Phrases that “Matter”

People process grief and injustice differently and have different points of view based on all manner of things, seen and unseen. Telling others that they can’t use certain phrases and slogans they believe in (and I’m referring to “Black Lives Matter,” “All Lives Matter,” and “Blue Lives Matter”) is not helpful. They are not mutually exclusive. If you don’t like a particular slogan, then don’t use it. But consider that you might not want to forbid others to use a phrase nor presume to know someone else’s intentions when they use a slogan. None of us is an expert in someone else’s life, experiences, or thoughts. We are ALL allowed to speak what we believe and work toward solutions. It is possible to support people of different groups and not turn every issue into one of “taking sides.”

There is plenty of love to go around, and whether we realize it or not, we are each individual humans before we are group members. So, for the record, I will happily use all three of those slogans because I see the importance and love in each one. With much love and compassion to those who mean well, I will not be verbally policed. I know where my heart is.

 

It’s National Poetry Month!

Hey, it’s National Poetry month! So sayeth the guy on the radio this morning. He mentioned writing a poem about one’s zip code, so I wrote something that relates to my town. Unfortunately, I’m a fan of the limerick – that neglected and much maligned step-cousin to “poetry.”

Apologies in advance. Here goes:

The Railroad Commission takes pains

to deny man-made earthquakes. They feign.

Although we are tough,

we’re not wealthy enough.

To be heard, you must fund their campaigns.

Yay! Said with love and a wink!   Wink, wink. Love, love. Seriously, just admit that waste water injection wells cause earthquakes. It will only take a second, and we’ll all feel better. Everyone’s guilt-induced tummy aches will feel better. They will probably go away all together. Tummy aches are one of God’s ways of sayin’, “Hey, quit lying.”

This I know, because I’ve had them. Now I just look up, and say, “Okay! I’m not the spiritually enlightened person I pretend to be! I flipped that guy off, but in my defense, I kept it below the dashboard so he couldn’t see my middle finger. Ugh. Sorry. I’m a poseur. A poseur of enlightenment. (yes, that’s how we spell poser. It’s fancy!) And I write snarky limericks. And I just lectured my dog on how she should have more gratitude.”  Anyway, my tummy feels better.

We digress!

What inspired this poetry writing in the first place was listening to The Take Away on NPR with John Hockenberry this morning. I did not follow directions very well. Come to find out, they had guidelines. That did not involve limericks. Click here to submit your own 5 line Zip Ode (The number of words in each line corresponds to the numbers in your zip code. I have two zero’s in mine, so those two lines are left blank. See below.)

An Ode to my Zip Code: 76020

trees, heron on the lake, peaceful beauty –

and a bit redneck – but still,

my home

I’m not quite a poet. I’m more of a limericist. And I use the term “redneck” with guarded affection and recognition, having once had a pick-up transmission briefly stationed in my bathtub. Many years ago, and only for a week.

Happy National Poetry Month!

a Yellow-crowned Night Heron in our neighborhood

a Yellow-crowned Night Heron in our neighborhood

said with love

Someone says you’ve “put on a little weight.”

Someone gossiped about you. And it was somewhat inaccurate.

Someone doesn’t find you attractive. At all.

Someone thinks you spend money the wrong way.

Someone doesn’t “like” your posts on facebook. Heaven forbid.

Someone disagrees with your politics. And your hairstyle.

Someone thinks your marriage is in trouble.

Someone thinks you are too religious. Or not religious enough.

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Flip it.

There are those you don’t find attractive.

You disagree with someone’s politics.

And their choice of mom-style jeans. And/or low-rise jeans. Or that they own both and wear whichever one fits their mood and/or belly that day. Like they owe anyone an explanation!!

for instance.

So what?

Whatever you need, give it to yourself, and then hang out with people who dig you. They’re out there! It’s true. They’re friends, and they’re life changing. Life changing, I tell ya! Just know that some people aren’t your type, and a few may be intentionally mean. With those, shake hands, nod and part company (not sure why you need to nod – just do it). Either way, when you try to win love or approval from those who aren’t into you OR from those who are mean-spirited, love-stingy or small of heart, your world starts to look limited and sad, but only because you’re focusing on the wrong folks. (yes, “love-stingy” is a thing – some subscribe to the pizza-pie analogy of love, but I prefer the rabbits and more rabbits theory of love. I shan’t explain it.)

Okaaaay, I’ll explain it. There are only so many slices of pizza – meaning only so much love to go around. On the other hand, rabbits tend to multiply. They just keep increasing – like love. The more you give away, the more there is. I subscribe to the latter. (If you forgot the difference between former and latter, look that sh#t up. I don’t have time to go on and on and on here about stuff. You know? Just look it up. Like I do. Every single time I write. I get them mixed up. Are you still here?)

Sometimes we overlook those who are kind and generous, while hoping for the attention of people who are simply unable to give it. Stop. Life is beautiful and full of love, and so are you. Focus on the good, and take care of yourself while you’re at it. Open your eyes. You’ll find love all around you. Go there.

On a side note, perhaps the phrase “pizza-pie” bothers you. Or that I just called it a phrase when it’s clearly a hyphenated compound.

Maybe you don’t like the word, “shan’t.”

And, hey, you may not like this post or my artwork.

So what?  (said with love)

a supple heart

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” –Frederick Buechner

I thought that hypocrisy was my subject, and that writing a book was my goal. It turns out that my actual goal is to both understand and to facilitate understanding between people, because it seems that we are becoming increasingly divided. That, and I feel called – and cannot explain that in any logical manner. apologies. I was also called to Sonic for a brownie fudge sundae this afternoon. Do with that what you will. It was a meeting of my deep hunger and gladness. It went well.

Embracing our own hypocrisy is a step to understanding, which clears the path toward more kindness, compassion and love.

I’ve found it helpful to ask myself: Where in my mind or in my heart might I be harboring resentment or blaming another person or group for my struggles? Because regardless of what has happened in life, I must own my choices, my attitude and my life. And honestly, each one of us has caused pain to someone. So it seems silly to withhold understanding and forgiveness, when, at one time or another, we will all need it. Resentment causes the most pain to the ones who hold onto it. It makes our hearts brittle.

If you have time today, just notice if you have any resentment (even a tiny bit, hidden in a corner) toward someone or some group. If you do, please know that it will cause your heart and spirit more harm than the other. This doesn’t mean that you should suffer foolishness or allow abuse to occur. Speak up, get out, do what you need to do! But most of our daily resentments are garden-variety. What if you turned it around and looked at it from the other’s perspective? Just for fun. Just for a minute. No expectations! I know it’s all their fault!! Those peeeeeople! They suck. But just try it. The worst that can happen is a more supple heart.

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I’ll take mine rare.

