jewelry here, there are so many other things I am thankful for) - it is the timing, the energy, the meaning in these symbolic representations that I am in awe of - the nudges from the Universe that tell me that we all are connected, and everything is GOOD.

Thank you. I needed that.

Label This!

I have many labels, and have been called many things. I was born in the United States, which means I’m a mixed breed. I don’t speak Starbucks, and as far as I’m concerned, they are the ones who should learn English.

I’m beige on the outside, which I grew up being told was ‘white’. Inside, I’m the same as everyone else.

My age of 48 puts me in Generation X (children of the Baby Boomers). Not cool anymore. I'm old to some and young to others.

As a woman older than 35 but younger than 50, I am a lost demographic to the marketing world; but since I am single, I may be used as a prop.

When I was a bartender, I was told I was very pretty – unless I shut that person off. When I was a legal secretary, I was a typist. When I was a stripper, I was called a slut. When I was a waitress, I was treated as a servant. When I was training male doctors on a new computer program, I was still just a woman expected to be intimidated by a male counterpart who made more money. When I was a school bus driver, I was ignored as an ‘underling’ – unless I made a child sit up in the front seat; then I was a mean-person-out-to-hurt-children-as-a-means-of-validating-myself, because your child would never misbehave. When I gave birth, I was just a mother (this includes a loss of sexuality points).

As a young girl, I was told I was ‘just a girl’ and warned of the many things I couldn’t do. I ran like a girl, threw like a girl, and cried like a girl (but I could spit like a boy).

Then I got ‘girl married’ and I was someone else’s possession, representative, mirror, and secretary.

Because I'm a girl, when I moved into my neighborhood three years ago alone with my young daughter, I was called a cougar. Because I’m a girl, I was hurt when someone broke up with me. Because I’m a girl, I was accused of having another man lined up when I broke up with someone (because a girl would never do that unless she had a safety net).  When I get angry, I must be ‘on the rag’. When I’m hurt, I’m overreacting. When I have an opinion, I’m bossy. When I say no, I’m a bitch (when I say yes, I’m a slut, again). I have been accused many times of acting ‘like a man’ – or trying to.

Oh, and since I’m single and own cats, I am now a ‘cat lady’, too (although the lady part might be questionable).

I am labelled because of my color, my sex, my job, my age, my looks, my choices, my hobbies, my lifestyle, my political status, my religious beliefs, my clothing, my children, my friends, my pets, and the color of my nail polish.

We use labels for organization and separation. Consider the file cabinet (unless you are under 40; then think about a file in the Documents folder of your computer): we will label a file as separate from another file, and then we will label a sub-file within that file, to isolate it even further from its parent file.  Generally speaking, each sub-file is a part of the main label, but still separate from it.

How is it that we are willing to split hairs and define paper, thoughts, projects, areas, time periods, and things as their own unique items, and not do the same when we label people? We even allow uniqueness with paint colors (fuschia is not pink), yet we label people in generalities. White or black, gay or straight, male or female, republican or democrat, liberal or conservative, etc. We have this need to separate; if you are not this, you are that. The sub-category (sub-folder) does not apply here.

In treating people according to blanket-generality labels, we deny them not only their own uniqueness, but our connection to them. Try as you may, you cannot deny our connectedness; it has already been established that we all bleed the same way.

Both sides complete a whole, yin and yang, male and female, heads and tails. I am not this or that. I am this and that. A little of both, a little bit of everything … a little bit of you.

(But since all that is too much to put on a t-shirt, you can just call me Susie.)

Ladies, Chaka was partly right: we are every woman, but we are more than that. You are more than that. 

The Stylistics said it better: You are everything.

And everything

(everyone)

Is You.

Stick that in your label maker.

Dropping the Basket

I dropped my basket yesterday.

Again.

I hate admitting it, as usual, but since there were a few witnesses my secret is already out.

Actually, I dropped it last week, however it was as if the event was videoed in slow motion, giving plenty of people time to catch up and watch.

In my case it’s not about depression; this is a situation more like the feeling of being an egg sitting in the boiling water too long that begins to crack (that analogy is something I’ve had the opportunity to associate first-hand – an attestment to my cooking skills). Of course, it could also just be Head Up Ass Syndrome.

We’ve all reached that point somewhere, sometime in our lives, when we just lose it. I’m not whining. I understand and even support that sometimes it needs to happen. I usually operate with an internal pressure release valve; when something happens, I vent (and vent … and vent). Sometimes my venting is quite entertaining (according to some of my friends) as I get creative in my descriptions of how I’d like to react – another part of my process; reaching for the ridiculous always helps me with perspective (or, it just highlights my own level of crazy – either way, it’s part of my charm). I have learned to temper my venting in front of a woman I work for occasionally, because even after 12 years she will still say, “But you’re not going to do that, right?”

