A Genuine Thank You

Yesterday, I talked about depression.

Today, I want to talk about gratitude.

I am feeling the most immense gratitude.

Yesterday, through this blog, I reached out. I asked for support. I shared my own vulnerability. I shared my truth.

And I was overwhelmed by the response, by the amount of people who reached out to me, to offer an ear, kind words, their own stories of grief and depression.

I felt empowered rather than alone. I felt understood.

Some people used words like brave, honest, and courageous. But I think they are just as brave.  

We live in a world where expectations are high and sometimes we just don’t meet those expectations in the ways we’d hoped.

We often hear the phrase “the struggle is real” attached to a ludicrous bit of comedy, like being the 10^th person in line at Starbucks on Monday. And we laugh and think yes, indeed. The struggle is real.

But that little tidbit holds serious weight. It’s only fitting its become a pop culture cliché because society tells us we can’t be “real” with our feelings too often. We need to crack jokes, lighten things up, skim past the real issues.

Instead, on social media we post pictures of our greatest moments, our good times, our pets, our food, our trips to the gym, an occasional political diatribe (well, I do that at least)…

But let’s face it, some days are plain shitty.  Some days, we don’t want to get out of bed.

Yesterday, I wanted to be honest because I think I deserve it. I think YOU deserve it.

That word, “depression” has such a stigma attached to it. It affects so many of us in some way, be it large or small, intermittent or chronic. I just wanted all of you to know it affects me too. 

And the ways I deal with it…healthy or not. I forgot to include that writing is one of them, (the healthy ways).

Which brings me full circle to the space of gratitude.

Which is what I am feeling today.

Immense gratitude.

Thank you, everyone, for listening, caring and connecting.

I also wrote I had hope. The amount of love I felt, knowing I had touched so many of you on a deeper level, hope is alive and well inside my heart.

I am grateful for each one of you.

Until next time…

Getting Raw

I am usually a happy, optimistic person.

Today, I’m getting raw.

Thank you for indulging me. 

Today, I want to talk about depression.

It comes in unpredictable waves for me.

I do a pretty good job of fooling everyone when it comes on, except those that know me the best.

Those who really know me understand I retreat into a secret space of self-loathing and disgust when my behavior doesn’t match my insides.

When I am disloyal to my innermost self, my core, the struggle begins.

It’s usually triggered by drinking too much.

This is also a struggle.

I ask myself if I am addicted to alcohol, or anything else…like food, or shopping.

Addiction. A mighty strong and scary word. 

Those happen to be the places I usually put it.

I sprinkle it out so that no single one gets all the credit.

It’s a balancing act of sorts.

*She writes with a tone of sarcasm.

And right now, I am at a crossroads.

A point where I am feeling lost and alone and panicky.

I’m struggling to find myself again.

It’s been almost six years since my dad and best friend died simultaneously.

Well, close enough with three days spread.

And every year, the pain remains in tact. The memories of their deaths, the loss I feel, the anger at not being able to share my life with them anymore.

It’s all still here, festering like a boil.

I let it out sometimes.

I do.

I go to therapy and talk about it.

I go for bike rides along the beach, or walks.

I cry.

These are the “healthy” ways I grieve.

But in silence, I punish myself.

I say I have come to terms with it. I say I am over it.

But there are most certainly times I am NOT over it.

I wonder, still, if there is something else I could have said or done.

My rational self knows there is nothing.

But the part of me who wants to save everyone, everything, doesn’t recognize that.

That part of me sneaks in and drinks wine, drinks beer, eats too much, dances on tables and sometimes gets into fights with strangers.

That person is really angry, still.

That woman has not come to terms with all of it.

Today, I am sharing this because I don’t want to feel alone.

And, I don’t want to you to feel alone.

Because, I know the truth.

We are all struggling, some of us worse than others.

Even those of us who seem to be the strongest have weak moments, hours, days.

But I still have hope.

So that’s something.

Life After Graduation, Again.