When a person admits to having faults, it doesn’t mean he dislikes himself or that he’s weak. Quite the contrary. It means he’s trying to be a better human being. He also has lots of great qualities and can own both – and still not fall apart.

When any organization (business, religious or other) touts only its good deeds while hiding its mistakes, it becomes weaker and terribly hypocritical – the antithesis of its purpose. Conversely, when it admits to mistakes and addresses problems, it becomes stronger and more trustworthy building a more solid foundation from which to operate.

A country admitting to it’s own faults and wrong-doing doesn’t make it weak or anti-patriotic. It makes it reasonable, fair and just. Just like a human being, no country is perfect. Countries, cities, etc. should own their greatness and their faults and work on fixing the latter. It’s doable!

Self-examination by a person, an organization or a country strengthens and better equips it to deal with challenges. Denying faults and mistakes, while appearing to be strong at surface level, is actually quite weak and leaves us prone to attack by those who see the unaddressed hypocrisy.

Saying, “I f#cked up. I’m sorry. Let me fix that,” is not weak. It’s leadership. It’s integrity. It’s strong, decent and kind. And, it seems, increasingly rare.

today

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The news, locally, nationally and internationally, is overwhelmingly negative. After just watching for a few minutes, I start finger-pointing and articulating what is wrong with this world and how to fix it.

Then I remind myself of my own culpability and hypocrisy, and sigh. Then think of this oft quoted (and probably misattributed variant of the original) idea:

“We cannot solve our problems from the same level of thinking that created them.”

-Albert Einstein or –Ram Dass or -who knows for sure?

Agreed. And there is so much good in this world.

What we can do today:

When in doubt, choose love.

Expect nothing.

Tell the truth.

Have the courage to speak up and offer solutions.

Be present.

Remember that all we control is ourselves (on a good day).

Breathe.

Be thankful.

climbing down from the superiority throne: a plea

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Occasionally we humans walk around feeling superior without realizing it. No one likes to think of himself this way. We sit on a comfy throne of superiority unaware of where we’ve planted ourselves. It doesn’t look like a throne. It’s more like a cushy couch of smugness (hard-earned, I might add!) from which we can comfortably point fingers. I like mine with toss pillows from Anthropologie. Actually, they’re from Target, but a girl can dream, can’t she? You know what? They’re from Wal-Mart. I’ve come to realize that I’m on it when I feel justified in my criticisms of others. It’s my red flag. Sometimes we make statements judging others while casting ourselves in a more positive light. “I would never do that!” “I earned everything I have.” “Those people!! Jeez.”

First of all, regardless of our stations in life, no one has earned everything they have. When we claim that we are solely responsible for our good fortune while others have been given theirs, we might want to pause and reflect and stop presuming things we don’t know about other people’s lives. We compare our struggles to their visible “gimmes”. Not really fair. Kind of the opposite of facebookers who compare their struggles to the seeming perfection of other people’s shiny posts. Not an accurate comparison. If we take a look-see at other people’s actual struggles (the ones hidden from view) before judging them, we might pause. And then maybe even try to find a way to help.

Perhaps you were born with a certain intellect, beauty or outgoing personality that gives you a leg up in certain situations. You didn’t earn that. Or maybe you had the privilege of being born to loving parents who read to you, or maybe not. You may have been raped or abused. Or not. Did you inherit money or an unseen disease? Or both? All of these – not earned! You may have been born to a race or gender who was given more than others races or genders. So many factors to consider, and they each affect different people differently. I’ll stop listing every conceivable possibility now. (You’re welcome.)

No matter what, we’ve all been given some kind of unearned help in one way or another, and we’ve all had struggles. None of us is in a position to cast judgment, and yet we do it often.

We’ve all come from different circumstances, and to judge someone else’s life is beyond absurd. If “absurd’ is on the next block over, pass it and the Dairy Queen. (Yes, you may collect one Dilly Bar.)

mmmm. dilly bars.

Why do we continue to judge each other? It’s not done consciously most of the time. (I hope.) It seems to be reflexive. It could be that we feel bad that we aren’t giving enough, so we justify our inaction by finger-pointing at others. Possibly. Maybe we just feel disrespected or less-than, and the easiest way to feel better is to knock others down. Judging others lifts me up, y’all, and being lifted up gets me closer to Gawd. Am I right, Jesus? No? …oh.

Almost anything we criticize in someone else can be found in ourselves (if not specifically, then conceptually – although often, specifically), if we take time to honestly examine our lives. “You spot it, you got it!” as we cheerfully chirp in the coaching world. Yes, there seems to be an abundance of cheerful chirping up in here. (I almost said, “up in that bitch,” but my husband said I cuss too much. So, I left it out.)

Life, God, and/or the universe (insert your belief system here) has a way of knocking us off our thrones of superiority when we get a little too big for our britches. It’s true! Just ask me.

We each have far too much to contribute to be criticizing our fellow people. There’s simply no time for it. We may want to consider – just consider – slowly stepping off and backing away from the throne of superiority, head bowed and counting our blessings as we do so.  Alternatively, we could just jump off the throne, middle fingers a-blazin’ in a burst of not-so-humble defeat. Whatever. However we do it, it’s sooo much easier to climb down voluntarily.

being earnest, the importance of

The Prancercise Lady is back with a new video. Yes, it makes me laugh. But not at her. I laugh at her audacity – that she has the lady balls to put out a video doin’ her thing and with apparent lack of concern (or is it awareness?) for what anyone thinks. She either has amazing courage or a naïve sense of how her work will be received. Maybe some combination. Don’t care. Either way, I’m on board.

In this world of snark and arrogance, she is a f#cking breath of fresh air. She has what many do not have – She is EARNEST. She is doing what brings her joy, regardless of her appearance, her voice and her oddball horse prance. She is not sitting on the sidelines pointing and criticizing. She’s on the field (or is that a pasture?) doing her work. So many of us want to be accepted for who we are, but lacking our own courage, we then criticize and put the kibosh on others who try to do the same.

She rocks. She is my hero (at least for today). There, I said it.

Check it out here.

prancersize-600

tastes like summer

I was not chosen for the project to which I applied this summer (from now on referred to as the Channing Debacle); however, the experience became fodder for a blog post which I rewrote and included in my book manuscript, Embracing Hypocrisy: Finger Pointing My Way to Peace (it’s a book of essays). It was selected as a finalist in the Mayborn Literary Nonfiction Conference. Yay! That’s enough of a win for me. The manuscript itself will not win – and I’m not being self-deprecating – it simply won’t. I’ve just finished reading nine of the other manuscripts, and they are amazing. Anyway, this is a wonderful learning opportunity.