Sometimes, the vent sticks shut, or is not open enough to allow enough air out, and the pressure builds.

Back to the basket. I dropped my basket. I always loved that saying, even before I heard it in The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. With this morning’s acknowledgment of my own basket-dropping, I began to think about that phrase a little more, with a little mental imagery. Of course, I took it further – and then I found myself in the middle of another great (as far as I’m concerned) analogy.

I want you all to try something. (Seriously, try it and post pictures of it here or to my Facebook page) Fill up a basket with little plastic eggs (or superballs, if you have the time and really want to have some fun).

Take that basket out into the middle of any public area and just drop it. Watch the little eggs roll off in all directions (I think I really want to do this with superballs!). Here you can get a good visual of how the basket-dropping expression came about.

Now, watch what else happens. People start running around trying to retrieve the little eggs and bring them back to you. No, not everyone; but usually more than you think. Pay attention here: this is not simply a matter of other people trying to be helpful – it is that, but it’s more than that. Someone who is trying to be helpful has time to size up a situation before making the decision to do so – those are the people who were some distance from you who either saw you drop the basket or noticed everyone around you scrambling for the eggs. For other people, helping you out was automatic. Think about it; the people closest to you when you dropped the basket did not have time to think about helping you – they just reacted. Immediate reactions happen without thought; and without thinking, these people rushed to help you gather the eggs.

If you want to go further into this little social experiment, spend some time in this public place and study the people there before you let the eggs loose; see if you can pick out ahead of time which ones will help and which ones won’t. I guarantee at least one person will surprise you, by either not helping when you thought he would, or helping when you thought he wouldn’t.

This is life. You may let go, drop it, lose it, or fall down, however there is always someone there, in some way, to help you pull it together, pick it up, find it, or help you up. Automatically, because however our separateness, we have an innate connection in spirit. Whether it is the person who surprised you by not helping, or the one who surprised you when he did.

The actual physical experiment is nice in that you are detached from the outcome; if someone does or doesn’t help, it doesn’t matter to you because you had no personal investment in it – you were just watching to see what happened. In real life, you may feel disappointed if someone is not ‘there’ for you – but you also may be pleasantly surprised by who is (even if it is just for that one instant). But even then, you are in a position to detach yourself from that feeling of hurt, because if you step back and look at the overall picture, someone was there. And there will always be someone. That’s the order of chaos, the Universal system of checks and balances, this and that. We just have to believe it’s there in order to be able to see it.

We all have those blinders that prevent us from seeing what we have. Those blinders can also prevent us from seeing when another person needs assistance. In the physical experiment, you will notice that some people never offered to help because they didn’t see what happened – and yes, this is sometimes a conscious choice. Some won’t help because they are too far away, or they deduce that there are enough people involved. Each one of us has been in a similar situation where we didn’t see, chose not to see, felt we were too far away, or guessed the situation was under control. That’s human nature based on personal perspective, and it is in all of us. Whatever the case, someone was (and will be) always there for another. Trying to see the bigger picture will give you the opportunity to sidestep feelings of disappointment and be present in appreciation.

Back to me – yes, because I started this. I dropped my basket, and the eggs went flying.

And many people rushed around to gather them back up for me. I saw all of you.

Thank you.

So much.

When Will I Be Old Enough to Wear Purple?

In 1961, Jenny Joseph wrote a famous poem called “Warning,” that has become more and more relevant to women as they continue push beyond the societal norms that dictated their places in the home, limited their opportunity in the workplace, and infringed on their birthright of personal choice and expression.

Whether or not you know the title of the poem, you know the first two lines:

“When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.”

This is a wonderful poem about being in charge of your own happiness, boiled down to allowing yourself to make your own choices about who you are and how you express yourself. Many women have taken this up as their platform for personal empowerment and enjoyment. It spawned The Red Hat Society, founded by Sue Ellen Cooper in 1997, which promotes “fun after fifty”.

Ms. Joseph wrote that piece when she was 29.

29.  Most people don’t know that. That’s pretty young to be thinking that far ahead, don’t you think? At that point in her life, what age do you think she thought counted as being ‘old’?

Right now, the only people seeming to pay attention to this work are the older women – certainly not 29-year olds. If they are paying attention, it is information that is surely filed away for ‘when they are older’.

When is that? At what age are we defined as ‘old women’?  

When will I be old enough to wear purple?

Like anyone living in this generation, I asked Google.

“How to Dress Your Age” brought up about 84,900,000 results (0.52 seconds).