Hi there. 

It's me, Darcy. Remember? I know, it's been a LONG time. My sincerest apologies but I was so busy earning my Masters in creative writing that I had no time to be creative elsewhere. But guess what, I'm done. 

And left with a fancy degree and this:

Post Graduate School Depression.

Is this a thing?

I imagine my fellow graduates would agree it exists. I know it existed for me. 

As soon as we're handed that diploma, we're flooded with questions we might not yet have answers for. 

"What next?" and "What are your plans?" and "When are you going to finish that novel?"

Yep. 

Big questions.

I actually do have answers. But whether they're the correct answers remain to be seen.

Ah, the great unknown. Such a place of comfort. NOT.

See, it's like this. I WANT to finish my novel. Like, next week. I INTEND to get a job teaching in the fall. I PLAN on becoming a best selling author, and I plan on seeing all of my friends become best selling authors too. (I'm not selfish, c'mon.)

But reality doesn't always work that way and I'm not naive enough to think it does. I'm a realist but also an optimist so there is a huge part of me that genuinely believes all of these things will come to fruition, but it might take some time.  That being written, I recognize I need to be the one to put the proverbial ball in motion. What kind of ball is that anyway? A basketball, a golfball, a tennis ball, a bearing. Anyone know?

So, in the mean time, I decided to start this day the way I started many days in my early blogging career. I drove my kids to school and headed to my local Corner Bakery to sip coffee and write. I ate breakfast too, but that's beside the point. I do love their Farmers Scramble...but I digress.

One of the things I am known for (I think), is wearing my emotions on my sleeve. I even cried after I defended my thesis, which was odd considering I passed. My professors hadn't seen that before, but I like to keep them on their toes. And hey, I am "the girl who cries" so I didn't want to disappoint. Had to leave a solid impression, it's great for letters of recommendation.

This morning is no different than any other in the sense that I got teary eyed three minutes before I dropped my son off for his last day of 10th grade. He's just finished reading "Night" by Elie Wiesel. We started talking about it and I realized that it moves me just as much today as it did 20 years ago when I first read it.

The thing is, emotions are good. Crying is good. It softens you, it allows you to feel compassion and understanding, plus it gives you the chance to purge negativity and let light in.

In this time where the world feels so divided, where anger and intolerance flood our social media, I cry out to those who are so filled with hate and ask this BIG question of you: Why?

Have we learned nothing from our past?

Children know love, unconditionally.  They see no color, no gender, no hate. They LEARN these constructs. They are taught to think and act within the structure of their families and then, within their societies. So if society continues to dictate social structures that condone sexism, ageism, racism, bigotry, intolerance and hate, why don't we take a stand against these prejudices and speak out. Let it be known that we need change. That YOU believe in a world where peace, compassion, understanding and knowledge are the foundation from which you operate.

Instead of spreading the latest graphic MEME from any of our biased media affiliates, why not start thinking about the ways in which YOU have been affected and how you can change the world in a positive way? Why not purge the pain out and let light in?

My niece and I had a powerful conversation yesterday, and folks, she's 12. We talked about the CHOICE to be happy. We can move through this life blaming others and letting anger eat away at our hearts or we can decide not to live like that. I'm not saying it's easy. What I'm saying is that it starts with the tiniest gesture, a random act of kindness even. It's like a light switch, maybe on a dimmer. You ease it up bit by bit until the light fills the room, or in this case, your heart.

Can you imagine a world where everyone strived toward finding their inner light?

I can tell you this much, this girl is trying to push that dimmer switch all the way to the top, let all the light in and get out of this post graduate school depression! It ain't easy, but as I sit here typing away, I feel a bit more accomplished than I did yesterday, and the light is getting brighter by the minute. 

So again, to answer some of the pending questions:

Next, I'm going to go home and post this blog. Today, it's my attempt to inspire and fill someone's heart with compassion and someone's mind with new ideas.