This Friday, the finalists will participate in workshops where we deliver our critiques of each others’ entries. (deep breaths.) The manuscripts of the other writers are awesome and  amazing works (mostly investigative reporting and some essays), and some of the authors have “PhD” or “-ologist” in their titles and are previously published (some published many times and have already done book tours and interviews on CNN, NPR, etc). To say that I am out of my comfort zone (and, perhaps, my league) is to put it mildly. This is my first book manuscript. I definitely feel uncomfortable – mostly in a digestive tract kind of way. (sorry)

We are not allowed to defend or justify our work – just to listen, absorb the feedback, and express back what we heard. This should be both enlightening and horribly humiliating, as I now see the glaring deficiencies in my (not yet professionally edited) manuscript. I’m hoping that I don’t EITHER: lay my head down in defeat and wave a white flag, OR *accidentally* stand up, and flip the bird with both hands while rotating in a complete 360, do an old-lady high-kick, yell “Bam!” and sit back down, arms crossed defensively. Both of these scenarios are possible. (I know – it’s strangely specific. Like an athlete, I like to visualize my way to success.)

Anyway, any positive energy, mojo, prayers, etc. that you have lying around and that may help me comport myself like a decent human being would be appreciated.:) My goal is to be (reasonably) confident in my work, while accepting criticism gracefully and giving helpful feedback to the other participants.

Have you stepped out of your comfort zone lately? If not, why not? Is it because you hate the taste of Imodium AD? If so, try coconut shavings. They do the same thing, but they taste like summer.

the importance of minutiae

I am in the process of radically de-cluttering and simplifying, scared straight by the TV show, Hoarders. For some reason, much like the people on that show, I’m unable to just toss things out; I must, instead, sit on the floor and pour through the minutiae of my history – one crumpled post-it note at a time – which, by the way, ridiculously extends this process – why in the hell would I save post-its? Random words and quotes scrawled illegibly on yellow, curled squares? I can’t even read half of them. Clearly, I need help.

While sorting through my old papers and journals this morning, I found a list of questions I had written in 2001 – shortly after September 11 – in pencil on a sheet of computer paper. I also found at least seven blank journals – blank because I’d hate to mess them up. Better to just scribble on random sheets of scrap paper and shove them into a box. Am I right, fellow-hoarders? (WTF?)

Like many people, my outlook changed in the days following 9-11. It seemed to make us suddenly focus intently on what was important. I was 35, and it was to be my list of questions I asked myself at the end of each day. The list, which was buried in a box of assorted papers and miniature oven-baked polymer clay sculptures of purses (what the?), still holds up after these thirteen years. But have I?

Here it is:

Did I live with integrity today?

Did I let my son, family and friends know that I love and care for them?

Was I compassionate?

Did I move closer to my dreams and goals?

Did I “be myself”? (oddly put, but okay.)

Was I kind?

Did I laugh and smile?

Did I look fear in the face, and walk through it?

Did I live in a way that reflects my deepest beliefs?

Was I honest? Did I speak the truth even if I knew others might not approve?

Did I do my best to right my wrongs?

Did I handle problems as they came up or did I put them off?

Did I love well?

That was my list, and squeezed in at the bottom of the page in tiny printed letters, I had written this quote:

“If we live in a compassionate way using our suffering to give ourselves greater insight into the suffering of others, we will come to what the religions call “God,” which will give ultimate meaning, purpose and value to our lives.” –Karen Armstrong

I like that quote – regardless of everyone’s differing beliefs – it’s essence rings true.

Finding my old list is a silver lining to my arduous simplifying process. There are a few areas on that list I could brush-up on. I will place it on my desk to remind me of what was, and still is, important (once I clear off my desk).

I’ve procrastinated long enough. Seriously, I could edit this post for hours and days. Oh well. Back to sorting old post-its. Anyone need a blank journal? Sorry, I’m saving the teeny-tiny clay handbags in case I need them some day.

abundance

Why do we sometimes withhold our best? Hold back the good stuff? Are we afraid that we only have so much excellence in us, and that if we use it all today, there will be nothing left for next Tuesday? I mean creative work, attitude, love – anything we have to offer. Maybe you’ve never done this, but I have. It’s a lack mentality.

Sometimes, when I complete a painting, it exceeds my expectations. This is rare. Not medium-rare, but rare – like, still mooing. (I’m sorry. I like steak, and I feel bad about that because I also like cows. So far, my intense like of sweet, cud-chewing cows has not overtaken my love of a good steak. I’m sorry again. I feel distressed and hypocritical. And frankly, a little hungry.) This exceeding of expectations is unusual, as my artwork is usually not up to my own snuff (whatever the hell that means). But every now and again, the stars align and a piece works well. These are the pieces I would hold onto (for dear life!) because I couldn’t believe I’d done them and needed to keep proof on hand – just in case. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to do it again. Made perfect sense at the time.

Until I saw other artists do it. While running a small art gallery, every now and then an artist would wow(!) me with her brilliant work, but the next day would bring in only mediocre work to sell. (bait & switch, people!) When asked about her best work, she’d say, “Oh, I’m keeping those pieces.” They were simply too excellent to part with. Now that’s not to say that artists shouldn’t keep their work – that’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just revealing (and not in a good, “Move that bus!” way) to show someone what you can do – your best – and then deliver only seconds and left-overs. From an observer’s viewpoint, it showed a lack of confidence in their own abilities and a stinginess that was not fetching. Not fetching at all. This is based in fear. Once I saw it from that perspective, I quit doing it.

As much. (sigh) dammit.

Two things: First, what makes us think that others want our less-thans? If we’re not excited about what we have to offer, why would anyone else be? And nextly (I made that up, and will use it in the future), of course we have more good stuff in us – we did it once, and we will do it again. We don’t need to save our goodies, parsing them out periodically on special occasions. We need to face our fears and have faith in our abilities.

generosity

Camus has a point. If we hoard our genius today (yes, we all have a bit of genius inside; at least that’s what I tell myself) – and deprive others of our work, gifts or generosity, our tomorrows will be smaller, fearful and lacking. That’s no good, and it assumes that we will always have another tomorrow. (spoiler alert!) Our futures will be larger and more abundant when we leave it all on the table today.

slightly shaken

 

There is a period of time

that the unduly (and untruly) humble,

the meek, door-mattish girl-woman

must spend in offensive boldness

on her way

to a more level and genuine

self-confidence and worth.

But it’s just a season –

a short time

of devil-may-care

words and deeds.

The adolescence of her journey

to self worth –

A time to experiment with radical boldness,

to dish back what has been thusly served.

Some won’t understand.

They’ll be offended,

and their relationships with her will be slightly shaken,

maybe stirred.