I have to say, first, that NONE of the results on the first 2 pages mentioned wearing purple anywhere. But I did find multiple lists of “age-appropriate” dress for people over the age of 30, 40, 50, 60, and 70.

(I’m sad to say that even Oprah had one. Age-appropriate, Oprah? Really? Conformity?)

By my deductions, that would make 80 the age of the ‘old woman’ and the allowed time slot for wearing purple clothes and red hats.

Are we expected to wait before we can be free in our expressions of who we are? Conform now, be happy later?

Ms. Joseph herself questioned that, in the last lines of her poem:

“But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.”

Whether your mode of dress is full-on ornamentation or simply a matter of concealing nudity, what you choose to wear is a part of who you are, and is often a matter of self-expression.

What happened to “Be You”? Is self-expression and thinking outside of the box conditional? How do we keep using lovely phrases like “Be-YOU-tiful” while we are telling people how they should look, and at what age they should look like that? Isn’t that talking out of both sides of our mouths?

One could argue that how one dresses does not determine the character of the person; however, how one dresses affects the perception of that person by others. No, another’s perception of you does not define you, but it will affect how another will treat you.

The only person that needs to accept me is me. But I will not truly have self-acceptance if I don’t allow the same for everyone else.

Change is needed here, but shifted to the perceiver aspect of ourselves; to allow others to be who they are, before the “Be You” attitude can be fully adopted and acted upon.

Fashion may seem like a small detail in the grander themes of personal power and freedom, but it really isn’t. This ‘small detail’ is a baseline for levels of acceptance and self-esteem. It is a long-standing, self-perpetuating model and prototype of societal conformity that is completely at odds with any and every idea of self-expression and the tolerance thereof. The gateway to all other types of the push for conformity.

A funny thing about this type of following the herd is that the rules are fickle. We knowingly adhere to rules we know will change nearly every 10 years; it’s like following a religion with changing Gods. Yet the true essence of ourselves doesn’t change (it may grow, but it won’t change).

Your favorite shirt, skirt, shoes, hat, pants, tie, hairpiece, or jewelry (whatever it is) makes you feel good, lucky, powerful, confident, comfortable, etc. Clothing and accessories you don’t like, don’t. How you feel in what you wear is reflected in your attitude, even if it’s only a little bit. Dress yourself up in what suits you. Only you knows what that is.

With more people making that choice, we can slow and maybe eventually stop the dictates of this one aspect of forced uniformity. Progress and change do not come from repeatedly same thinking. The pressure put upon young people by the fashion magazines cannot be discounted. Imagine the possibilities of the younger generations growing older with more self-esteem and better acceptance of others …

I’ll tell you this right now: I’m 48 years old, but the only things that will affect my decision to wear a miniskirt will be the outside temperature and whether or not I feel like shaving my legs.

(My skirt will be purple only if it matches my shoes.)

See also What Not to Wear.

Did I Win?

This was my fortune from a cookie three years ago today. Facebook reminded me of it a little while ago. Of course, my thoughts ran through any and all of my life events over the past three years. (And this is not considering the "in bed" game!)

--Now, yes, this could be a direct reference to tonight's Powerball jackpot - I mean, three years is technically "the near future" from that date, seeing as how that as far as The Universe is concerned, three years is just a drop in the bucket! I will know for sure a little later on tonight.

However, if The Universe was talking about something else, I'm back to the question I first asked when I saw that picture again: Did I win?

Immediately my thoughts went to two separate events that happened within a short time of each other. Both were life-changing chances, and both were something I'd considered at the time to be a definite 'win'.

At the time. I say that because I also lost both of them. This is not a matter of me getting something I thought I wanted and then finding out it wasn't as good as I expected; both were even more wonderful than I could have hoped for, and, for reasons outside of my own control (I hear The Universe gently mocking me here), I do not have either anymore.

This makes me question the idea of a 'win'. Is a win only momentary? Or is the win title applied when you can look back and still feel like you came out on top? A while ago, when I had what I wanted, I'd thought I'd won. Looking back now with empty hands makes me question that.

I try to find the answers by looking at events after/as a result of my alleged (I'm trying to be ... optimistic?) losses. I can't honestly say that I've fully recovered from either. The missing of both is still very prominent in my life, for many reasons.

So, I dig deeper. The fucking cheerleader in me has to find something ... anything.

I didn't get too depressed.

Stop laughing!

Let me rephrase: I didn't get SO depressed that I let it prevent me from moving forward. I did publish a book, didn't I? My first one! Yay me!

I began to see myself in a new light (after I stopped belittling myself). Progress is progress, right?

