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I used to have the moves like Jagger

02/06/2012 By Elizabeth Cassidy 3 Comments

I have to say that Maroon 5’s song, “Moves like Jagger “makes me just feel euphoric. I am even mad about the video that showcased all different walks of life doing their best liquid leg dance in honor of Mick Jagger. If I had been in LA last year, I might have cheered the brave ones strutting their stuff, but my heart and restless legs would have been longing to show all my moves like Jagger, the lead singer of the Rolling Stones. I don’t feel I should have to add “of the Rolling Stones” but I have met a few un-cool people in my life so this is for all you cave dwellers. Let’s put it this way – my late father knew who the Rolling Stones were. And he was just starting to get jiggy with Jay Z before he left to listen to Frank Sinatra live 24/7.

Okay, so I came up with the title, just ranted a little and then I had no idea where to go with this piece until someone posted this on Facebook:

“You all laugh because I’m different, I laugh because you’re all the same” – Author Unknown

These 13 words stopped me in my tracks. I know it is not easy to pigeonhole me, myself, and I, but this line captured me and my life…100%.

So before you take out your air violin, please know that I would not have it any other way. The near fatal doubts of my own self worth over the years came because people were uncomfortable being around me. Because of all their efforts, I became the extraordinary person I am today. Thank you. I hardly had to do any of the heavy lifting. I just sat back, collected my scars and observed people discovering that they were so, so ordinary.

Well, you are thinking, listen to her go on about how extraordinary she is.

I am.

I am tired of denying who I am. Something cracked open in me about six months ago. I am an artist who rediscovered her roots. I can create and I am good at it and getting better all the time. I write and sometimes I can be pretty damn funny and sometimes I look for ways to break your heart. It is not because I want to cause you pain. I just want to know that I can.

And sometimes we all need our hearts broken so we can change.

So I think my new mantra just might be, “I still got the moves like Jagger.”

In fact, Mick just called me about giving him some dance lessons. It’s about time.

© 2012 My Views from the Edge ™

Please visit my site: My Views From The Edge

You can become a fan of mine on Facebook at:  elizabeth cassidy Views from the Edge with a Slice of Reality

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Making Big Decisions

01/16/2012 By Lin Winkley 6 Comments

Have you ever been at a point in your life where you had to make an important decision and found yourself floundering around for the right answer? Have you been faced with multiple decisions that absolutely have to be made and you feel like you are mired in mud? Well, I am at that point. I am at a pinnacle right now. I have a decision to make and it is a big one.

This  is not a New Year’s resolution. I hate those words because they are so meaningless, at least for me. The decision I am making is a matter of life and death. I do have a choice and I believe this is the right time for me to make a choice for the positive. I can continue on this road of destruction or choose life again.

My resolve is to find a new way to live. I’ve had to choose life over and over again. I’ve gained strength each time I chose to live. Will I do it again? Well, I believe that this is the right time to make that decision to live without restraints. If I should fail again, I will not give up. I will keep on “trying.” Oh,that is another word I don’t like. Trying just doesn’t cut it. Either I will do it or I won’t. Trying invites failure.

Ultimately, can I see myself without a cigarette in my hand? Yes, I can see myself throwing them down, getting rid of them. Throwing them away. In a sacred loving way, this is the moment for me to quit smoking.

In this light and new thought, I have hope. I have new determination. I see myself in a different way. I can breathe deeply without coughing. I can see myself not having a cigarette after a meal, before a meal, after sex (well, that’s a hard one). I can see myself being free.

I have a few questions to ask myself. How am I going to nurture and love myself through the withdrawal of nicotine. What will I do with my hands? Well, I believe that for one thing, I will treat myself to a massage once a month. A massage is still cheaper than a carton of cigarettes. I will work on my art, photography and writing. I will join a gym and exercise, even if I hate the “e” word. I need to get my metabolism running again. I will be kind to myself and love myself for choosing life yet another time. I realize for the first time that I am doing this for me and not anyone else.

I am fortunate to have a great support group to be there for me when the temptations might be too great. Sort of like AA, I will take one day at a time. I have my wonderful psychiatrist, my loving therapist, my husband and my very best friend. I will stay in contact with them. I will LISTEN to them as they love and support me. I will use methods I’ve learned to ease the symptoms of withdrawal.

