Spreading my wings...

I feel like I’ve been in a tucked away in a tight little chrysalis for some time now. Mostly of my own doing, I might add. It’s been cozy in here. 

Safe. Protected. Quiet. 

Each time I want to climb out and spread my wings, something seems to come along and I quickly retreat back into the space of security and warmth.

 

Here’s the thing. I’ve occasionally hidden on purpose, and I have also transformed in many ways. This has been a place of respite, and I’ve used it to reflect and evolve. I’ve grown quite fond of the cocoon and I don’t think I’m the only one who’s been there. Am I right? 

 

As we all begin to slowly emerge and return to “normal” again, I don’t think we can help but know we have all changed, some for the better, some not so much. We were forced into a time where we had to slow down and reevaluate what our world and our lives look like. 

 

Personally, I have been challenged in many ways. I was stalled and scared. The unknown had become the known. Our fears had come to fruition. All the makings of a Hollywood blockbuster had come to life in front of us. 

 

“The Virus.” 

 

All during a time when we had a lunatic for a president. But I digress.

 

As a full-fledged adult, I was frightened. Thinking of my children, their own fears and their limited life experience now shrouded with the terror of the unknown, a killer disease that morphed constantly. The “what ifs” creeping in. Although they both seemed to fair well, I can’t help but think that a profound sense of doom lingered in their minds as it did mine. Along with losing parts of their child and young adulthood. 

 

As we waited and listened, we banded together. And, we wore masks, and stayed inside and washed our groceries and countertops and fingers with Clorox wipes. And we prayed to a God I don’t even believe in, for a cure…and answers. 

 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, we got it! A vaccine. Not a cure, but a way to stave off the potentially deadly virus that has taken over 674,000 American lives, 4.5 million worldwide to date…

 

When I got vaccinated, a sense of relief along with the MRNA poured through my body, and I felt hopeful for the first time in a while. I felt free to move about the cabin, the fasten seatbelt light switched off. 

 

Maybe you know this about me, maybe you don’t. I used to fancy myself and eternal optimist. A Pollyanna of sorts, really. But I am a realist at heart. I don’t sugar coat or deny the truth, but on the contrary, tend to spin into the space of catastrophizing first, THEN I try to find the positive. When you have OCD, that’s a really common coping method. Initially imagine the worst-case scenario, then nothing can be as bad as you’ve imagined, right? Meh… 

 

Then, there are the folks who’ve moved through life acting as if this whole Pandemic was nothing to worry about. These people believing and regurgitating information that has been spoon fed to them from people with ill-intentions. Those who want to see a country in constant chaos. Tornados of conspiracy theories, each one crazier than the next, helped to fuel the fires of division and uncertainty. People screaming “I won’t live in fear” while packing an AR-15 and stocking up on ammo. Anti-abortion folks holding signs at protests saying “My body, my choice” fail to see the absolute irony and contradiction of their word choices. 

 

But here’s the thing with living in that world of denial; you never quite process the reality and the effect it has on ourselves, and our society. However, you approached the past 18 or so months, if you’re reading this, you survived. 

 

Now, we are at a crossroads again. We are living among one another, but still very divided. We have ended friendships and relationships and cut ties with people. We’ve scrutinized our morals and our values, and decided who is worthy of our time, energy and effort. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. But what is bad is we’ve lost our ability to compromise, many of us with good reason. We are exhausted. We have “compassion fatigue.” We are so.over.it. 

 

We can fool ourselves into thinking things are fantastic, terrific, even perfect in some ways. But, that’s not real. It’s the easiest way to avoid dealing with issues that are plaguing the country, and the world. Issues that affect/effect all of us. Walking around with rose-colored glasses constantly is a disservice to others, and ourselves. As hard as it is, we need to start opening up the dialogue. Conversations NEED to happen in order to progress. We NEED to feel heard. We NEED to feel seen. 

 

And, on the same note…we need to listen. 

 

We NEED to create open discourse and pause long enough to listen to those who oppose our views, and we need to ask “why?” Many of our opinions are shaped by our personal experiences, some by the experiences of others, loved ones and strangers alike. But the bottom line is digging deep enough to figure out where these ideas stem from. Be curious, not reactive. 

 

I’m not asking you to be a doormat. In fact, quite the opposite. Stand tall and firm in your beliefs and opinions. Continue to learn as much as you can and figure out the best way to share that information. Talking is everything. 