I also learned more about myself, some things I even like.

If I really learned something from my experiences, then I have gained knowledge. While that may not always seem like a win to me, any gain proves that I sure as hell didn't lose!

And I'm still here.

I'll take it.

Thank you. I needed to remind myself of that.

USING MUSIC - Self Love (With or Without the Mirror)

 “Louise Hay is considered to be one of the founders of the self-help movement, and she promotes a technique for self-love that she calls "Mirror Work".  Basically, it is positive self-talk, using a mirror.”

Yeah, I know, I said that already (Mirror, Mirror); however, it’s not as easy as it may sound. Corny? Maybe. Ridiculous? Only if you’re concerned with who’s watching, and if it’s just you and you get embarrassed you might have more work to do.

I’m making light of it because it is hard.  Actually, it can be quite scary, because it can bring up things you don’t want to face (like ourselves). Most of us look in the mirror only to make sure there’s no spinach in our teeth, or that we don’t have our skirts tucked into our pantyhose – basically, to make sure we are presentable (or not offensive) to others. We are not in the habit of actually facing ourselves. Many of us take great lengths to avoid it; not spending any time looking in a mirror may seem small, but it’s the most obvious and overlooked tactic of self-avoidance. Try it. Look in the mirror and see how long you can stare at yourself – not fixing, adjusting, or applying anything – and pay attention to how long it takes you to find something you are unhappy with. You will know the exact moment because that will be the moment you look away.

That’s not even the hardest part, the ‘looking’. The hardest part is talking directly – nicely. Try it. The first time I tried to tell myself, “I love you” I couldn’t even be serious about it. I tried and then immediately went into comic mode. I held the mirror at arms’ length, lowered my chin and gave myself my best come-hither stare, and my “I love you” came out more like Billy Crystal’s “You looooook mahvelous!” Then I pursed my lips and blew myself a number of loud kisses.

There was another time I tried and I ended up focusing on my eyebrows, and out loud I joked about my unibrow; from there I went to unique, unicycle, unicorn, and Unabomber. I didn’t shut up until I was attacking my eyebrows with tweezers, having completely forgotten why I picked up the mirror in the first place.

Forgot. Yeah, that’s it.

I mentioned previously that the first time I actually looked at myself in the mirror, I cried. I realized I had nothing nice to say to me, but plenty of other shit to say. And it was so easy. Why was it so hard for me to be nice to me?

Well, with mirror talk being so difficult, I came up with another idea. Using music.

(It always seems to circle back to music with me. Ah, well … it’s part of my charm. J)

I use music to affect my moods quite deliberately; that's nothing new. It was Hoobastank that gave me the idea of taking my deliberateness further with their song, The Reason.  I love that song. As far as I’m concerned it is perfect, simple lyrics sung simply, with feeling –

Yes, I have a playlist of songs that I feel are pure, in that adding anything else to them would ruin the tone. Ask me one day about Marty Balin and his song, Hearts.

Anyway, the chorus of The Reason is:

            “I found a reason for me
            to change who I used to be
            a reason to start over new-
            And the reason is you.”

I would listen to the song over and over, and feel it.

-- Now, I have had an inner mental battle going on for a number of years about relationships, what they are, the whys and the wherefores, yada, yada, yada. I resent the line from Jerry McGuire - “You complete me.” – that everyone gushes over as being so romantic, because I feel we don’t need anyone to make us complete. Romantic relationships should be about two, separate, complete individuals coming together, retaining their wholeness, under one big umbrella.

This thinking, of course, can ruin a good love song.

That is not to say that I haven’t enjoyed (i.e. cried to) a song that goes on and on about how shitty we can feel after a breakup.

But that is another discussion totally.

As I listened to The Reason (and like I would with any heartfelt song), I thought about the song being sung directly to me. First, I got the heebie-jeebies; the thought of someone changing their life for me seemed like way too much responsibility for me to handle.

And then, I heard it sung to me, from me.

(Then, I really started crying. And this happened)

I thought more about it. If we can’t find the words to be able to say something nice to ourselves when we look in the mirror, why not find a song and sing it to ourselves? Not having to come up with the words takes a lot of pressure off, and if the song already resonates with you it would mean those words are just what you need to hear.

Turn the song around. To you. From you. You don’t even need a mirror.

Or, at least, just think about it. When you’re in the car or listening to the iPod and a really nice song comes on, turn it on yourself. If it’s too hard to sing the words, hear them.  

With or without the mirror, it will help change how you feel about yourself. Even if it only makes you feel better for that one moment, it will be enough right then.

Remember, “you’re amazing, just the way you are.”

And you won’t need anyone else to tell you that.