Yes, this is a decision of life and death. It is a decision I am willing to make. I feel a huge relief knowing that I am doing something really good for myself and my health.

Filed Under: MISC, Motivate

I solemnly swear

01/05/2012 By Britton Minor 13 Comments

Like countless others this January, I have resolved not to resolve. For several years I have been choosing themes for the year based on my interests, dreams, goals or areas for improvement. While this method is a drastic improvement over sweeping and desperate resolutions that lead to my near-immediate sense of failure, I have found a “wrinkle in theme” too. Themes, while not easily “broken,” are easily superficial, lacking roots, shunning accountability. Take last year’s PHOTOGRAPHY theme. I took copious photos and learned oodles about the craft. What I did not do was discipline myself to create a process for tagging, organizing, saving, backing up, editing and using my photos. Why? To answer this question I was forced to consult two professionals: 1) a psychologist, and 2) a time management guru. Here is a truncated look at our sessions:

Psychologist: What I hear you saying is that your photography is creating stress and a general sense of failure. Is that correct?

Me: Well, um, er, I’m not sure that I meant it that way…

Psychologist: Right. So not only are you stressed out and failing in your chosen theme, but also you are in denial about it?

Me: Well, um, er, I’m not sure that I meant it that way…

Time Management Guru: (clears throat politely) Perhaps I can intercede, I mean interject here?

Me: Yes. Please!

TM Guru: Your stress involving your photography theme comes from the fact that you do not have time to work on your perfect organizational system, right?

Me: Right!

TM Guru: And you do not have time because?

Me: Well, um, er…

TM Guru: Right. I think I understand.

Psychologist: Miss, would you mind stepping out of the room for a moment?

Me: Well, um, er (walking out of the room)

TM Guru: You may come back in now.

Psychologist: I have permission to speak for my colleague here, and we’re almost out of time, so I’ll make this succinct. (Pause). (Sigh.) (Head Shake).

TM Guru: Frank, I’ve got this one. Britton. Facebook. Log. Off. Now. That’s it.

Me: What the heck? (she says to an empty room)

Thank goodness these guys came cheap. They told me what I already know. Resolutions. Themes. Intentions. Undulations. Simulations. Initiations. Gyrations. Smooth Moves…will all fail if I do not moderate the time I spend online. I love Facebooking – it has brought me closer to friends, family and memories. But I simply must treat social media as a yummy side dish to an already tasty life–one that has spicy goals worth pursuing. The next time you are on Facebook, think of me, only there as a treat after organizing the day’s photos, and ask me how I’m doing with that online moderation thingy.

So here goes. This year, I solemnly swear to spend less time on Facebook and more time…

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate, SoCal Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Dumpster-diving

12/14/2011 By Britton Minor 19 Comments

I’ve done it a few times–at least twice to retrieve expensive, napkin-wrapped retainers, and more recently to hunt for a friend’s keys. I think I would make a good crime scene investigator. I’m not easily grossed out, and I often wear clompy shoes. Besides, the last time I saw the C.S.I. truck in our neighborhood, I fantasized about pulling over to offer them my help, “I’ve got my boots on. I don’t mind blood and guts. What’ve ya got for me?”

In case my humor annoys you, please know that I am concerned about my cavalier pride in this skill, dumpster-diving. After all, not everyone chooses to crawl inside slurgy, murky, splimy stinking surprise-bins. Some people do it to survive–without a warm shower waiting for them afterwards, or a pocket-sized bottle of hand-sanitizer at the ready. It is difficult to imagine crunching on the apple core previously nestled next to the used disposable diaper. See. You just gagged, didn’t you? I did too, and nearly chose another example, but it was worse. And these things happen–at least I imagine they do. I saw what was inside that bin.

As winter approaches and temperatures drop, I cannot help but think about how easy it is to throw on another blanket or flip on the heater when I am chilly–to grab a hot cuppa–while beyond the great comforts of my home, someone has not chosen to be homeless, freezing…and hungry. Or, as I have learned while researching this piece, some people do (choose to be homeless). I stumbled on a blog, http://guide2homelessness.blogspot.com that illuminated homelessness in such a way that I begrudgingly became enlightened on the subject. I learned, for example, that some efforts to help the homeless are fraught with intrusive rules–help given that strips away any remaining fragments of dignity the homeless person may possess, or heavily laced with piety that requires something from someone who, in his moment of greatest need, has nothing to give. I became aware of my own rules.