They’ll criticize her boldness

and say they liked her better when

my addiction

I’m on Day 2 of a 10 day sugar detox. It seems I’m addicted to the stuff. I’ve had a horrible (!) withdrawal headache since yesterday afternoon. (okay, not really horrible – just a constant, annoying and low-grade headache pressing on my temples, but I figured I’d get more sympathy if I said horrible (!)) I’m told it will dissipate in a few days. (By whom? The interwebs, of course.) Oh! And I hate everyone. Okay, not everyone. You’re okay. BUT DON’T CROSS ME! Please. I’m approximately 36 hours sugar sober! Minus one really old peanut M&M which I thought might cure my headache… better a year-old M&M from my little red gumball machine than some drug… (right?)

I typically start the day out with two eggs and hot chocolate. I often follow up with an additional hot chocolate later in the afternoon. This doesn’t count whatever other sweets and sugar I’m consuming throughout the day. I actually find great joy in holding a warm cup with both hands up to my chest and breathing deeply. Ahhhh. My cup of love and comfort. (just to be clear, that is not sarcasm.)

I recently saw the documentary film Fed Up and was disturbed to find out what we’re doing to ourselves. I recommend it. It may change the way you think about food consumption. At least it did for me. I learned that the average adult should consume no more than 6 – 9 teaspoons of sugar per day. And that 1 teaspoon equals 4 grams. The sugar industry was successful in not allowing the RDA % to be placed on the labels, so you have no idea that some items have 150% or more of your recommended daily allowance. Also, sugar consumption lights up the same areas of the brain as heroin and morphine.

That film coupled with the public television show I watched this weekend got me started on the sugar (and gluten and dairy minus butter – I will defend to the death my right to butter!) detox. For the next ten days, I will consume only whole foods – fruits, veggies, eggs, nuts, berries, meat and fish (plus a little pat of butter to make it all better and an occasional expired peanut M&M which must be gotten out of the machine with spare change). Why does this seem so radical to me? Many people do this every day, but to me it seems nearly unattainable. (and painful!)

My hot chocolate has 44 grams of sugar in it. That’s eleven teaspoons, and that’s just my first one for the day, and doesn’t include the desserts, treats and all of the hidden sugar in many of the processed foods I consume. Fed Up is filled with compelling information that will give you pause. Or paws. Look, I don’t know what will happen to you after you see it.

I could get mad at the food industry for allowing lobbyists too much power – lobbyists who place their companies’ bottom lines ahead of public health. But I know better. I’ve always known I should eat vegetables and fruits. It’s just that I really like cake. A lot.

In America, money speaks louder than health experts. So we must educate and take care of ourselves. It’s silly (and/or addictive) of me to knowingly damage my body when it’s the only one I have. I’m going to deal with this one day at a time. Actually, make that one hour at a time… need coins…

options

“I don’t want to get to the end of my life and find out that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.” – Diane Ackerman

I cannot count the number of times I’ve said (incredulously!) to friends and clients, “Who cares what people think?! Are they payin’ your bills?!” I get worked up about it, because I love these people and want them to – in the words of Emile Zola – LIVE OUT LOUD!  To live the length, the depth, the width and the breadth of their beautiful lives. (that rhymed, y’all) Saying, “Who cares what people think?!” rolls out of my mouth with enthusiasm and ease.

It turns out, what I say and what I do don’t always line up.

Yesterday, I veered out of my comfort zone. I momentarily dropped the imaginary bars which keep me from doing what I want because of my long-held fear that someone might think me odd. How do I keep forgetting that that ship sailed years ago? (and who cares?)

Anyway, I’d been wanting to see the documentary, Particle Fever, about the Hadron Collider and the discovery of the Higg’s Boson (in 2012 – it’s about damn time!), but could find no one interested in seeing it, so I shrugged and thought I’d just have to wait until it came out on DVD. Then a wild thought occurred to me – Hey! I could go by myself! (Oh hell, no!)

Yes, I know this seems obvious and mundane. Like, whoop-de-do. Actually, it’s a little embarrassing that I’d never considered it, but I’ve never seen a woman at a movie theater by herself, and I see a lot of movies, and for whatever reason, in my mind, going to a movie alone was simply not an option. Frightening! Like wearing white after Labor Day. It’s just not done. (Ridiculous! I shall add “Wear white after Labor day” to my bucket list.) I, like many people, have a motorcycle license and love to ride, have been a victim of a violent crime, have operated a bulldozer with little instruction, and taken the green subway line from the Bronx to China town at night whilst being taunted by local young men. But going to a movie alone? I’m sorry. One must draw the line. Boundaries, y’all.

It became a mission. First, I scarfed down my lunch – a little too quickly, if I’m being honest (and I am). Then, I changed clothes. Why? I wanted to make sure I looked “put together” – so that no one would think I was sad – or mad. Then I thought – Hey, I look too put together. (starting to sound a little mad, isn’t it?) Oh! I know! I’ll wear my Texas A & M t-shirt (my alma mater) because this indicates my inclusion in a group – Hey y’all, I’m part of a larger whole! I may be alone at the movies, but lookie here at my shirt – I belong to a school with many long-held traditions and from which Johnny Football emerged. (I know. Scoff, if you must. In fact, let’s pause for some eye-rolling. Hey, is that middle finger for me or Manziel?…   Are you done?!)

Finally, I came to my senses, reminded myself that, indeed, no one gives a shit, and just dressed comfortably.

I drove an hour and a half to the Angelika in Dallas – because there is only one theater in north Texas that shows decent independent films – bought my single ticket, and entered the theater.

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I glanced around, and everyone was in pairs, threes or fours. No sole viewers. That was okay. I sat down and enjoyed the film. That is all. Sorry to disappoint. There was no public shunning, popcorn hurling, or me curling into a ball and weeping. (I sit up straight when I weep!) I didn’t even trip walking up the stairs, which is a first.

As silly and small as this whole thing seems, it illustrates how some of us keep our lives smaller than necessary. How we live by imaginary “rules,” not even considering all of our options.

And how we sometimes give advice that we don’t live by. Funny. And Ridiculous.

(Great movie, by the way. But only if you’re interested in the ORIGINS OF THE UNIVERSE! no big deal. carry on.)

walkin’ the talk

Or is that talkin’ the walk? or walkin’ the dog? Who knows for sure.

Today I’m going to do something I’ve never done before because I really want to do it. It’s not earth-shattering (or is it? Nope. It’s not.), so I won’t compare it to anything that requires deep courage. Although it’s out of my comfort zone – and so will require a wee bit of courage. Very wee. Like, tiny wee.

Our zones are all different. No zone judging! This would be nothing to some and something to others. What? It’s a riddle wrapped in a tortilla and sprinkled with cinnamon. Ha! You thought I’d say cheese. But no. Goin’ with the sweet, not the savory.

Anyway, today I am stepping out of my comfort zone because what I want to do is more important to me than the discomfort of doing it.

It’s so small that it’s hardly worth writing about.

So I won’t. At least not right now.

