You're Welcome

I know you. You own the road. Your schedule, your time, your space, and your coffee are the only things that matter. If the rest of us knew better, we’d understand that and just move over to the next lane, block traffic for you so you can make that turn, not get offended if you were pushing us forward in line, hold every door open for you, and bend over backwards (spilling our own coffees) to make sure things move smoothly for you—or at the very least just get out of your way.

You know me. I’m the person who held the door open for you this morning. You breezed right through as if you knew I was supposed to do just that, without even a hint of appreciation or even acknowledgment.  That is, until I looked right at you and said, “You’re welcome!” It may have been obvious that I didn’t mean it.

I’ve encountered you before. Many times, in fact. It used to make me wonder how bad your parents were.

My own father would have taken his military rifle and shot me if I ever let the door slam in someone’s face, cut someone off in traffic or in line, did not help the stranger that dropped her purse, or—GOD FORBID—did not show appreciation for a courtesy shown to me. At the very least, he would have used his best drill instructor voice for a very public shaming to let everyone around know that I was taught better than that, that I knew better than that.

The irony of my rudeness in return is not lost on me. I have stooped to that same level of un-charitableness that I denigrated you for. You didn’t make me do that; you may have instigated an unpleasant emotion in me, but my reaction is my own responsibility. Whether I am rude first or second, I am still being rude. Period. And that makes me wrong.

Still, it would frustrate and amaze me that people can be so rude. To not stop to help someone in any kind of distress, or to take that extra moment or action to make something just a little bit easier for another person, or show basic kindness to or appreciation for another. Even to say that tiny “thank you” to the person who is standing unprotected in the rain a few seconds longer to hold the door open for you. It happens so often that I began to wonder, why do I bother?

--Wait. WHY DO I BOTHER?

Why?

I’m not afraid of my father getting angry with—or even ‘disappointed’ in me if I let the door slam in your face (besides, he can’t see me most of the time).

Why?

Am I expecting payment from you? Is that “thank you” a reward I need for doing something nice? Do I do nice things because I expect to be rewarded? No. If I do something nice it’s because I want to and just because it makes me feel good. So then, technically, if I already got a good feeling out of it AND you said “thank you” I would essentially be being rewarded twice for one good deed.

This means, also technically, I’m not holding the door for you; I’m doing something that makes me feel good. I’m doing something for myself, which means that I am wrong to expect anything from you.

There’s another side to this, too. I have no control over how other people act. The only person I can control is myself. How I act is my own choice. That is a privilege we all have, and I have to respect that you have that same privilege—even if I do not agree with your choices. And, again, it is not my place to agree or disagree.

(These self-talks are fun!)

Okay, okay. I get it.

I will not let what I assume to be your lack of appreciation bother me anymore. How you act, live, be, do has nothing to do with me and it only affects me if I allow it to. I will spend more time concerned with my own gratitude and make an effort to put my focus only on what I appreciate. And because it still feels good, I will hold the door open for you, help you pick up what you’ve dropped, let you know if you left something behind, and give you back the extra money you mistakenly gave me when counting my change back to me—I can’t make any promises about pulling over into the other lane, but I will try to be a little less aggressive. Or I’ll at least try to swear at you less. (Shut up, Yoda!)

By the way,

You’re welcome.

(I mean it this time.)

Feel the Love

Right now, think about someone you love. Anyone. How does it feel? Does it feel good to think about that person? Does it feel good just to love that person?

Now, think about someone you love who passed. Does it feel good to love that person?

Think about someone who loves you. It feels good to feel that love, doesn’t it?

Think about someone who passed that loved you. You remember how it felt to be loved by that person, don’t you?

Do this again, using a different names. Keep doing it until you run out of names.

And feel it. Feel the joy you feel in loving someone. Feel the warmth of being loved.

If you can feel love of any kind, if you can feel how good it feels to love, you are never alone.

On any day.

Because love is all around you.

Happy Valentine’s Day. 