And, It's time to update my Curriculum Vitae (which in the academic world, is a fancy word for resume). I do need to get a job, after all.

And, finally, I need to work on my novel. It's not going to finish itself, right? You can't be a best selling author without a book, dammit.

Until next time.

Remember, in the immortal words of Gandhi,

BE THE CHANGE YOU WISH TO SEE IN THE WORLD

Putting Your Best Foot Forward...Most of the Time

I'll admit it.  I am guilty of leaving the house sans make-up and wearing work-out attire on a regular basis, like every morning usually.  The point being, I actually work-out at some time most days- preferably in the morning, although there are always exceptions.  Like today for example.  While my intentions were high, I discovered I was consumed by too many "to do's" to get the exercise done and wound up wearing my yoga pants and sweatshirt all day.

Including right now as I type this at 7:32 p.m. on a Wednesday night.  Oh well, shit happens.

But I guess what I am getting at is I started thinking about how casual we've become, how lazy we are as a society when it comes to our appearance. I think this is reflected in our young people and their showing up to school in PJ's for one, and to job interviews in torn jeans, smacking their gum, so ill-prepared for an interview, they don't even have a pen to fill out the application.  They wonder why they don't get hired.

I am trying to figure out exactly how and when this shift in attitude became so extreme.  I mean hey, I'm not saying one must iron his or her jeans (mom, yes you) but I am thinking the idea of putting your best foot forward seems to have left the cultural mainstream in general.  It seems like we are raising a generation of young people who couldn't care less about their appearance to those that obsess so completely over it, it becomes unhealthy.  I'm saying there has to be a happy medium, right?

Remember when travelers wore dresses, hats, gloves and slacks before taking a trip? Maybe not because I'm pretty sure that was way before I was born but maybe there's some of you more seasoned readers who might recall those days. Anyway, people were expected to dress appropriately or they would suffer the consequences. Not necessarily being thrown off a plane but certainly subjected to the disapproving scowls of the other passengers.   These days for women, dressing up to fly often involves a velour sweat suit with some sort of label sewn over the ass. Not exactly haute couture.

Juicy Couture maybe. But I don't think that counts.

On a recent trip with some friends to the Magic Castle in L.A., I overheard some young women complaining about the fact that cocktail attire was required for entrance to the classic Hollywood establishment. I think the allure of the whole place, its history and appeal was lost on this twenty-something who didn't see the need for such fancy duds.  I wonder if she would have felt more comfortable down the street at a club on Sunset rather than the historical mansion. Well, at least she was prepared for either since she had on a dress and a pair of heels.   I, for one, felt like a million bucks all gussied up.  I'm sure the rest of the gang felt great too and we all looked spectacular.  It was well worth the aches and pains in my feet the next day.

See? We looked pretty great if I do say so myself...

One of the things my Mom always taught me was to put my best foot forward because first impressions are important and you've only got one shot to make a decent one.  That being said (well written), I think it makes a difference in the way you feel about yourself, leaving the house in yoga pants, a t-shirt, hair tied up and sans make-up.  At least I know it affects my self-esteem, no question.  It's like the Seinfeld episode where George starts wearing his sweats and Jerry makes his usual snarky remarks about him "giving up." Well in a sense he's right.  Often on those days I feel like I've given up and indeed, it's not a good feeling.

I realize we live in a world that is overly concerned with appearance, especially those of us here in SoCal. Some may find what I've written offensive but hear me out.  Putting your best foot forward means taking the extra time to care about yourself.  It means that you see the value in feeling good on the inside and looking good on the outside, trying to find the balance between the two.

In spite of the fact that we shouldn't be judged by how we look, the truth is we are. I know it's harsh and sad but it's reality and if we can't take care of ourselves, how can we expect the next generation to?  Shouldn't we lead by example?  Shouldn't we take the time and make the effort to throw on a cute shirt and a pair of good-fitting jeans?  Maybe a little mascara and some lipstick or for the guys, a nice clean shave and some hair gel?  Just a few suggestions, nothing set in concrete.  And for the record, I like that light faux-beard look or a nicely trimmed goatee, just keep it neat.  Not much of a fan of the Duck Dynasty look (or the show and its stars ideals either).