It’s the concept that matters.

channeling Channing (no, not that one)

If you’ve never seen a video of yourself speaking – you should try it. I’m so sorry for ANY criticism I’ve lobbed at anyone speaking about anything. Ever.

Ev-er. I thought speaking into a camera was easy. Evidently, it’s a skill. One at which I am not adept. I’m sorry I criticized. You may pepper your sentences with “irregardless,” but I am both uncompelling (I see your irregardless, and raise you an uncompelling) and I apparently mutter “um” after every third word. So we’re even.

In the past, we would complete job applications with a black pen, and I could win an employer over with my neat print and handwriting. Or at least make it into the narrowed-down stack of applications. I would press down firmly on the paper and form each letter in the type of print that architects favored. It was a joy to behold. For me, anyway. These days, everything is online. I applied for a project and had to submit both an online application and a short three minute video. How hard could that be? (subtle foreshadowing, y’all!) Again I was confronted with my own shortcomings – this time as a speaker. In my mind I am enthusiastic, articulate (and I’m not even black!) and knowledgeable. I could be a great orator if I put in my 10,000 hours… but I forgot that the quality I most possess is delusion.

After recording my three-minute video, the program let me choose one of four stills – all of which appear to show me in some state of seizure (nothing wrong with seizures, everyone – I just wasn’t having one at the time, so… yeah) – to attach to the video. Okay, fine. I’m reminded of every driver’s license photo I’ve ever taken – in particular, the one in which the sweet cashier lowered his voice and sadly whispered, “Oh… Lisa,” as if he were expressing condolences for my recent terminal diagnosis. But no, just condolences for my bad photo. Really, dude? And by “bad,” I mean “accurate.”

Anyway, the program then lets you watch your video before you hit the submit button. Big mistake. I could have left the encounter believing that I had knocked it out beautifully. Just walk away! But instead, I chose to review it – just in case. At which time I slowly became slack-jawed with shock (my signature look – or brand, if you will) and proceeded to re-record four or five more times – like a desperate gambler throwing good money after bad – each recording worse than the last.

I aspired to be Diane Sawyer and instead morphed into a drunk Carol Channing (in my dreams!) – except older and less wise. I seemed to have picked up some slight speech impediment that no one told me about – which is always adorable in others, but not so much in oneself. By the way, I love Carol Channing – she’s brilliant – but not what I was going for in this particular instance.  So no hate mail please, Carol Channing fans! With my readership of three or four thousand people, I’m bound to get some mail. And yes, I know I need to get more current. I will do that directly. After I finish my glass of Tang and this heated game of Pong.

Anyway, all this to say, why didn’t someone tell me I was channeling Channing? I would have taken this success train in a totally different direction.

Carol Channing in 1973

Carol Channing in 1973 (courtesy of wikipedia)

By the way, after researching Carol, a talent and a treasure – I found this interesting write-up of her biopic by Rex Reed: Hello Carol!

hypocrisy’s address (the “where”)

Where does hypocrisy reside? (I’ll bet it has a pool!)

In magazines that tell you to accept your body, while filling the pages with air-brushed people – flaws removed – and ads for plastic surgery.

In churches preaching WWJD while members guard their pews, point fingers at other “sinners” and gossip about neighbors.

In schools where we claim to want to educate every child, but instead focus on test scores, neglecting certain children (collateral damage) and tutoring the subgroups that “matter” so our school will look good in the ratings.

In commerce when I want the cheapest possible price on things I buy from others, while expecting to be paid “what I’m worth – because I work hard!

In politics when we’re elected to serve the people, and instead serve those with the largest dollar contributions, allowing terrible things to be done to the people, land and resources, because, in truth, getting re-elected is more important than serving.

I’m tellin’ you right now, hypocrites really piss me off! Seriously, I’m sick of ‘em!

Hypocrisy’s address:

Politics, business, education, health care, religion, Hollywood and the judicial system…

The senate, colleges, hospitals, churches, the courts, and the house next door… (not mine! I recycle!)

(Complete fabrication. Actually, we don’t have a recycling program here, so we don’t recycle, and I feel bad about that. But not bad enough to have taken action. Haven’t had time. I have had time to make brownies, though. Repeatedly.)

America, Chile, Africa, China and Russia…

Forget it! Those places and institutions are too big for me to deal with. Let’s narrow it down.

It resides in the PEOPLE in government, schools, businesses, institutions, and places of worship.

Ah! The people! But telling other people how to BE is none of my business – free will and all that jazz. Who’s left?

Me.

Well, shit.

When I see how far I need to go, my piss-off-ed-ness for everyone else diminishes. It doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize hypocrisy. Oh, hell no. I still see it everywhere – just don’t feel as blamey about it (on a good day). I look at the reasons I do what I do, and understand a little more why others do what they do. We’re all just doing the best we can, and as Maya Angelou says, “When you know better, you do better.” I’m working at knowing better.

what the what?

What is hypocrisy?

First of all, it’s deeply human.

It seems that about half of the people I speak to believe that they don’t engage in it. I know because it is a frequent topic of discussion with people I meet. Because conversationally, I go straight for the weird stuff. (You want me at your dinner party, don’t you? Well, get in line!)

Anyway, when I gently assert that most everyone has it except for possibly a few highly enlightened, ego-less people or people with Down syndrome or other differences that lessen their ego, I’m met with either nods of understanding (whee!) or looks of borderline disgust and indignation. (oh, snap.) Well, I never! (Really? Nevah-evah?)

This fascinates me, and I get it. Truly. But, in my experience, the more one denies it, the more one has. There’s something about bringing hypocrisy into the light that helps to diminish it. When left in the dark, unacknowledged, it grows. It took me a long time of labeling others as hypocrites before I recognized it in myself, and I’m still not finished. I will probably engage in some hearty finger-pointing later this afternoon. It makes me feel taller.

hypocrisy (hi-pok’-ri-se) n. 1. The practice of professing beliefs, feelings, or virtues that one does not hold or possess; insincerity. 2. An instance or act of hypocrisy.

Looking at that definition on the surface level, we may proclaim that we don’t engage in it; however, if we dig a little deeper…

The trick lies in the word “professing.” Not only our words, but our deeds profess. My language may be cleaned up – I may know what not to say. But what about my actions? What do I do?

If I vilify another person for speaking negatively about my friend, when I have spoken negatively about another human (someone’s friend – just like my friend), I’m displaying my hypocrisy. I’ve just done the exact thing I judged.

When I demonize a political candidate for the things that politicians do, while giving a pass to my favorite candidate who does the things that politicians do –

When I get pissed when someone won’t let me merge on the highway, and then I don’t let someone merge on the highway –

When I judge someone as prejudiced, racist, sexist, homophobic or some other catch-all term when I have either made comments or held beliefs about ANY group of people…

And so forth.