 

Does everyone deserve your time and space? Hell no. Some causes are lost. If you’ve created boundaries to protect yourself from toxicity, keep them. I don’t even think you need to “forgive and forget.” 

 

I think moving on takes on a variety of shapes but holding onto anger doesn’t serve us. It CAN motivate us, so that’s a plus. But stewing in it holds you up, blocks the energy you need to move forward. Sometimes we just have to accept things that are hard and uncomfortable. Redirect that emotion and let it OR them go. 

 

We spend a huge amount of wasted time arguing on social media, with both strangers and friends. I am absolutely, 100% guilty of this offense. It’s futile and never ends well. I am trying my best to stop. I have found that the “block” button works wonders!

 

I used to be really good at remembering that people develop their approach to life based on experience. I used to be patient, understanding, even. But, in recent years, I’ve not been so patient or understanding. I need to work on that again: considering where and how other people develop their ideas and opinions. I used to be able to pause, and introduce another idea, to plant a seed, “food for thought” as they say. You can do that in a face to face conversation. Not so much in an argument on the Internet. 

 

As an expert in my field of communications, here’s the number one rule to remember: face to face communication is the MOST effective form to convey a message. The second, a phone call, and the last is written. 

 

Writing is subjective to every reader. Tone, inflection, and meaning are all open to interpretation. As a writer, I can tell you with absolute certainty, what is put on the page (or even a short post on social media) is easily misconstrued. Meaning can be lost in context. Ideas disappear into a blur on the page…

 

So, where do I go from here? 

 

I gently tug at the silk thread, deliberate, slow. It opens up and I pop my head out, carefully scanning the space that surrounds me. Is it safe? Is it secure? Will I be able to find the peace I had in this quiet space outside of here? 

 

The truth is, I don’t know. I can’t stop the world from moving, nor can I expect other people to share the same sense of awakening I’ve experienced in the past year and a half. I can only manage my own feelings, and I hope that my words and my actions match the direction I am headed, which is a space of enlightenment. 

 

And if I can help and guide folks through this challenging terrain, then I’ve accomplished the goal I set for myself. 

 

I remain steadfast in my desire to be an agency of change, but I want to remain self-aware. I want to help others. I want to teach my children to stay strong, resilient, courageous, empathetic, kind. 

 

I want to be all of those things. 

 

My eyes no longer sport rose colored glasses. I’ve swapped them for my progressive bi-focals which give me clear vision and direct insight into reality in all its ugliness and beauty. 

 

When the cocoon is fully open, a jagged line will form showing the torn apart chrysalis that once enveloped me, keeping me safe and secure in a time of chaos. Instead of gently pulling at the silken thread, I will tug away until it's ripped wide open, freeing me.

 

I feel determined. I feel agitated. I feel uncertain. I feel creative. I feel unbound. I feel hope. 

I feel ready.

 

I am spreading my wings. 

This blog post is dedicated to my little brother, Ryan, who would have turned 45 today. I hope he's spread his wings and is flying without fear, sadness or despair. RIP little brother. You were truly loved. 

 Happy Spring!

Here we are, in the midst of a pandemic and I'm one vaccine in with my second dose on deck in two days. What a year we have had...Am I right? 

It's my birthday month, and I'll be 49-years-old. It's hard to say we "lost" a year, but it really feels like it in many ways. 

But, we've also gained so much. In this time, I've become more creative and written more than I have in some time. 

We also elected a new president, and I can't express how much joy and relief I am experiencing. As an empath, I felt the pain and distress of our collective consciousness for four LONG years. Coming out of it, there is some residual stress. We are not out of this space but there is hope, and that is comforting. 

This morning, I read a friend's post on FB. It was a 100 word flash memoir, and I submitted a short piece. Who knows if it will be published, but it always feels good to get my creative juices flowing, even if the writing is difficult. Difficult in the sense of the topic, not so much the crafting. 

But, it brings me to this. 

I watched a movie on Saturday called "Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always."

It was about a 17-year-old seeking an abortion. I'd seen an interview with writer/director Eliza Hittman, where she discussed her perspective on making a film about the always controversial topic. She summed it up in saying that she wanted to tell a story from a woman's point of view, and how difficult it was to get a legal abortion in 2020. Most of the previous films were told from a male perspective, usually when abortion was illegal, over 50 years ago.  