Snow Days

You’d have to be living under a rock (or not on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram) to not know about the snow on the East Coast right now. Aside from the many pictures of snow-covered everything all over social media right now, there are many snippets of conversations that turn into long threads about the issue over the missed days of school. Because this is my blog, and because I can, I’m going to offer my opinion on this, and I will be speaking (with authority) as:

·         a parent

·         a single parent

·         a parent who works outside of the home

·         a parent of an only child*

·         a parent of a young child not old enough to stay home by herself

·         a parent who works at home**; and

·         a school bus driver.

*I have two children that are eleven years apart. My older daughter is 21, with a job and her own life and not home much anymore. Basically, each one grew up as a single child.

**I’ve been a single parent for most of each of my daughter’s elementary school years, working outside of the home (first in an office and then as a bus driver) until last year. This is my first winter as a work-at-home parent.

Snow days are a hassle from the get-go. Just the snow itself can be a big pain in the ass. As soon as it’s realized that the snow may be substantial enough to interfere with school, parents of young children go into overdrive trying to figure out what they are going to do with their kids when they go to work, because most of us have to still work. For single parents this can be excruciating, because sometimes you have to make that choice between work and your kids—and you know what you have to choose. Either way, there is worry and guilt (and a potential loss of pay). We are all over the internet and television, wanting to find out what our city’s decision will be—needing to find out as soon as possible so we know what arrangements we will have to make. We may cheer when our kid’s school finally cancels--but that is not because we are happy about it; we are happy that we know so that we can make our plans. Our bosses don’t like getting calls right before work saying we can’t come in—but if the schools wait that long to tell us, sometimes we have no other option.

As a parent who now works from home, I am grateful that I don’t have to go through that frustration every snow day anymore. But I do still have to work, and it is much harder when the kids are home. And (especially over multiple snow days) when you have an only child at home and you have to work in your bedroom office with the door shut to block out the noise of the TV, you feel guilty for feeling like you’ve shut the child out (parent guilt is always fun). If you live in an apartment with no back yard, your kid cannot go play outside unless you stop work to take them out. Same choice: kid or work; same guilt.

This was our third consecutive week with snow storms and multiple snow days (and we are looking at another storm the day after tomorrow). After the first week with my daughter being home on my two busiest work days, I made sure to have a friend snowed in with us for the last two storms so she wouldn’t be alone the whole time and I could work a little easier.

So, snow days are a huge pain in the ass. I really do hate them.

However, when it comes to schools closing:

In spite of the way snow days really interfere with my schedule, I would rather them close. I guess that’s the bottom line, but I will explain further.

I absolutely hate how long we have to wait to find out whether or not school is cancelled (and, believe it or not, bus drivers don’t always get notified first). And I understand why we wait. The schools don’t want to make the wrong decision and then worry about losing the “allowed” snow days they have and have to worry about extending the school year in June. I have to admit, I think there is a little anal over-concern about getting in exactly 180 days. But that’s my opinion.

We live in an area that is known to have weather conditions like this—not every single year, but it’s not so uncommon that we don’t know we have to make arrangements for them (hence, the “allowed snow days”). Yes, sometimes the school systems make what seems to have been a ‘bad call’ occasionally that has cancelled school when it didn’t turn out to be necessary (hindsight, anyone?), but that shouldn’t affect them from making a ‘right’ call on another occasion—but it does because of the worry of losing those days, which is a damn shame. I drove a school bus route regularly for eleven years, and vividly remember driving on days we shouldn’t have been. And I thank the Universe that those days didn’t get really ugly.

The schools shouldn’t have to be under the pressure they are to not ‘waste’ those days we have allotted for special circumstances. There is really no such thing as a ‘bad call’ when it comes to cancelling school because no one—not even our meteorologists—can accurately predict the weather (although that has changed significantly for the better since 1978). Cancelling school because of bad weather (even predicted bad weather) is a matter of safety. For everyone. Everyone who lives near anyone going to or from school anywhere; drivers on the roads during bus routes, drivers who encounter school busses or school children in their paths.