Virtually everyone has engaged in hypocrisy – it’s almost inescapable. It’s human! Yay! If we acknowledge it, we can work with it. Let’s own it! Come on – this is gonna be fun.

but how?

How does one embrace her own hypocrisy? Here’s what (sometimes) works for me:

1. Admit and accept that I have hypocrisy in me, and then forgive myself for being so dang human.

2. Commit to non-judgment and forgiveness of other people. (Not that this is easy, but committing to it is a start.) If I want to be forgiven, why would I withhold that from other people? That’s kind-of shitty. (oops, judging again… old habits…)

3. Catch myself – ANY time I’m speaking negatively of ANYONE or any situation, stop and do a short life review (Remember that time…oh crap! Who am I to judge?)

3. If that doesn’t work, I might consider that I don’t know what it’s like to walk in that person’s sandals (it’s almost summer!) – that everyone carries around different hurts and circumstances that aren’t apparent to others. That it’s easier to be an arm-chair judge when we don’t have all the facts (and we rarely do).

4. If I simply cannot help but judge, or if a crime or a breach of ethics is being committed, then I should DO something – not just stand there puffed up, pointing fingers. If it’s worth my judgmental chatter, then it’s worth putting my action where my jibber-jabber is. Of course if we all do this, we will have buttloads of people running for president. (It just occurred to me that “buttloads” probably started out as “boatloads” and some wiseacre switched it, and now it is part of our daily vernacular. Just an observation, but there’s someone who took action!)

5. Freak out at all the extra time I’ve gained by staying out of everyone’s business. What to do?! Now I have time to tackle all those serious, actionable things that piss me off.

6. Celebrate with a cupcake or a brownie.*

7. Rinse and repeat.

*For those who do this several times a day, weight gain and bloating has been reported. And maybe a rash on your hind quarter. (What’s a hind quarter?) Consult your physician.

why on earth?

Why blog about hypocrisy?

1. It deserves a spotlight.

2. Left unacknowledged, hypocrisy fuels self-righteous anger, judgment and justification for deeds unkind.

3. It’s everywhere and in most everyone. (myself included!) Turn on the television, listen to the radio, look at the interwebs, listen to your co-workers, and listen to yourself. Really listen.

4. When we stop pointing fingers long enough to examine ourselves, we become deeply humbled.

5. Once humbled, we are more likely to work on ourselves instead of blaming others.

6. This brings about more peace and understanding, first in the people around us, and eventually (fingers crossed!), in the world at large. A more peaceful earth.

That is why.

this land is my land

My ancestors, looking for a better life, nudged (extreme euphemism! – a game show for wordsmiths) out or “contained” the native peoples who inhabited this land we call America. In a wildly ironic twist, we unapologetic descendants seem hell-bent on keeping out “others” who want to create a better life for themselves and their families. (Say what?) It’s seems that it was okay for my peeps (and thus me) to come uninvited, but not you. The funny thing is, the majority are people who want to come in legally – to be “made legal” – unlike our founders who didn’t wait for an invitation to follow the rules of the prior inhabitants.

I want to understand, but I do not. (honestly) I haven’t yet heard a good argument for keeping people out. Is it a race thing? Is there concern over which race will be in the majority 50 years from now? Will this race of the races ever end? At what point can we agree that we’re all more alike than different? That there’s not an “us and them.” That there is enough for all if we share. And that in this global environment, we best learn to get along or this whole Earth thing will not end well.

Of course, this is not unique to our country. This claiming of territory through force and the “it’s ours, not yours” has been going on for eons in all of humanity. It’s is a POWER thing – a majority thing or a who’s-in-charge thing. It goes on now in the Ukraine, Israel, the Congo, and all over the world. Right now, China and Vietnam are in a struggle over rights to the South China Sea. And somewhere in North Dakota there are two neighbors arguing about inches in a property line dispute. (actually, I made that last one up, but chances are…)

I understand in the physical world, boundaries must be set. Actually, I’m not even sure about that, but it is so ingrained in us, that anything else seems foreign, unpatriotic and perhaps blasphemous. As Jesus said, “Set clear boundaries, and despise your enemies, because we’re #1!” (It’s in one of the gospels, but not the other three.)

We live in a connected global world. What hurts some hurts us all. What about a radical change in how we do business in the world? What if we acted with more love and understanding? (yes, I know this sounds like an idealistic 4th grade essay…oh well. Onward!) It takes time and effort to understand another human being, even more to understand entire countries and political systems. But we can do this.

It seems that if we pulled back, and looked at human history from a distance, all of this would be clear – we’d see destructive patterns and, thus, the error of our ways – and THIS is what we’d teach in schools – instead of regional, one-sided history taught by each of our countries in a desperate attempt to maintain nationalistic boundaries. We could start small.

Yes, this is radical, but so is love. It requires risk. But the payoff must be so much better than what’s in store for all of us if we continue on the destructive path that we’re on.

(Unless, of course, I’m just plain wrong, which is entirely possible.)

to the makers

IMG_8089

To the anonymous maker who crocheted (crow-shayed – there’s nothin’ crotchety about it) my favorite afghan: It found a home. Thank you. I had to have it the moment I spotted it neatly folded and draped over an old chair at an antique mall, and it only cost me $22! Yes, the hours, days and weeks you put into it were worth way more than that. Did you consciously choose those colors, or were you using all of your leftover yarn? Was it made for someone in particular? Too colorful for your décor? Did you pass away, and someone in your family let it go? Just curious, because I’m a maker as are others in my family, and we can’t keep everything. Sometimes we make things that don’t appeal to those around us, and we wonder what will become of our efforts. Wonder if we created in vain.

It has just the right colors in it – every one in the rainbow (and some that aren’t even there) – and a nice crocheted pattern tight enough to keep out the drafty air. During the day, it lies folded over the top of the brown leather recliner, fringe hanging – a pop of happiness greeting people as they walk in the door.

Thank you for your time and stitches, your bold color choices, and the unusual length – it’s long and narrow – too narrow to cover a bed, but perfect for one me-sized human and three small dogs on a recliner nodding off watching Shark Tank.

My grandmother used to worry aloud, “What will you do with all of this?!” She was a prolific painter and afghan knitter. I’d reassure her that I’d happily display all of her work, and I half-believed it because that seemed to be what she wanted to hear. Somewhere in my brain I knew full well that I didn’t have that much wall space or that many beds. So, while I enjoy many of her works, some of them sit in storage, unloved by anyone, because it has seemed wrong to part with them. This can’t be right.