So, this got me thinking. And it made me sad. It brought back memories of my own experience as a pregnant 16-year-old. Something not uncommon for many of us. And, I refuse to feel shame for it. Not anymore. 

The stigma attached still holds true. Words like slut, whore, loose, cheap...they are still tossed around casually, always with blame placed on the woman or girl. Never the man...And, men seem to be the most vocal about regulating women's reproductive rights. 

Who's responsible? The answer is never simple. The complicated history of any relationship, experience or lapse in judgment could result in an unwanted pregnancy. The key word here is "unwanted." And, does it really matter, anyway? Again...complicated. 

In my case, I was with a much older man and I felt pressure to please him; to have sex even though I didn't want to, because I thought it was what I had to do, as if I had no choice in the matter. And in many ways, I didn't. 

When I got pregnant I broke up with him, never telling him the truth because I feared him. I did. I was afraid of so many things and having a baby with a man I feared wasn't going to happen. I knew that much.

My story is different because I was incredibly lucky to have two supportive parents who honored my decision to terminate my pregnancy. I know it was hard for them, and I will always be grateful they were in my corner without judgment. 

That's not the case for many teenagers who find themselves in the same predicament. 

The movie had me reeling, going back 32 years to a place of confusion, sadness, and grief. 

The thing is...I knew better. I wasn't a virgin when this happened. In fact, I had been on birth control, but stopped taking it because I DIDN'T want to have sex with anyone after I broke up with a previous long-term boyfriend. 

Instead, I quickly found myself in a new relationship with this older man. I didn't ask him to wear a condom, and he didn't offer. 

I have been in therapy for many years, and I've worked through this issue. But, the memory is always there. And when I watch a film like this, it resurfaces and reminds me of the time in my life that was so messy and depressing. 

In the aftermath, I struggled with my identity and my purpose, wandering through my life aimlessly, still making poor decisions for many years. Having an abortion wasn't one of them. 

I wasn't ready to be a mother then, at almost seventeen. 

I wasn't ready to be tied to a man who was dangerous and controlling. 

I wasn't ready. 

There are people who will call me a baby killer, and scream I'm heading straight to the bowels of hell for fiery eternal damnation...it's a good thing I'm agnostic and don't believe in that crap. Those are also the same people who think blowing up abortion clinics is doing "God's work." 

The hypocrisy, astounding. Go figure. 

I'm opening up this conversation because for far too long, we've been shamed. 

Women. 

Girls. 

We've been shamed and told it's our fault. How we dress. What we say. We are temptresses. How dare we "tease." We were asking for it...

Enough. Enough. Enough.

This decision was not easy, but it was the clear choice. I will not speak for other women, but I can safely postulate choosing an abortion wasn't easy for them either. 

This subject is hot, it's controversial. I get that. I've never shied away from my truth. I've always tried to be honest in hopes that my story will give some comfort to those who aren't so open to share. I get it. We all have our reasons.

I've always maintained that living in this truth, this honest space, isn't easy, but it's the only way I can live. It isn't for everyone...and that's okay. 

Do I regret having an abortion at sixteen? No. What I wish is that I never had to make that choice. That I had been strong enough to say no. That I had used birth control. That I had a different vision of my sexuality then. That I understood relationships and men better. That I wasn't so hell bent on growing up so fast. That I had paused. That I understood my value and my worth. That I didn't equate that value with how many men found me attractive, loved me, wanted me...

I knew the power I had, I just didn't know how to harness it. I knew from a very young age how men saw me. It started with comments like "you're going to be so pretty when you're grown up." I wish I hadn't put so much stock in those words, because for a long time, I let that define me. 

So here I am, nearly 49-years-old. I'm looking at life through a very different lens. Even as I write this, it is with some caution. Because, if I put this out there I open myself up for a myriad of responses. 

Judgment comes in many forms. Usually, projection is the leading force. If you're still with me and reading this, here's what I ask: 

Sit with this for a minute. If you've never experienced an unwanted pregnancy, sit with the idea. Pause and just imagine what that might feel like. The internal struggle. The loneliness. The pain. It's all right there.

Growth, understanding, and change happen in that space of discomfort. It hurts. It feels unpleasant. But, it's necessary in order to begin to alter the way we think about anything, really. Abortion is just one of the difficult issues we must confront. 

A wise woman (my dear sister) once told me "Everyone has a story." If we can pause long enough to remember that instead of having knee-jerk reactions, we can start the process of acceptance, understanding and love WITHOUT judgment.