People who drive mostly highways to work and notice how well-plowed the highways are often make snide comments about the roads being “fine” and “why aren’t the kids in school? This isn’t bad!” first have to realize that bus routes don’t normally drive highways; they are driving the roads that may not be cleared as well.

·         Side streets never get the attention that the main roads get first and the busses are all over those side streets.

·         Busses are also rather large, and do not bend in the middle; making turns on corners onto streets that haven’t been plowed wide enough is a lot harder than you making the turn in your baby SUV.

·         When snow is piled high on the corners it affects visibility all the way around, and a bus driver cannot always see if there is even room to make the turn.

·         Those unplowed or less-plowed side streets also mean that coming to a stop might end up meaning a permanent stop when the bus gets stuck with its wheels spinning (but school busses don’t stop a lot, do they?).

·         Too much snow prevents kids from having a safe (and visible to other drivers) place to wait for their busses.

·         When school busses leave in the morning this time of year, it can be a little darker in the mornings, interfering with visibility. Black ice is almost completely invisible in the dark, isn’t it?

·         When all of the sidewalks aren’t plowed, kids have nowhere to walk except the not-wide-enough streets. They interfere with regular traffic. This puts more cars on the roads when parents have to drive them.

--I have to interrupt here with a pet peeve. To all the joggers out there: is it really that necessary for you to be out on the streets jogging under these conditions? Shouldn’t vehicles have first dibs on the streets? You have other options for exercise. Cars have a hard enough time passing you on the street when there’s snow everywhere. Busses and large trucks have it even worse; if we have no room to allow for the required 6-foot distance between you and the vehicle when passing you, we are forced to follow you. Please be fair and stay off the roads.

The whole idea of calling a snow day (or bad weather day) in advance is safety. We try to teach our kids to err on the side of caution, yet we blow that out the window by how we show that what appears to be more important than the potential safety of people is the 180 days of school rule, or not having to extend the school year. It is only an inconvenience to extend the school year, and one that doesn’t put anyone at risk. Sure, driving a full (especially if you know our town), un-air-conditioned school bus with 70+ hot students sucks, but it is a lot more fun than driving 70+ students in full winter gear (not high school kids, though; fashion always wins over weather), carrying instruments (we are fortunate enough to have a great music department) and book bags that are bigger than they are, while fish-tailing at every single stop (or not being able to make it down certain streets, or not being able to turn a corner, or not being able to see a child who isn’t where he or she should be). Which inconvenience is worse? Having to extend school in June, or having an accident in the winter? If we really want our kids to learn that safety is more important than inconvenience, we have to show them. All it takes is one nasty accident to make a difference, right?

Which one of you wants to make the sacrifice to make that difference?

I have a suggestion: Teachers plan their curriculum ahead of time, right? (And I don’t think this would over-tax the already sometimes under-appreciated teachers). Would it be possible that the schools could arrange some type of online program (or on-public-access-tv) that would allow the kids to stay home on the bad days and still get lessons, and/or even homework? If the curriculum is even roughly planned in advance, then there has to be an idea of what would be taught during the winter. Packets could be made up in advance and given out to the parents at the beginning of the year (or online information if printing is too expensive) that have lesson plans, that can be accessed on the days kids can’t go to school. Lessons can be videoed in advance; if you don’t use them one year, you can use them the next (and they can be used more than once). Schooling is about educating the kids, not just having them check in somewhere for 180 exact days. We should worry about the education, and not the actual in-school time. This would ease the school’s pressure of worrying about going over the amount of snow days, allowing them to make a judgment call based on safety. We say it’s better to err on the side of caution, but we don’t practice that. We should. And we should ease up on the pressure for the schools not to call snow days because of inconvenience.

My best friend Donna is a nurse (and it’s her daughter I usually ‘borrow’ during snowstorms). She is also a single mother whose schedule gets messed with on snow days, but her job is important. So many people have jobs that are really a matter of necessity, or life or death. The people who are responsible for snow removal of any kind, the electricians, the gas companies, the police, firemen, ambulance and tow-truck drivers, healthcare workers, transportation drivers—their workload doubles during this type of weather. The roads should be cleared for them first. When the schools have to make a decision to close or not close schools, these essential workers should be part of their consideration, including whether or not it may be a good idea to keep more people walking and driving out of their way.