It seems superficial but when you look at yourself in the mirror and you like what you see, your whole attitude changes and you feel ready to tackle the challenges of the day with just a bit more confidence. Agree?

When it comes to the kids, well they have their own fashion agenda~I know.  But giving them a reason to care about their appearance is not a bad thing, as long as it's done as a means to boost their self-esteem and confidence, not shatter egos.

I'm not suggesting we go back to the days of formal wear on the Pan Am flight to NYC, but I do think it might be a good idea to swap the pajama pants in favor of a cute little ensemble that makes you feel sassy and fun-guys that means you too.  It sets the tone for a good trip and you won't have to worry about the scowling elderly folk who fondly remember and long for the days of the fancy fashion-forward traveler.

So this lady in her yoga pants is signing off now, too late to hit the gym but still feeling pretty accomplished for the day in spite of the attire.  

After all, tomorrow is new and a chance to start again.  Turns out when I try, I clean up real nice.

Cheers to 2014 and to putting your best foot forward.

Best to all,

Darcy

Silver Linings

It's Thursday.  The sky outside is unbelievable, a perfect day in Huntington Beach.  November is always the most gorgeous month we locals all agree.  

Yesterday marked four years since my best friend died.  

Saturday marks four years since my Dad died.  

Seems pretty depressing, right?  Yes...and no.  

Monday night after class, some of us stopped at O'hara's for a drink.  We've got a cool professor who not only suggests we do this with relative frequency, he also joins.  Anyway, a few of us started talking about writing non-fiction and how often students write about death and its overwhelming sadness.  I won't argue that death is overwhelmingly sad, there's no question.  But sometimes, certain things about death, or rather things that happen before, during and after, can be funny.  

Lest you think I'm heartless, read on.  

Once some time has passed, once you get some distance and the pain isn't so intense, you can start to see the funny things, maybe a hint of a silver lining.  

If you were close to someone who died, you watched them battle, say for instance, cancer (which is what I witnessed first hand), there had to be moments when you shared laughter.  Because laughter is the one thing that can lighten the mood.  Laughter ACTUALLY has magical powers to help ease pain...I read that some place, don't quote me but I'm pretty sure it's a scientific fact.  Google it.

Here's a little story about Susie, who incidentally was the funniest person I ever knew.  

It goes like this.  

About three months before she passed, she was spending yet another night at Hoag Hospital.  I live about five miles away so I took every opportunity I had to visit.  One night I got there about 8:30-9:00. Regular visiting hours change for people who have been told they should "get their affairs in order."  

Susie's husband was sitting at her bedside reading while she dozed.  I wave at him, smile and lean in toward her hugging her shoulders, careful not to pull on the tubes sticking out of her body, "Suz, Hi, I'm here."

"Oh Hey Darc,"  she says groggily, a good dose of morphine moving through her little body.

"Hi Rod," we exchange hugs, her husband and me, then I hug Suz again.  He says he is gonna run downstairs, leave us for a bit so he can get something to eat.  We say sure, go ahead.  We need to catch up.

I sit on the bed next to her.  At this point, the sad stuff is shared.  They've told her there is nothing else they can do, the cancer has spread, she needs to "get her affairs in order," which is just the kind of bullshit they say to cover themselves, we both agree.  

"Can you believe this shit?" She says.

"No, I can't," and for the first time in a long time, I completely lose it, ugly tears.  And get this, as I sat there crying, laying next to her in the bed, SHE comforts me. SHE rubs my head, tells me it's gonna be okay.  Some friend I am.  Sheesh.

I stop my blubbering, pull myself together, apologize and do my best to be strong.  