There is light as we move through a pandemic that has left us all beyond fatigued. 

We are spent. 

With Spring upon us, we have a renewed sense of hope. Let's use this awakening as a moment to reflect on the past, and come into the future with forgiveness and love. 

Let empathy and kindness guide us. 

Leave judgment behind and let love be the force with which we connect. 

 

 In 15 days, the scope of this country will change even more drastically than it has since donald trump was elected president four years ago. (I refuse to capitalize his name.)

Since then, I have personally struggled with ongoing depression, and I know I'm not the only one.

I long for the days when I won't feel like this. But in the meantime, every day comes with anxiety and fear that we will never recover from what's happened to our country, but more importantly, to ourselves.

We have become so divided that we argue over things that were once a given: things like science, medicine, truth and compassion. Now, some of us believe the most ludicrous conspiracy theories, vigorously promoting them, shouting "fake news" whenever trump denies a story that paints him in an unflattering light.

We have seen a surge in racism and hate, with armed militias "standing back and standing by."

We have seen friends and families separated, both physically and metaphorically.

I have lost many, but that's the sacrifice I've made to fight for what I believe in.

I know I am not alone in these feelings of despair, frustration, and sadness.

But, what is the answer?

Can we forgive those who have forsaken us? Can we move past the betrayals and the blatant attacks on our character? What if trump gets reelected? Will we heal? CAN we heal?

I'm not sure. And, I hate that.

I used to be so optimistic, floating around the world in a space of eternal hope, imagining that we were progressive, that we were moving forward, that we were EQUAL.

Boy, was I ever wrong. I've become quite the cynic.

About a year ago, I walked into a wall in the middle of the night and nearly knocked myself out. I ended up with a black eye and a bruised ego. The darkness around my eye faded, but it was replaced by darkness in my heart. Nearly every day, I feel like I've walked into that wall again, over and over like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

We can all agree that 2020 has been the worst year in the history of our lives thus far, so it would seem the only way to go is up. I'm not sure that's going to happen but we can still aspire to greater heights.

I do find some solace in watching the trump train head steadily toward the broken bridge, crashing and bursting into a fiery ball of orange flames...

It's no secret where I stand on this president...I HATE HIM. Pure unadulterated hate.

Yep, genuinely despise him.

I know I'm not alone in this feeling either.

The fact that he's a racist, bigoted, misogynistic, malignant narcissist with a history of sexual assault and zero moral compass might be the main reason, but what he's done to people I once cared for is what is the most troubling.

This man has given permission to throw all compassion and kindness out the window in favor of name-calling and division. He's given the White Nationalists the platform to spread their message of racism and supremacy. He's allowed foreign adversaries to ridicule and attack our troops, dismissing the bounties on their heads. He's been impeached. He's allowed dictators access to classified information. He's tweeted QAnon. His abuse of power is ongoing.

Perhaps his most egregious act thus far is how he's handled Covid-19. He's responsible for the deaths of 220,000 Americans (to date) due to his ineptitude on handling the worst Pandemic this country has seen since 1918. Just today, he's attacking Dr. Anthony Fauci in an attempt to discredit our nation's leading doctor on infectious disease. I truly hope and pray this alone will be his demise.

I could go on and on and on, but the list of his wrongdoings is endless and exhausting, just like his presidential term.

In 15 days, we have the opportunity to reset. To seek redemption and begin to mend the deep cuts and tears in society's skin that have left lasting scars.

I can say this much...I do have a glimmer of hope. I have faith that more people are good than bad, and that the loud minority who support trump will be silenced when Joe Biden is elected.

In the next two weeks, I will continue to campaign for the soul of this country, for our redemption. And, I hope that November 4, 2020 I will be writing a BLOG filled with excitement and optimism for the future and our collective recovery.

Until then, I am wishing you all health, happiness, wellness and peace.

And, for God's sake, don't forget your mask.

Oh and shit, if you haven't already done it...

VOTE! VOTE! VOTE!

Mood-Rings and Marathons

I’ve just returned from a four day jaunt up the coast of California. My good friend decided she was going to run in the Monterey Half. She’s no stranger to running, but we often walk together, because that’s more my speed. And at 5”11” (to my 5’3”) Karen’s a gazelle compared to my meerkat like scurry…which is SORT OF like running for me.