I’m not saying we should be afraid of a ‘little’ snow; I’m saying that keeping our kids in school later in the year is not as important as some are making it out to be. We have more at our disposal in technology that we should be able to come up with acceptable alternatives when needed. The schools should be able to make a call without fear of reprisal if they make the ‘wrong’ one, and without that pressure they should be able to make it in a timelier manner, which will make any inconveniences a little less inconvenient.

And a shout out to you essential workers (and I’m sorry if I neglected to include anyone): THANK YOU!

To the Sociopath I Fell in Love With

You came looking for me when I wasn’t looking for anything. You did everything right and I fell in love with you. I cleared space to include you in my entire existence. Then you were done with me, you checked out, and I was left holding empty promises.

Apparently, I outsmarted myself, too. With my belief in theories of time, I should have known that 40 years can happen in 5 minutes.

Because of the project we started working on, some of our references to it and notes were made in personal texts, which I had saved.

I found two comments from you to me that would appear to have been made in jest:

“If I get what I want, you may have outlived your use.”

and

“You can’t hurt my feelings… (I’m a) sociopath.” (Even though I already knew what that meant, I looked it up, anyway.)

Out of everything that you said that I listened to, these were the two things I should have heard. I’m listening now. You were right. In fact, there is another point you were right about. During one of our many conversations we had discussed the idea of hiding things, and you pointed out that the best place to hide something was in plain sight. That includes the truth.

Well done! I completely missed it.

I’ve never been a huge fan of labeling. Giving a person a label has the potential to pigeonhole that person into one set of characteristics only, leaving no room for redeeming (if necessary) qualities. Labels can also keep a person stuck in a rut. In this case however, my use of a label enables me to begin to eliminate the “why” that has been plaguing me since you left. I’ve wasted too much of my time trying to understand how the man that I loved to a capacity I didn’t even know I held, who supposedly loved me just as much in return, could have dropped me so abruptly. Your own label serves a purpose for me at the moment. Right now, I need to use it in order to be able to raise my own energy, to have an answer to the “whys” that have been playing on a continuous loop. My emissions have been low, and I can only raise them one step at a time. (I don’t plan on sticking around on this step for too long.)

Besides, I can’t hurt you. Win-win.

Really, my calling you out as a sociopath is not a label but more of a statement of agreement. You said you were a sociopath and you were right. Charming, charismatic, superficial, and egotistical, living behind the delusions based on mistrust of other people and the grandiose beliefs that only you are “real”. With an uncanny ability to convince yourself that you are always right, and that you are doing things for the highest good. You use your supposed ability to live peacefully among others without argument as validation for your rightness, when actually what is going on is that you allow no one to disagree with you—accomplished by avoidance and refusal of acknowledgment. You can make promises, and hurt someone’s feelings without remorse or apology, because you don’t stick around to face what you’ve done. No one can argue with you if you’re not there. Ergo, you are always right. Clean conscience. Originally, I had mistakenly attributed that avoidance to cowardice, but have come to realize it’s a tactic to uphold your delusions. Cowardice and fear could be behind it, but the avoidance is a deliberate tool. Don’t face what you don’t want to see.

You are truly brilliant, but you know that. You have an exceptional ability to read people, and to say the right things. An extraordinary businessman. One who understands all of the strategies, including how to intersperse just enough of the personal into business dealings to achieve your desired outcome. Your knowledge of the personal is remarkable, and is exceeded only by your detachment from it.

Your ego demands honesty from other people, yet you feel that you are above adhering to it. Not to deliberately deceive someone, as in to cheat them in business-- you know that you have many other skills to get what you want without lowering yourself to that type of dishonesty. Your own dishonesty plays in with your avoidance game. The lie by omission. The refusal to face a conflicting opinion. The refusal to acknowledge that someone else may feel differently about something you may have done – or worse, that they may be right.