For example, I like to feel as if the measly dollars I give will amount to something after I give them. I like to try to discern which needy person asking for money will use it to help themselves versus buying alcohol with it. Michael’s blog and our subsequent e-mail conversation knocked my strongly held judgements off their ornamental pedestals. He taught me that not all “beggars” are homeless, and that those who are probably have few others skills on which to lean for survival. He also taught me, without putting it mildly, that my desire to ensure the wise use of my money is a violation of a person’s “rights of agency.” My “see I told you so” attitude in response to the recent sign I saw stating, “I need money for alcohol,” was rebuffed with the fact that sometimes an alcoholic’s need is so acute that not getting alcohol may mean death. I still struggle with this facet of begging, but I understand what Michael meant about my specialized giving: I am giving with conditions and with judgement.

“You must give with your eyes averted,” my homeless mentor told me. I still wasn’t convinced I could change my thinking, but I wanted to. Last night we drove past a blanket-bundled man on a stool. His sign said, simply, “Help Me.” As the kids and I passed him, I pondered Michael’s words again, and marveled at the simplicity of the man’s plea. My heart pulsed again, and I realized that giving can be simple. I checked with the kids.

“What about the alcohol thing?” my daughter asked.

“Well,” I thought aloud, “perhaps it doesn’t matter. Perhaps giving has its own special energy, and we don’t need to worry about how the money will be used.”

“Yah Mom, he looks really cold. I wonder if someone gave him that blanket.”

Approaching the bundled man, I rolled down the window, handed him the cash (he was surprised–gentle in his thankfulness), and drove off feeling less noble, more privileged, less burdened by judgement, abundantly thankful, and significantly enlightened. Our response to “Help Me,” can be a simple, “Sure, here you go.”

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Always a reason

11/02/2011 By Britton Minor 10 Comments

My neighbor has a bird, a five-year-old, and a death-sentence. She may not be locked up, scorned by society, or subjected to unwanted sexual attention, yet she sits on Death Row. Unbelievably, she smiles–her beautiful blonde tresses and youthful skin belying not only her age, but also her recent 12-week round of Chemo.

I met “Janey” a handful of months ago, when I pulled over to tell her how much I enjoy her bird’s squawking (yes, seriously), and “oh by the way, what kind of bird is he?” He turned out to be a she…a beautiful yellow and blue Macaw who only has eyes for “Janey” and will happily and literally bite the finger off anyone who doesn’t understand such fierce loyalty. Yesterday, I walked over to her house to finally get a close-up of the beautiful Lola, since I could hear her soulful “Awwwwwkkkkk!” and knew she would be on display in the garage. This is when I heard a gentle woman’s story.

Some months ago, after a handful of other months, one after another, in which doctors attempted to correctly diagnose the severe sternum pain “Janey” was experiencing, she discovered the baseball-sized mound that would, without a doubt, number her days. “People with stage four cancer can live quite a number of years.” she says to me. Then she smiles with the radiance of someone who knows what is important in life–someone who realizes that there is, literally, no time for sadness.

As she apologizes for the fact that the bird cage (huge) is not as clean as usual due to her recent surgery (a double-mastectomy), I think of my sister, and know that I will never share her with “Janey.” I want to. I want to tell her how much my sister meant to me, and how hard she fought. I want to tell her that my sister kept smiling too, taking every opportunity she had to make someone else’s life better, despite her debilitating pain and impending demise. I want to hug her and tell her that she will beat the odds…that a cure for every monstrous cancer in our midst is going to be discovered in time to save her. But I don’t. It’s all inappropriate–all self-serving, conversational even.

The best I can do is get over there and clean her bird cage, offer to have her son over for a play date, and remember to cherish this balmy day, this day in which I do not have a baseball in my chest. I may have a lump in my throat, but I’ll get over it, as I choose action over sadness. It’s what my sister would have wanted, and it is, next to a cure, what every “Janey” out there needs: for each and every healthy person to realize that there’s always a reason to rise up, celebrate, and be grateful for life.

Filed Under: Motivate, Nostalgia Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Finding my voice

10/13/2011 By Amber Dorsey 9 Comments

A few weeks ago I attended a blogging conference. My first “major” conference. I went last year but it was on a much smaller scale. As in the founder’s backyard type scale.