Anyway, we packed up the SUV, pulled our daughters out from school at lunch, and headed north on Friday before Sunday’s big race. Road tripping with two tweens and a nine-year old is messy, entertaining and exhausting…but so worth the moments and memories. 

We got to Monterey lickety split, if you call 6 ½ hours fast. In California driving on a Friday, that was pretty quick. After unloading the car and getting situated in our hotel room, we headed downstairs for Snack Time…

You’ve never seen so many adults crammed in a single file line for two hours worth of free booze. As we looked around the room noting all the other parents and kids, and, as we stood in that line, we knew why. At the 7:15 mark, happy hour was ending in 15 minutes, so the two of us left the line double fisted with some relatively good and cheap house chardonnay. 

After dinner in the hotel restaurant, I managed to slice the top of my toe open. Who puts steel on the bottom of a chair leg? I mean, c’mon. It was a bleeder, and I suspect that may have had something to do with the two glasses of wine I had thrown back. The minor injury put a slight damper on the night but prevented a hangover I suppose. We headed back upstairs to call it a night. 

We had a big day ahead of us at the Runners Expo the following morning. 

Saturday, we were up early as usual, and headed back downstairs for another “free” meal at the hotel. I have to say, this breakfast was MUCH better than what a lot of hotels offer. The girls were thrilled to have Fruit Loops, and Karen and I enjoyed the made-to-order omelets. 

After eggs and cereal, we headed downtown. Karen picked up her bib and we checked out all the gadgets, gizmos, socks, and hydration packets on display. I got some sort of electro-magnetic “massage.” They had a great show special…I could buy that handy machine for a thousand bucks and get a second FREE! What a bargain…a las, I passed. I must admit I felt pretty good during the mild electrocution on my shoulders. Maybe there is something to that.

We made our way to the local free trolley that dropped us off at the Aquarium entrance. Boy, was that something to see. I love that place. So does every other tourist in town, as witnessed by the number of people there on Saturday. The girls were in awe, and so were we. After three hours of ogling the otters and observing the octopi, we headed back to the hotel for a rest. 

We ventured back out to the Monterey Wharf for a lovely dinner at a local fish house called Domenico’s. The food was delicious, and the atmosphere welcoming. I highly suggest you go if you get the chance. Kid friendly, and fun. We wrapped up Saturday with a trip to the candy store where I stocked up on taffy in every flavor. When in Rome…

Sunday morning: RACE DAY. The alarm went off at 5:45, and Karen got herself ready. I brushed my teeth, threw on some stretchy pants for good measure, and drove her down to the starting line. I grabbed a coffee at Starbucks at 6:30 and was back to the hotel by 6:45. It was the first time I had been without kids in three days. I breathed it in, slowly. 

I needed to wake those girls and get the day started. I was in charge of the cheer squad. Lord help me.

Back down we went for more fruit loops and eggs, then it was, literally, off to the races…well race. The girls and I got there in plenty of time and found our way to the finish line. I had Karen’s phone, and of course, the tracking app wasn’t working so we just *hoped* we would catch her. As luck would have it, a nice woman next to me was able to locate her and we knew she was headed our way. 

Sure enough, about 15 minutes later, she came into our sight. I was able to video her running toward the finish, while screaming and holding the sign I made…upside down. 

I was surprised at the emotion I felt when I saw my friend run past me. She was a little nervous at the start, but so determined. And here she was, finishing, and with an impressive time no less. This wasn’t her first half marathon (or full), and it probably won’t be her last. 

I was so proud of her, I cried. The girls thought I was nuts, but as a peri-menopausal woman, I’m never sure what emotions are on deck. This time, it was happiness, manifested in tears of joy. 

We ran to the exit staging area and waited 20 minutes, but never spotted her. I finally asked a runner how long it took to get through that area…”About three minutes,” she said. 

Crap. After trekking through thousands of people and keeping three girls close together, much like herding cats, we finally found her at our intended meeting spot. Hugs, smiles, and photos ensued. It was a gorgeous morning with the sun shining on the marina. A perfect day for 13.1. 

I think she was on that runner’s high thing, because we went back to the hotel to get cleaned up then headed down to Carmel for the afternoon. A lovely lunch at The Tree House Café, then a *short* stroll downhill to the beach followed. About halfway, we realized we had a helluva walk back…all uphill. 