You promote expectations in other people’s minds, then denigrate them for having those expectations, using their presumptions against them, calling them “unrealistic.”

There’s no need for you to apologize, because you know exactly the outcome of any given conversation, because you’ve already had it in your head. Besides, if you don’t face them you have no need to acknowledge your actions and, therefore, no need to apologize.

You limit everything that is personal. You keep yourself alone and separate from the commoners, because you know you are truly different. That doesn’t mean you don’t have supporters and fans, and that is all you need. The yes-men, the people awed by your brilliance and charisma. Keeping relationships superficial absolves your full personal involvement and allows you to bask in the adoration and praise that is heaped on you even when you’re not there. He’s a great guy.

Argument or discussion are not means to the end of creating a better outcome, but are used an enjoyable pastime, a pleasant diversion--like a bar room debate--that will be shut down the moment it gets real, or if you feel you could lose ground.

I have to face what’s real. Even in light of things you may have said recently, you truly have no use for me. And I have to stop listening to your words and focus on your actions. If I mattered to you, you would show me. Period. We mere humans do silly things like that. Not just for people we love, but even people we like. Even people we just know. Agreeing with your self-title actually allows me an acceptable enough reason to stop my constant tripping on the “why.” And I have learned your limits on love and friendship—as well as your capacity for them. I accept that our definitions are different. Loners don’t need friends.

I know that the man I fell in love with was a mirage, and as distant as the moon I thought him to be. And I am not “his star” like he said, but one of the many stars he looks down on--with the exception that for a brief moment he shined his light on me. I continue to love that man anyway, as illusory as he is, because love of any kind is positive (and resistance to it was harder!), and will learn soon how to re-channel it into something even more beneficial, to more people. And love without the burden of expectation in and of itself feels good. I don't have to delete him, block him, or cut him out. I can just let him be there. I can even acknowledge and interact with him. It's quite freeing.

Thank you, my sociopath, for helping me learn that.

“I had some dreams,  
they were clouds in my coffee…”

Putting it out there: I understand that my determination to learn to be patient and accepting of what is will stir up resistance from old habits. And I will be more forgiving of myself, and not be too harsh when I have moments of lower frequency.

--If I’m going to learn fucking patience and acceptance, I’d damn well better give some of it to myself!

(Nope. Can’t go without that word even once.)

Fears, Facades, and Faith in People (and my Oxford Comma)

Tonight there was a gas leak in one of the pipes in the street right in front of my house at the exact spot where I park my car every night. I could smell it outside and called the fire department. They checked the basements of all the houses while they waited for the gas company to show. The smell didn’t seem to be coming from any of the houses; just that one spot on the street. The gentleman who work for the gas company confirmed that it was indeed coming from the pipe that was right where I parked my car. He had a mallet and some other tools with him and said that he had to do a little digging to see if the leak headed towards my house or my neighbor’s house and that a crew was on their way to fix it.

Like I always do in situations like this, I went for the humor: I offered the firemen alcohol (of course they refused), asked one of them for cigarette, and when it was time for me to move my car I demanded that I wanted it in writing that I would be safe to start it and threatened to haunt him if he lied to me. There were also borderline inappropriate jokes about phone apps and a stud finder (right, ladies?)—you had to be there. When the first worker from the gas company showed up, after he found the leak (and also found out that there was gas on the foundation of the house), I told him if he was going to blow it up to do it now before I finished cleaning, because I’d be really pissed if I cleaned the house only to have it blow up.

This was a good night for it to happen, because both of my girls were not going to be home. My oldest was working until 11 and I was going pick her up from work and drive her to her father’s house in Boston because she needed to be there in the morning. Because of that I made arrangements for my 10-year-old to stay at my friend’s house (who also happens to be my daughter’s school bus driver) so that she wouldn’t have to be out driving with me late. I know that if they had been home they would’ve been nervous.

I had about two hours until I had to leave to pick my daughter up from work, and I’d been standing outside with the firemen and the gas man, and I was getting cold. So I went inside. I was in the house alone, and I could feel the house shake every time the gas man swung his mallet and hit the ground around the pipes. And then I realized something.