I was excited but intimidated.

As with most writers I’m much better in writing than I am in person.

Not to say that I don’t have personality for days, cuz anyone who knows me will tell you I’m “outgoing”.

But in a room full of people I don’t know and have never met – I’m slightly out of my element.

Top that off with being 4.5months pregnant and I’m kind of an emotional basket case.

So I did what every smart woman does in an instance like that, I brought a friend! A “wingman” if you will.

The conference as a whole was superb. Incredibly uplifting and encouraging. I left inspired and motivated beyond what I had been in months.

I’ll be honest. I’ve been struggling as a “writer” for the last few months. Really struggling.

Lacking inspiration, wondering if I am on the right path. Questioning if I’m any good at all really.

Validating myself by the number of comments or responses I get on my blog (minimal) or the Smartly (varies).

It was killing me. I tried to emulate others writing styles while grappling with the idea/realization that I would never be able to completely “get it” like they do.

In short – I was trying to be something I was not.

I wasn’t using my own voice to espouse my thoughts,dreams and ideas. I was worried about what “others” would think, afraid I would be judged.

I got just deep enough to seem profound without revealing too much of myself or making myself too vulnerable.

And then Blog Sugar happened.

And something inside me changed. A fire that had been smoldering for months was re-kindled.

I left the building so full of emotion, so full of the spirit of the divine, so ready to show the world who I really am.

It is time. Time to stop being polite and start getting real.

I am ready to share my heart, bare my soul and reach for the stars. I hope you’ll come along and share that journey with me and if not, that’s fine too.

I’ve realized it’s not about the ‘followers’ or commentors but about writing what’s on my heart. Whether that gets noticed or not is not important but who knows, someone somewhere could read my words and be moved by them.

I can’t risk not trying.

You can read more of Amber’s musings on life here.

Filed Under: Motivate, SoCal Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Fit Happens

10/10/2011 By Dashing Gray 6 Comments

I gave a series of presentations last week to the junior class of a local high school. Right before I presented, their guidance counselors went over an extensive checklist of the many things that must be accomplished in one’s junior year. Among the items was an alphabet soup of required and optional (yes, optional) college testing opportunities that would help determine Your Future Fate As A Collegiate Success Or Failure. At least, I imagine that’s what it sounded like to the students. It is easy for the individual to get lost among the PSAE, ACT, PSAT/NMQST, class rank, and SATs (I and II)–the many numbers that colleges use to evaluate the “predicted success” of a student.

On top of all that (and normal–i.e. dramatic–high school life), students were encouraged to spend time their junior year visiting colleges, speaking with representatives, applying to scholarships, etc. And we wonder why high schoolers these days are stressed out.

In addition to that pressure, we see this constant idea that students need to find the “right” college. They need to “find their fit,” which I admit is something that I talked about a bit during my presentation. For months, my student worker had been freaking out about exactly this concept… what is THE school for her? It’s like the Holy Grail of college selection, and it’s no wonder that out of thousands of colleges nationwide, this idea can be pretty overwhelming for students.

Today, I read this article that attempted to combat the concept of fit, and I loved it. In it, author Mark Moody says:

…the shocking truth [is] that, generally, the college choice isn’t that important. We know that most students will be successful at a wide range of institutions. The most important experiences and relationships we will have in college can’t be predicted, and each choice offers a different set of unknown pathways…

…Most importantly, those moments that challenge us, that push us, that make us uncomfortable—when we come face to face with the un-Fit of a place—those are the ones that really allow for growth and lead us to healthy adulthood.

I love the idea of “the un-Fit,” because in looking back at my own college and life experiences, I recognize that the times when I was uncomfortable were those which helped me to grow. That said, I also recognize that “good” discomfort has to take place in a generally supportive environment to truly facilitate learning.

Fit, too, is based on a student’s ability to adapt to the environment they’ve chosen. It is easy to find students who have graduated from the same university–even the same program–and who have opposite reviews of the place. Some of these differences of opinion, in my experience, have much less to do with actual experiences than in the student’s follow-up plan of action. It is the way that students react to times of “un-fit” that shapes their future selves.