Okay, about now you are thinking you've lost it Darcy, exactly what's funny about that?  Well, nothing. But the funny part comes next, promise.  I had to set the tone.

Suz tells me she wants some Oreos and a Dr. Pepper.  So with a little maneuvering of the IV stand, an adjustment of her gown, we head down the hallway in search of a vending machine. We get stopped by a young timid nurse, asking us where we were going.  

"I'm just looking for some Oreos and a Dr. Pepper. Where are the vending machines?" Suz said.

"Oh Ma'am, I'm sorry but you can't leave this floor.  The vending machines are on the 7th and patients are not allowed up there," said Baby Nurse.

"Well,  I have just been told I am going to die.  Has someone ever said that to you? No? So then, I will do whatever I damn well please.  When someone tells you you're gonna die, like they told me today, well I'm gonna get some god damned Oreos and Dr. Pepper and there isn't one fucking thing you are gonna do about it!"  She continued toward the elevator, smiling, pleased with herself knowing that she could still scare the crap out of just about anyone who crossed her.  

I stood there laughing, not sure if I was going to get in trouble, not caring either way, realizing that I would probably be the only person who could wrangle her back into her bed, convince her that the Dr. Pepper and Oreos could wait.  Truth is, I really didn't want her to go back to bed.  I wanted to be daring and crazy, even if it was just sneaking up to a different floor in search of cookies and soda.  It felt like we were kids again, sneaking out on a Saturday night to crash some senior party.   

Baby Nurse, stunned and helpless searched for Nurse Ratchet who found us very near the elevator.  We almost made it.

Suz cussed her out too and I believe it was right about then that her husband popped out from the elevator in time to see it all shake down.  There we stood, me holding my purse giggling uncontrollably, Susie in her gown, little blue socks with the sticky stuff on the bottom, holding her IV stand and the two nurses, confused and utterly embarrassed because between the two of them, they couldn't manage to get one sick woman back to her hospital room.  They had no idea who they were up against.

"What the hell is going on here?" he says.

"Oh hey baby, I just wanted a snack and these crazy bitches won't let me leave the floor," She says innocently.

Now I can't contain myself, I am just laughing out loud, acting like I am trying to get her to go back but still secretly hoping we'd make it to the 7th floor.  

"Ok, c'mon now.  Let's go back to your room.  I brought you a magazine," Roderick says, looking at me half smiling, half glaring.  

"What? What?  She wanted Oreos.  You KNOW how she is, I'm not gonna tell her no, she'd kick my ass," I say.

By then, a third nurse, one who happened to be on Suz's good side, offered her a 7Up and some Jello as an alternative.  Reluctantly, she accepted and  agreed to go back to her room.  "All of this nonsense has tuckered me out anyway,"

So, we went back to her room and all three of us laughed until we cried, recapping the whole story for Roderick.  And she WAS tuckered out.  So she sipped her 7Up, had a bite or two of jello and nodded off as her next dose of painkillers kicked in.

I left that night smiling, thinking of my little escape artist.  No matter what, we still had laughter.

Now when I look back, I still smile thinking of that story.  The bittersweet moment of knowing I was going to lose her, that our time was being cut way too short, but we were still able to laugh.  

Suz was the funniest person I ever knew, did I say that already?  Well it warrants repeating. 

She taught me to search for the beauty in life, to look for it in even the darkest places.  

She taught me about laughter and friendship and love and life.  

If anyone could ever find the silver lining, it was Suz.  

I am who I am, in many ways because of her.  

So Susie, I thank you my dear dear friend, I thank you for helping me find the silver linings everywhere. 

Courage

Who knew I would have such a passion for teaching?  I suppose deep inside, I knew I always would.  And this week, I got to finally take a chance at it.

Through a great program at Chapman partnered with the wonderful non-profit organization Think Together (http://www.thinktogether.org), some fellow grad students and I are teaching a six week writing workshop for students at Century High School.  We were supposed to start last week but the kids had to take their PSAT’s so our actual teaching was postponed until yesterday. 