I was afraid.

I will not say that I’m not afraid of anything, but I don’t usually get scared. I get uncomfortable, nervous, hot, cold, pathetic, snarky, flighty, bitchy, hungry and horny – but I don’t get scared. Not like this. I have had scary moments, but I’ve always prided myself on my ability to not react out of fear—even if I get reactionary shakes afterwards, I’ve always managed to be clearheaded in the most trying moments. 

This goes back as far as I can remember, from when I was eight and almost drowned in the bathtub when my hair got caught in the drain (I don’t think I ever told my parents about that) to a few years ago when I lost the brakes when I was driving a full school bus—of course there was that almost freak shaving accident in the shower couple years ago that I mentioned last month. I have had serious experiences; I have children – and there is always a measure of fear at points in their lives, but I don’t remember ever being afraid like I was tonight. We live in an age of terrorism. My family is military, and I was brought up to not react in fear or to allow myself to live in it. In my first blog here I referred to terrorists as bullies and got a little snarky.

But tonight I was actually afraid. This was a very new experience for me.

I have to say this is been a banner fucking year for me for new experiences.

A number of years ago when I was driving a school bus full-time I was driving a route that was undergoing construction on part of it. I bitched about it for days and the delay it was causing, especially because one of my stops was right in the middle of it. One day, about an hour after I picked the kids up at that particular stop, my boss called me on the radio and told me I wasn’t going back to that stop in the afternoon. When I asked why she said, “It blew up.”

I do not know if I have the correct information about what happened, but the information that I have has become my truth. From what I understand, it was human error and that someone hit the gas main. The house that was there exploded and, fortunately, the four college students that were inside sleeping all survived. I had heard a couple of years after that that those poor kids were still suffering the fallout of that – understandably so. Obviously, I had some serious moments of thought about that myself. I stopped there twice a day every day while that construction was going on, and that accident happened less than an hour after I was there. That was enough to give me some pause (understatement). Apparently, it also gave me a measure of fear. I park my car on that spot every single night. Despite confident assurance from the gas company worker and the fire department, I was actually afraid. But they told me that everything was fine and relatively easy to take care of. 

Because of that I had no intention of running away to spend the night somewhere else. I like to be able to trust that people know their jobs, and I wasn’t about to be a hypocrite to what I say I believe in by running scared, or to worry about the possibility of human error. That possibility is always there, for everything.

Before I go further, I want to thank everyone who has a job where “business as usual” is potentially dangerous: gas workers, electricians, construction workers, transportation workers, policeman, firemen, doctors and nurses, military personnel – everyone who has a job that carries a large responsibility with little room for error. Thank you for knowing what you do, and doing it to the best of your ability.

Every parent is aware of the façade we put on for our children when things aren’t going well. Normally, I complain about having to put on “that face”, because it’s not easy. It’s not easy to pretend that everything is fine for the kids, that you’re not worried about whether or not you can feed them or pay the rent. Or hide a negative attitude. Or hide fear. I was grateful that my kids were not around tonight. I also realize that sometimes it’s easier to forge through something when they are around and you have to plaster that confidence on. Because for half an hour I was alone in the house, and every time it shook with the downswing of the mallet, so did I.

I was determined to stick it out. Guess what I did?

I called my father.

I wanted him to confirm what I was already told, that everything was going to be fine. I felt more than silly about it, and fully expected him to make fun of me. I felt ten years old.

But he wasn’t home.

(Yes, I had a good laugh at that, too.)

Knowing that I was going to be picking my daughter up, and not wanting him to call me while I was with her, when I left my message I did not tell him why I was calling. I did not want her to know that I was concerned – and rightly so; as soon as I dropped her off at her father’s house she called me while I was driving home, very worried about me being home near a gas leak. I did what every parent would do, and I told her that everything was going to be fine.