When we keep things out of duty instead of affinity, we’re depriving someone else of the joy they may bring. I realize this each time I look at my afghan made by anonymous hands, even though I have a trunk full of others that never see the light of day. I just bought a watercolor of a delightful tree that makes me happy each time I look at it. It was beautifully painted by a friend’s mother, recently deceased – whom I never met. It is a joyful, colorful tree. I love it, and I imagine her painting it and deciding on colors and brushstrokes.

To all the makers of the world – just a reminder that your creations bring joy to people you may never meet. Even after you’re gone. They matter. Your work matters. What a gift. Thank you. Sincerely.

cheap and easy

The other day we were driving through town and saw a pick-up truck (there are probably more pick-ups than cars in our town – I drive one, too) with two giant confederate flags, one flying on each side of the bed. They were the length of the bed and taller than the truck. Why?! My heart sank. I hoped that there were no people of color in the vicinity to see it. Here’s the deal. I truly believe that many southerners equate Ol’ Dixie with “the south” – the good parts. Southern pride, y’all! Red beans and cornbread! Sweet tea, John Deere and my dawg! Chicken & dumplins! (I’m getting hungry) And my old shot-gun! Pow Pow! Oh sorry, did I spray you in the face with buckshot? Oops. Anyway, Yay!

But, of course, many of us equate the flag with the fight over slavery. And then there are those who are openly racist and fly it in defiance. I don’t know what this particular person’s intent was. Only God knows. Truly. It’s tempting to think, “I know what he meant.” But, no, we really don’t. We just think we do. The only brain I’m in is my own. And I’m not even there half the time.

There’s that term: openly racist. So many of us like to declare, “I’m not racist!” and we believe it because we cannot conceive of the notion that we are capable of such ig-nernce. I’d like to declare it, but it’s so cliché and fraught-filled, that I do not, and because it doesn’t matter how you try to defend that statement, the defending of it comes off as racist. It’s the perfect set-up for finger-pointers. You cannot win any debate that begins with the words, “I am not racist.” (Unless you can, and then, fine.)

Of course, we can argue all day about semantics – how to define racism. Maybe it’s like art, and we know it when we see it. But some people think everything is art and others can’t see art if it knocks ‘em in the head. So there you are. People of all races can be racist, and the victims of it at the same time. It flows freely in all directions depending on the neighborhood you’re in. And often, it’s not even neighborhood dependent. Kindness and hatred exist in people of all races – (duh, we know) – but we seem to forget this in our zeal to point fingers. Self-righteousness feels so good; it’s an adrenaline rush – a drug so easy to reach for when we feel powerless or fearful.

I’m reminded of a few mornings ago when I was in a drive-through line at a Starbucks in the next town over, a beautiful, shiny new black Chevy truck in front of me. Gorgeous, gleaming truck. (I’m fond of vehicles – trucks especially) Anyway, on the tailgate in bright red was a sticker with writing in white Arabic letters. Very attractive use of sticker – the black set it off beautifully. I couldn’t read it because I don’t read Arabic. But I recognized the beautiful script, because I also couldn’t read it when I visited Israel many years ago. You have the choppy-looking, masculine Hebrew and the beautiful, flowing Arabic, both aesthetically pleasing, neither of which I can read. Anyway, there was another sticker in his window also in Arabic.

Uh-oh. What does this mean? Two stickers – both in Arabic? In this little town? Batten down the hatches! Why no stickers written in English, the tongue of my motherland?! Wait. Where is my motherland? England? Hold the phone!! Aren’t they the ones who tried to taxation us without representationing us? And that’s not fair! So sayeth the Schoolhouse Rock. I reject them! and their English! (clearly) If America is my motherland, then my native language might oughta be Caddo, Comanche or Spanish, hmmm…oh crap. I need new bumper stickers, y’all.

Um anyway, back to the truck. Why do I care? It’s not my truck. I glanced up at his rear-view mirror to see who was driving. Yes, the driver fit the sticker. Yes, I let my mind go there. Why? Because we notice things that are unusual in our environment. I live in a pretty racially homogenous area. So I noticed. When I’m in other places, where the population is diverse, I don’t notice.

When we take the time, of course, we realize that there are people we don’t click with (at all!!) that share our racial heritage, and those with whom we do, even though our racial backgrounds couldn’t be further apart. Grouping people by race, intelligence, beauty, socioeconomic status, athleticism, politics and so on is so easy. And lazy.

We get mad at people who judge by race while we judge them by their race. It takes time, thought and effort to get to the bottom of this universal problem, and to recognize our own culpability in it. We have certain beliefs because we’re taught them, have been exposed to them repeatedly (via the media & Hollywood – easy targets – apologies) or they’ve been driven into us by fear. So what are we to do?

It seems that education and love might be some places we could start.

Judging by appearance is so cheap and easy. And so is judging people who judge. Maybe that’s why we do it. We’re a cheap and easy people. You don’t even have to buy us dinner first.

 

 

inferior hoopage

I bought a hula hoop yesterday. Why? Because I want to start exercising more and it’s much cheaper than a gym membership. I used to be able to hula hoop for long periods of time without dropping it. I would tire out long before the hoop ever fell to the ground.

So anyway, I bought a $5 hoop from Wal-Mart, and the damned thing won’t stay up. That’s what you get with a made-in-China hoop, y’all. (Go America!) There’s probably lead in it too, now that I think about it. I’m going to try not to chew on it, but I may forget. Who knows? What were we talking about? Oh yeah, my defective hoop. So I was listening for the beads rolling around, and then realized – hey, they left the beads out! Clearly, I have inferior hoopage here. I scrambled to find my receipt, but first I picked it up one more time, held it to my ear and began turning it, listening for the roll and clink of little beads. (Such are the inner workings of a lunatic who blames her hoop for not staying up.)

Anyhoo, all I could hear was a sloshing sound! Are you kidding me? Maybe it was dropped in the ocean during shipping? Apparently. No wonder it wasn’t working. Everyone knows that salt water displacement versus regular water, and blah blah blah torque and science. Whatever – it’s too complicated to go into here. Either way, the hoop doesn’t work. So I located the joint under the upc sticker where it could be opened – very difficult to remove! – opened it, and released the ocean water. Free at last! (sorry.)

So I tried again. STILL did not work. Oh yeah! It’s missing the beads. So I google “hula hoop mechanics” – not the people who work on them (there aren’t any!) – but how a hoop works. Nothing! Hey Internet, what happened to scientific inquiry? I’m tryin’ to get this thing runnin’! So I queried the interwebs: Does a hula hoop need beads? The interwebs said no – that companies put them in for sound, not performance. I rejected that figuring that The Man was trying to hide his trade secrets from the rest of us! Hey corporate fatcats, share your knowledge.

So, I took matters into my own hands, rifled through my jewelry-making stash and added some beautiful glass Czech beads in earthy tones. Not that anyone will appreciate them hidden inside the lead-infused plastic and rainbow mylar covering. But I’ll know.