Again, runner’s high must have been the case, and who am I to deny a woman who's just run 13 miles? The walk to the water was worth it. Carmel’s beach is known for its soft white sand, the twisted and curved tree trunks, the clear ocean, and the stellar views. 

The girls played in the water, letting their toes and ankles get wet in the chilly NorCal water. They didn’t mind. Kids usually don’t. We watched them frolic and play, while others did the same. Dogs raced up and down the shoreline, chasing balls and sticks and each other. Moments like those are the ones we remember. 

Tranquil, yet invigorating. 

I'm pretty sure the girls will remember these moments too. 

We hiked back up the sandy hill, then onto the sidewalk, taking in the charming cottages and homes that lined the streets of Carmel by the Sea. We imagined who might live there, what they did, and planned our next trip. 

We stopped in a few galleries, where I thought I might like to buy a painting from Simon Bull. I guessed $6,000. Karen looked up the price and I was slightly off. It was more like $6,000 x 3. Out of my budget, baby. But it sure was nice to look at, and the girls enjoyed the vibrant colors and the installation, asking lots of questions and showing a genuine appreciation for fine art. 

Of course, we found our way to the toy store. After at least 30 minutes of searching, Piper settled on a tube of plastic pandas. Even at almost 12, this kid still loves little toys, and for that I am grateful. 

Then, at the cash register, we found them…MOOD RINGS. Like any mother would, I bought one for each of us. How else are we supposed to know what mood we are in; am I right? 

We left Carmel and drove up the coast, taking in the 17 Mile Drive while heading back to our hotel, sliding in just in time for the highly anticipated “Reception Hour.” We sipped some more wine, ordered some bar food, snacked on carrots with ranch, and discussed the day. 

We finished the night with a few rousing games of UNO. I am happy to report that while I didn’t run the marathon, I did manage to win one of the three games we played, so there’s that. And, my mood ring indicated that I was both happy and relaxed. It seemed to be on target.

We hit the sack early, prepping for the drive home the next day. After a decent night’s sleep, we enjoyed our free breakky once again, then packed up the Tahoe for the ride back down south. 

Opting for the scenic route, we took Hwy 1 through Big Sur. There was a mix of fog and sun, with moments of lush scenery and light peering through the haze that gave us pause. We stopped along the side of the road, searching the coastline and kelp beds for otters, imagining we spotted them among the floating jungle. 

The drive was splendid, so much to see. Until we hit that 405. Oh Los Angeles…how you frustrate me. My mood ring turned black. Not really, but it should have! The two hours of traffic from Calabasas to Huntington wasn't fun, but was so worth it. This adventure was filled with many memories; ones Karen, Ella, Lily, Piper, and I will never forget. We packed in as much as we could in four days-time. 

You know what I say: Life is for living. Experience as much as you can, as often as you can. This month, ten years since my father and my best friend passed away, I am especially grateful for the experiences I’ve had. 

While I’m not a runner per se, I am a marathoner of sorts. I’ve come to realize that life throws us all sorts of challenges and obstacles. We are the ones in charge of how we handle them. Pushing through, and like a world class runner, knowing there is a finish line at the end; I believe that is the key. 

As I reflect on the weekend, I am filled with a sense of calm, and perhaps, new inspiration. One thing I know: I am a marathon writer, having covered thousands of pages in my time. And, I keep entering that race in some small way, every day. 

So, while I may not be making that 8-minute mile, I know that slow and steady gets you there, eventually. You may not win, but you finish. And, today, coming back to the keyboard is equivalent to lacing up my Asics and hitting the pavement. 

For my friend Karen, thank you for inspiring me to get my bib back on. 

My Renaissance

After a long hiatus from blogging, and many false starts, I decided to post today.

It's rainy in SoCal, a strange day in that we usually see a steady temp of 70* and sunny, even this time of year. 

Trigger alert: This post is about politics. But, not all doom and gloom. I promise.

Perhaps it's the reason why I'm feeling reflective; nostalgic even. 

I spent a good part of the morning watching the funeral for George H.W. Bush. A president I didn't care much for, but a man who put his family first. 

And that, I can admire. 

It gave me pause. I read a lot of FaceBook posts showing respect, others not so much. I expected to see that and was a bit conflicted myself. 

I've spent a good amount of the past two years feeling pissed off and angry at the shape of this country.

But, this morning, watching the Bush family mourn while the Clintons, the Obamas and the Carters all paid their respects, sitting dignified; that gave me hope. A church filled with compassion and empathy for an American family, crossing party lines was evident.