For the remainder of the ride home I thought about the times that I’ve had to put a face on for my kids, and then for the times that I know my parents had to do the same for me. And I appreciate it. Especially now that I know what it’s like. And I thought back about specific instances where I know now that they put on the paint and spackle for me and my brothers and sisters, that I hadn’t known then. And I appreciate it.

To all of you parents out there (past, present, and future) – especially the single parents who go through it alone, know that the effort you make now will be appreciated later in some way. My father wasn’t home when I called him tonight (and you know I’m going to give him hell later!), But he did help me: first, in the gratitude that I felt for the façade he always put on for me, and second, in that happy realization that I had that – despite the turbulence of our relationship – I actually wanted to call him in that moment. I had always mourned that I didn’t have a “family home” to go back to (divorce will do that). But I know I have family to go back to. And that comforted me incredibly.

Gas leak? Smash shmeak. I have better things to think about.

(When I got home from Boston, the gas company was still here, but they said they were pretty much finished and just cleaning up. It’s 3am now, and there’s still a truck outside, but they do seem to be pretty much done. Thanks, guys.)

For the Sake of Auld Lang Syne

When I was 11 (or I was 13 and the date was December 11 – either way, there was an 11 that was significant), I made the mistake of telling my father that I wanted to be a grown-up. He was always complaining about it and telling us how lucky we were that we were kids. He made me write it down on a small piece of paper and date it (I can see the piece of paper in my mind, "I want to be a grown-up" Susie Roulusonis). He said he was going to hang on to it and shove it in my face the very first time I complained about being a grown-up. I actually worried about that for a couple of years. Then as I got older (I won’t say that I grew up), I realized that I actually liked being an adult. Every time I complained about something, the first thing my father would say to me is, “It’s fun being a grown-up, isn’t it?” trying to make me eat my words, wanting to show me how silly I was for saying that. A few years ago I started telling him that he was going to eat that piece of paper, that I would never admit it because I didn’t (or wouldn’t) ever feel that way.

-- He said one other thing to me when I was growing up that I will never forget: “You set to defy me at every turn!”

I’ll give him that. (Hear that, Dad? You were right!)

Because I’m going to do it again.

I’m 47 years old. I think I’m old enough to officially state this. I’ve had enough years in, I’ve been a parent for over 20 of them, I think I’m qualified now (still not grown up, but old enough).

I like being an adult. Even through all the stress, grief and loss, my daughter’s teenage years, marriage break-ups, bills, feelings of worthlessness, and not ever seeming to be where I expected to be by a certain age, I like being older. And I don’t wish to be a kid again.

I enjoy having my own apartment (especially when I’m alone in it!). I enjoy driving my car. I go to parent-teacher meetings not because my kids have any problems in school, but because I think it’s fucking hilarious that I’m the parent! (My poor kids!)

When we were kids, we always thought that being an adult meant being able to do whatever you wanted to do when you wanted to do it. You know what? It really does. Yes, we have things that we have to do, responsibilities that have to be taken care of. But think about it, we really do have a choice. Yes, there will be consequences to certain choices, but the options are there. And looking at it that way makes me feel like I have more choices. If I have what I consider to be free time, I really can do whatever I choose. I like that.

However:

I like looking back. I like looking over the things I’ve done. I like the fact that I can be selective about what I choose to look at, focusing only on the good times. There’s no need to go back. All time is now, right? So if I’m looking backwards, I am reliving it right now. I can be there and here at the same time.

I especially like getting together with old friends, reunions, catching up with people you haven’t seen in a while, people that you spent segments of your life with. Spending time with them and sharing laughter and memories. That ability to look back—and having enough amassed to look back at—is something we only have as adults. I am a kid again when I hang with my old friends. There are some bittersweet moments, of course, especially when someone’s absence is obvious. That is one thing about being an adult that isn’t so great. Watching time pass can be sad; but watching the people pass that we shared that time with…

But for that time that we are reliving memories with our friends and families and we talk about those who are absent, they are right there with us in that moment—then they become a part of the memory of that moment which allows us to keep them with us longer.