Truth be told, I was pretty nervous about being in the classroom because other than volunteering at my kids’ school, I have not been on the other side of the desk with the chalk board (now dry erase) or with the overhead (now smart boards with ELMO machines) unless you count the times I was called up to the front to attempt to solve an abstract algebra equation that would NEVER serve me any purpose in life save for solving other equations in the math classes I dreaded in high school and undergrad studies.  But I digress…

Because of the delay, we had an opportunity to meet with the teacher and get a feel for the class and the students.  What an eye opening conversation.  I tell you, for the teachers out there who really care, who really want to change lives and make a difference, kudos and more to you.  I deal with one teenager every day and that’s plenty, can’t imagine how difficult it would be to take on 200+ kids every year, each one with their own set of problems.  I was so grateful to have had that conversation because I felt better prepared for the time we would come face to face with the students.

I sit here trying to come up with the words to describe how I feel about this opportunity and I realize this must be exactly how the students felt when we asked them to try a writing exercise.  It’s not that I don’t have enough to say; we all know there is no lack of words from me.  It’s just trying to find the right ones, the words that can actually convey how truly remarkable this experience feels that is a little difficult. 

So I am going to try to put myself in their shoes and answer the prompt we gave them.  It went a little something like this:

Think of an adult you know (i.e. a teacher, a parent, a coach) that has a special quality you admire and would like to have yourself (i.e. are they generous, honest, loyal, trustworthy, cheerful, brave) and write whatever you want, a few sentences, a paragraph, whatever, about that person.

I have plenty of adults I admire who have unique qualities, but I really want to focus on the kids I worked with yesterday.  I don’t know them yet but I already feel a connection partly because we came from the same place, the city of Santa Ana.  These kids are growing up in a tough neighborhood, their lives are filled with challenges that make it difficult to go to high school, let alone look to a future in college. 

One quality I saw in ALL of the kids I met yesterday was courage.  They are brave young men and women trying to make a difference in their own lives and the odds are stacked against them.  Financial constraints, lack of familial support, cultural differences, expectations within a community, all of these things barely scratch the surface aside from ordinary problems that come along with being a teenager like having sex and avoiding drugs. 

A couple students shared what they wrote and it was enough to move the three of us co-teachers to tears, the words were real, they were heartfelt and sincere and the fact that we were able to get these kids to write from their hearts and indeed go beyond and SHARE their work, well that was amazing.  I felt like we had made a connection and started to build trust, a bond even, that might help these students realize their potential, their worth, even just a little bit. 

Though I only worked with them for an hour yesterday, that single hour meant so much.  I left that classroom filled with hope.  I was inspired to find my own courage to continue to teach in any capacity or opportunity I find as well as the courage to keep writing when some days I think I should throw it all out the window and say screw it. 

So I ask you this, take a minute to think about someone YOU admire, the quality or qualities they have that you want to see in yourself.  What the hell, pick up a pen and paper or hit the keyboard and write about it.  We told the kids that part of writing, part of growing, is getting to a place where you feel comfortable being uncomfortable. 

Challenge yourself and get uncomfortable, get to a place that your own creative juices begin to flow.  If writing is not your thing, pick up a paintbrush, whatever you like.  Whatever it is, quit making excuses and have the courage to express yourself. 

Today, I had the courage to write in my poor little sad neglected blog and I hope that my faithful readers will understand and forgive me, perhaps even be a little inspired to have the courage to try something new.

And, I PROMISE to keep you posted on the adventures in teaching!

To Judge Or Not To Judge, That is the Question.

Judgment.

We are all so quick to rush to judgment without knowing all the facts.  But really, it's human nature, no?  Don't we all find ourselves in that place far too often?

I remember very early in my college education, I took a class in philosophy, I think it was  ethics, so the instructor taught us the basics and we looked at things like logic and fallacies, all that jazz most of which I vaguely remember because it was almost 20 years ago but never-the-less, one thing he said stuck with me.