Anyway, it still won’t stay up. There is the tiniest of possibilities that I may be out of shape and not able to move like I once did. But that chance seems so remote that I can hardly believe it! So now the wait begins for the chrome steel bearing balls (balls y’alls) (Why did I add that? for style, I suppose.) I have on order. Not much I can do until then except sit down with a bowl of brownie batter and watch some TMZ.

(Two things: A. True story until the last paragraph, and 2. If you read parts of this aloud in the voice of Billy Eichner, it’s more entertaining. It’s true. Try it. and 3. It seemed much funnier when I was in a brownie and hot chocolate induced sugar high.)

a beautiful life

 

We humans think we can define “a good life.” And as such, we make big plans! For school, family, rearing children, our health, our jobs, our wages, retirement, on and on. We think we know best, and that we’re in control. Of ourselves, our families, friends, and the world at large – of our lives. And yet.

People and events are unpredictable. We cannot bend them to our will, although many of us try. It may work for a while. Or seem to. But life eventually wins. Natural order is restored, and often in ways that seem unpleasant.

The only things we have control over are our actions and attitudes. Byron Katie, author and spiritual teacher, speaks of three types of business: yours, mine and God’s. When you suffer, she says, stop and check whose business you’re in. (a wonderful exercise – delightfully accurate) Chances are, you will find that you are out of your own business and in someone else’s – or in God’s, for God’s sake.

This I know, because I spent a good many years zigzagging across life’s path, waving my arms about like a fool, trying desperately to grab life’s attention and make it follow my path. Totally out of my business. “Hey – over here! We’re going this way!” frantically high-kicking and awkwardly cartwheeling a la Mary Katherine Gallagher. But you know what? Life was not amused. It rolled its eyes at me and my antics. The nerve.

After much frustration, I’ve learned to step aside (for the most part), have a picnic, plant a few flowers, and enjoy the journey.

If we just tend to our own business, deal with challenges as they arise and let life unfold, it works beautifully. By its own definition, not ours.

thrive talk

I love hostas – shade-loving plants with beautiful foliage – but it would be foolish to plant them in full sun here in Texas and expect them to flourish. They’d wither and burn. I know because I’ve done it. ‘They’ll be fine,” I told myself. (Ugh.) Try it! Try disregarding Mother Nature. Then when things don’t work out, blame the sun. Or the Republicans.

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My dusty hosta. That’s not it’s name, it’s just dusty.

We can till the earth, plant the seeds, and tend the garden – do our part – but we can’t make something grow, especially where its not supposed to. Gardeners know this. The climate, plants, soil and sun are variables over which we have no control. So we work with them in order to create harmonious, thriving gardens.

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” – Albert Einstein

This is true with people as well. We each have different natures, often squelched because in our concern with equality, we pursue sameness (confusing the two) – and attempt to tweak people into “normal” – whatever that means. This is messed up. We are all equal – all souls sharing this planet for a while – but we’re not all the same, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We each have different interests, talents and environments in which we thrive. Collectively, we’re a calico salad, not a smoothie. Society tries to force the smoothie deal on us (seriously, what’s up with the smoothies, y’all?), but I reject that. And kale.

Society aside, we’ll even “fake it” voluntarily – for a while. We will go against our own truth for a coupla reasons: to get something we want, such as approval or a large boat, or to avoid rejection. Neither of these works in the long run.

By golly, (did I just say that? and if so, why?) plants don’t do this. They don’t pop up where they don’t thrive just to win your favor. “Hey, youuu.” Plants don’t give a crap. (free bumper sticker idea. you’re welcome.) Just ask the hearty bamboo plant. (Really, if anyone has a solution for invasive bamboo, please advise. It’s getting out of hand.)

Denying our true selves leaves us living small, regret-filled lives. When we are true to ourselves, using our unique talents, passions and nature, we thrive, and so do those around us.

hazards & benefits

The HAZARDS of writing a blog on hypocrisy:

Yesterday, I boldly called for America to, “pull its head out.”  (I stand by that, by the way.) Moments later, of course, I realized I often need to do the same in my own life. Such is the nature of hypocrisy, hubris and humans. Yay! (right?)

 

The BENEFITS of writing a blog on hypocrisy (on the bright side…):

Given my own behavior, I’ll never run out of material.

here we go again

WARNING – this post contains strong language (lots of cussin’) and strong opinions. And was hastily written… you’ve been warned.

Free Speech – do we want it or not? I don’t know. I’m just askin’. The current controversy with the basketball team owner where he spews bigotry, asinine views and racism in a lengthy phone call (to his girlfriend, I guess?) brings the question to the forefront. It mostly brings to the front racism, institutionalized racism, and what are we going to do about it? Legitimate questions that deserve our continued attention. Should he face official sanctions? For what he said during a private phone call? I’m not sure about that. I have a feeling that he will face punishment enough just from the general public for years to come. And were I a player on his team, I’d be lookin’ for a way out. But I don’t know. The ones screaming the loudest for his head, of course, have never spoken offensively in a private conversation. They are angelic and pure. Because if they had, boy, they might should shut the fuck up.

Here’s my question. Was it a private phone call? Who the hell taped that? Here’s why I ask. What he said was hateful, ridiculous and asinine (we’ve established that) – the worst case of nasty ignorance we’ve seen since last week with the rancher guy. I’m not defending his words. They’re disgusting, unenlightened and generally gross. I’m defending his right to say them in a private conversation. Do we want our private conversations policed? I am curious about how we define free speech. Clearly, whoever was taping it knew his views and wanted to record and share. Cool – I guess. (not really.) Is that how we do? ‘Cause if so, I gotta lotta phone calls to make, y’all.

He wasn’t planning a riot or an attack or a terrorist plot. He was being a racist asshole. A rich, racist asshole. Might that be part of the problem? He is a jerk with lots of money. That’s not fair!! If we’re going to fire him or take his team away, etc. for stupid, hateful shit he said in a private phone call – then each one of us needs to be damned sure we have never said anything hateful to anyone privately – because if we have, we all deserve to lose our jobs and face sanctions. If anyone finds out that you’ve ever spoken hatefully about women or children, (especially them – that really bothers me), then you don’t deserve to work. Or about Hispanics, poor people, people with disabilities, people of color, people of no color, Jewish folks, Muslims, Christians, Atheists, left-handers, gay people, straight people, white men, anyone else on this planet… um who did I leave out?

What happened to FREE SPEECH? It doesn’t mean we have to like it or approve of it. It just means that people are ALLOWED to speak freely in this country even if they’re jerks. Had you rather have hateful people forbidden to speak – their views hidden so we don’t know who to trust? PLEASE. I’d rather people be able to speak freely so that I know EXACTLY who I’m dealing with. Shit, this wears me out. America, pull your head out.