I treasure all of my friendships, from the people in my closest circles to those in each circle rippling out. All of you keep the best parts of my past, my history, in my present.

So I will jump at every opportunity of any type of reunion or get together and I will embrace—and wear a tiara on—every new birthday. (Sorry, Dad.)

To my friends, old and new, here or not, every single one of you that I have been fortunate enough to share moments with—any type of moment:

Thank you. You are a part of me.

Happy New Year.

A Christmas Miracle (and my 100th blog!)

I believe in miracles—or at least I say I do.

Belief is defined as the “confidence in the truth or existence of something not immediately susceptible to rigorous proof; trust; faith.”

Miracle is defined as “an effector extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause; a wonder or marvel.”

When I’m down (which usually means I’m not getting what I want, if I’m honest), I try to inundate myself with things that make me feel good. My ‘go-tos’ are usually music and movies—or movie clips, certain scenes I already know, that I know make me feel good. Sometimes I’ll venture out and watch a movie I’ve never seen, as long as I know ahead of time it has a happy ending.

I’d been very thankful that it’s Christmastime; I consider Christmas music to be the happiest music around. There is nothing like a song to comfort you, to lift you up, to say, “I feel the same way,” but I haven’t been able to listen to my own music; right now, I don’t want commiseration. Right now I want to be happy. (I do know that’s my choice.) So, it’s Christmas music and movie time. During the holiday season there is no shortage of feel-good flicks, thank God. I think I’ve DVRd all of them and have probably watched more movies late-night than the total of all the TV I’ve watched in two years. And I sit there, believing throughout the whole film that everything is going to work out right. Yes, I know they are scripted that way—what I’m saying is that I’m not even the least bit cynical, and I believe the happy endings are ‘right’ and I can go to bed with a stupid little grin on my face while wiping the happy tears off my cheeks.

I do believe in miracles. I look for them and I see them happen all of the time. My problem is that apparently my belief is that they happen around me and not necessarily to me. It must be that, because if I believed they happened to me, I wouldn’t worry or be unhappy about anything, right? Because I would know. So I question myself and test my own beliefs—or gauge where they are. Delving further, I wonder whether or not it’s really my beliefs that are in question—it could be my trust; my trust in the knowing that everything is unfolding as it should. Or worse than that. Maybe my trust issue is not a matter of trust, but control. Maybe I don’t believe things will work out for the best or better, because I think what I want is what’s right and what should be, and if I don’t have what I want then things won’t work out. Which means things are even worse than I thought. Because what I have is not an issue of trust; it’s a matter of ego. One thing I do believe is that there are things that are out of our control, and the only thing any of us really have control of is ourselves: our hopes, dreams, actions and reactions. I don’t just believe this; I know it.

So I guess I have an ego problem.

Fuck.

Because this all brings me back to my two favorite fucking words:

Acceptance and patience.

(I think I’m screwed.)

I once wrote that I felt it was time that the Universe just crossed me off and declared me “unteachable” in that. I mean, really, I have no fucking idea what it’s going to take for me to learn either—and I’ve been given some pretty harsh lessons lately.

It’s not like I don’t understand the concept. My last ‘lesson’—before I found out it was just a lesson—started off as something that looked to me like I had finally learned the idea of ‘letting things happen’ and that I was reaping the rewards, that I got my ‘miracle.’ But I was wr… wr…

—I was mistaken. 

My reaction to this has been this whole leading up to the questioning of my beliefs which, it turns out, has to do with my ego and control. I’m not getting what I want and not happy about it.

--I won’t take you through my earlier journey of “But is it really what I want?” and “Why do I want it?” (You’re welcome.)

So, I am back to acceptance and patience. I wish my execution of both could be as easy as my grasp of the concept.

That would truly be a Christmas Miracle.

****

This is my 100^th blog here at Blogger! Thank you Internet! Thank you, Google! Thank God I can type! I’m sure those that would be forced to listen to me otherwise appreciate that I have this outlet! I shouldn’t thank anyone who reads this –Your inability to look away from a train wreck is not my responsibility!

But I will.

:)

Thank you!