Seeing trump sitting beside them, smug with arms crossed, seemingly half asleep~that didn't surprise me either. 

The election of 45 has me turned upside down and sideways. I've expressed this many times and in many ways, from displeasure to outright rage, mostly on social media, but also in person.

I've marched, joined groups, and written endlessly. I've found myself in debates with friends and complete strangers. I've felt a pit in my stomach, far too many times. 

The climate of our nation is different. It's one that has become so divisive, so hostile that hate crimes are up in massive numbers and we've forgotten how to love one another, in spite of our differences. We are no longer tolerant of intolerance, trading it for an us vs. them dictum. Violence is common. 

It's hard to function in this space. I don't like it, and I suspect most of you don't either. 

I think there are myriad of reasons as to why this has happened. But, hands down, I blame our current POTUS. 

His hate fueled rhetoric has stirred up something in nearly every American who's paying any sort of attention to the political climate in which we live. 

We've become reactionary. And, why wouldn't we? We have a president who behaves like a 2nd grader, slinging insults and name-calling as if someone took his ball from the playground. 

The office of the President of the United States has always been the most respected and important position in this nation. 

While we may not have liked or agreed with the men who came before him, I don't believe we lived in such tremendous fear that our own commander-in-chief would turn on us. 

I may be wrong, and this is strictly my opinion. Although, I also suspect (tee hee) that there may be a few out there who agree with me. 

I think we are yearning to get back to a place where our political differences don't manifest in utter disdain for one another. I think we are yearning for a time to connect with others, to hear their stories and share conversations. I think we are yearning to communicate effectively, and build bridges rather than break them down. 

It's no secret that I am passionate about my beliefs. If you know me personally, well, you just know. But, I think many of us, myself included, have been misrepresented and quite frankly, misunderstood. 

My ideologies have been, and will always be about what is best for the collective whole; my motivation altruistic. 

In the midst of this chaos, there has been an awakening. There have been groups of people who had become complacent, their activist fire lit again...myself included. 

I've marched, and will march again. I have donated to organizations like Planned Parenthood. 

I've shared important news stories and shed light on topics that needed to be seen. 

There was a wave...a BLUE wave in Orange County, a once deeply republican seat in SoCal, turned upside down and flipped, sending a clear message:

People voted in favor of change. That gave me hope. 

This is the basic definition of politics:

The activities associated with the governance of a country or other area, especially the debate or conflict among individuals or parties having or hoping to achieve power.

But, what I keep arguing is that politics are more than abstract ideas that affect the governance of a particular area (state or country). Politics are policies that affect people. The old adage that we shouldn't discuss politics or religion just doesn't hold water any longer. Why? Because these "politics" are what dictate our rights and freedoms. 

They control money, jobs, our climate, healthcare, civil rights--Pretty much everything under the sun. 

When someone says, "I don't discuss politics," it seems to me a few things are happening: 

1) They exist in a privileged place where they are seemingly unaffected -the system is working for them.

2) They are so uncomfortable at the notion of examining the disparity and inequalities among people throughout this country, and perhaps even embarrassed by that concept, they don't want to discuss it.

3) They lack a fundamental understanding of our political issues. 

But, the effect of refusing to discuss politics might save relationships, but it certainly doesn't effect change. We all have a horse in this race. 

I've lost friends, and even some family over my stance. But, I remain hopeful that those who see me as an adversary will understand that I am standing up for everyone, even them. Because in my heart of hearts, I do believe in the goodness of human kindness. 

I believe there are far more good people in the world, than bad. 

I believe that flaws and scars are what teach us the greatest lessons, and that it's crucial to remember that everyone has a story, if we can all pause long enough to listen.

I'm doing my best to start listening again. I'm leading with a compassionate and mindful heart. I'm working toward getting the anger and frustration to shift to a positive, creating a much more effective tool for change.  

Some days are a bit harder than others. 

One of my idols, a purveyor of peace, Martin Luther King, Jr., who led with determination and grace in the face of adversity, offered us this message, 

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

I hope I will be judged by the content of my character, as I hope we all we be given that grace. 

As this year closes and a new one begins, I will remind myself to walk in this space, and to emulate the tenets of Dr. King where compassion, patience and peace are at the forefront.  

And, I plan to return to my blog...so stay tuned. 2019 is my renaissance of writing.

Cheers to all~and Happy Holidays.