Like many of my fellow students trying to find ourselves, we were all asking the big questions in life, and one question in particular seemed to recur with a high level of frequency.

"Who am I to judge?" We would all ponder, trying to be cool and free, young liberals with psuedo hippie ideals about freedom and love...

His response, "It's your job to judge."

So this teacher lectured us on the reasons why we should and if memory serves, he basically said it was not only human nature, but our obligation.  Of course, this just opened the floodgates for more questions, at least for me.  Old adages like "Don't judge a book by it's cover" really do seem to hold genuine meaning, and although cliche this one holds merit because we are all guilty of making assumptions based on what we see without knowing anything at all about a person.

Don't be mistaken, I am talking about people here, not books, books we can judge all we want.  I mean, how many times have you bought a book based on the cover only to be disappointed with the innards, but I digress.

Seriously, I sit here in the Corner Bakery (using the free wifi and enjoying a few cups of coffee) with a huge black eye.  I mean, it's ridiculous.  It has turned varying shades of violet and has developed a lovely yellow Saturn like rim, really spectacular colors if I do say so myself.  Now, I KNOW people are wondering what happened, how could they not.  It's the purple elephant on my face that screams volumes.  Me being me, well I feel compelled to tell people the truth because of this fear of JUDGMENT.  But yet, no one has asked.  It's taboo...so instead, they sit and try not to stare, wondering what happened, likely assuming the worst-I am a beaten woman-and those of you who know me are laughing right now because the truth is I am just the idiot who walked into a pole at a sporting goods store.  Yep, that's it.  Glamorous, isn't it?  People keep suggesting that I come up with a better story but I just can't.  The OCD won't let me lie.

Perhaps judgment is the reason I say and do what I do.  I can be honest to a fault and I try to live my life as an open book.  That being said, I sometimes have a tendency to over-share, perhaps stick my nose into others' business.  But the truth is, it comes from a place of compassion and empathy, it really does.

I spent a good deal of my teenage years judging others based on their clothes, their looks, their cars.  All of this was material bullshit, yet I was judged the exact same way.  It's the nature of the beast, and by beast I mean teenager.  But, as I grew into an adult with a little more perspective on life, I realized that all this judging was doing more harm than good.  "Judging" was really more "comparing" and that for me, was really unhealthy.  Listen, I am not saying you (or I) can't have an opinion, that's perfectly fine.  What I am saying is the way in which we share that opinion deserves a little more forethought and the use of a filter than many of us consider.

It all goes back to basic human kindness and understanding.  Judgment is what gets us into all sorts of trouble, isn't it?  Let me share another example.  This past weekend, we had a family vacation, a much needed respite from our daily lives and a great time to reconnect with one another.  While sitting in the pool outside the restaurant, a man walked by with an enormous tattoo on his stomach that read "TRUST NO BITCH," just like that.  In capital letters.  He did not look happy.  Now, I'm not gonna lie, Chris and I had a bit of a laugh and made a few comments about my black eye and that Chris should point to me, make a fist and smile at the guy.  But, really if we look at the core of that tattoo, really think of its meaning, this poor dude was clearly broken, at his very core.  At least that's what I suspect but hey, maybe I am wrong.  The truth is, he was not the kind of guy who seemed like he wanted to share the impetus of that ink so I left it alone.  Have I rushed to judgment?  Perhaps.

I think what I am saying is this: We are all making judgments, well I think comparisons really, every day.  We are all looking at one another and seeing how we stack up.   It's inevitable and unavoidable, but let me make this one suggestion.  The next time you find yourself judging someone else, try to remember that everyone has a story.  Try to find that part of yourself that feels compassion and empathy and although it may be challenging, I promise that you might start to feel a bit better about your own insecurities and areas where you fall short.  What do you think?  Is that something worth striving toward?

To quote Sir Paul McCartney and his fine words of wisdom,

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."

So instead of judgment, maybe all you need is love...