So there you go, all you stressed-out juniors! Take comfort in the knowledge–sandwiched somewhere among the endless barrage of college-preparation tasks–that there isn’t just one college or just one program that’s right for you–there are many! Because ultimately, if you approach college with an open mind, fit happens.*

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged, she spends way too much time in local coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

*Thank you to Jennifer Delahunty, dean of admissions and financial aid at Kenyon College, who was quoted in the above-linked article for this lovely slogan. What a great lesson!

Filed Under: Chicago, Motivate Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Intimacy and Solitude

10/05/2011 By Britton Minor 7 Comments

Strange bedfellows, intimacy and solitude. Craved for its heady high and delicate, delectable power, intimacy deludes its captors and eludes its pursuers in equal measure. He is not always what he seems.

Likewise, solitude subtly lures her “victims,” offering only teensy crevices between rocks and hard places, belying the truth of her oceanic depth.

We covet being deeply connected to at least one other person–its acquisition thought to capture and bottle the elusive happiness panacea. Some will argue that ironically it is our sexual pursuit of intimacy that hinders attaining it, and that only abstinence will allow us a more honest assessment of our desires and help us separate the chaff (a one-nighter) from the grain (a more lasting union). Others claim that without an initial sexual spark, true intimacy will rarely happen. Even the settling of this argument via a spiritual belief or the absence of one does not address the crux of our intangible malaise, this “tip of the tongue” feeling about naming the culprit, i.e. the reason so many of us walk around with the feeling that “there must be more to life than this.” And being the creatures we are, we seek “more” in various ways-drugs, alcohol, affairs, sex, movies, pornography, parties, dating, shopping, exercising, dieting, etc. –anything that feels as if we are switching things up a bit–either by escaping, avoiding, attempting to change our appearance, or simply interacting with others. We’ve all witnessed or been the lonely person who inappropriately unloads a bit of “TMI” (too much information) on the unsuspecting cashier.

It is far easier to get the quick emotional fix of superficial connections than it is to get deep ones. This is one of the main reasons social networking is so popular. Need to connect? Post something provocative and wait for friends to respond. Or, find an intriguing post and add a comment as if you were in the room or in the midst of a physical conversation. Though powerful and valuable, social networking and many of the other ways we seek to connect are not necessarily intimate–we are missing what even a great refiner’s fire cannot burn away: the need for intimacy with ourselves.

Our awareness of our acute need for some alone time (the kids are driving us crazy, the spouse or spouse-equivalent is smothering us), might push us in the right direction but then yield the ironic result of us sitting in Starbucks Facebooking–ahh, “alone” with 300 of our “closest” friends. This incessant, activity-rich decade or two has us (almost) believing that we are fulfilled by using our private moments to “connect,” If we are lucky enough to realize that we are not satisfied, we still have a difficult time slowing down long enough to identify the source(s) of our displeasure.

Managing the pace of our lives, thanks to the miracles of technology, has us so lubricated by instant gratification that our deeper needs slip by. And then our intimate relationships begin to suffer…sometimes weathering the tempest of our anxiety and dissatisfaction, sometimes not. As the storms blow through, we do not bend and adjust as we should. We do not stop to analyze what is happening, much less why. We shoulder on with our commitments, our cyber-connections, and our playdates, our responsibilities, the needs of others–oblivious to Solitude as she valiantly yet silently screams for our attention. Why do we avoid her? We are afraid of what we might find there, of course–afraid that we won’t like what we feel or see, or that because we already don’t like what we see, we will self-destruct, burn up, cease to exist if we get too close to the fiery hot truth of ourselves.

Still, only solitude can purify our thoughts, clarify our desires, and speak our deepest truths, leaving us with the closest thing to a philosopher’s stone we will find on Earth: authenticity. And, like the miles of training a runner puts in before competing in a marathon, this is our base, from which we are more likely to experience a satisfying level of intimacy, or at least begin to try. Intimacy and solitude are strange bedfellows indeed, but partners nevertheless–even if one is temporarily sleeping in another room.

I’m curious–as this is such a huge topic, what your experiences are. Are you willing to share some of the ways in which you either embrace or avoid solitude? Perhaps, since one woman’s discussion about this topic certainly falls short of adequacy, we can start a deeper conversation? I welcome your public OR your private comments (thejadedlens@gmail.com). Perhaps a future post can include (without naming names) the suggestions, the struggles, the victories you share. With gratitude…Britton

Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Two jobs are better than one

10/03/2011 By Adam Rogers From The Smartly 1 Comment

Yup, I said it. Two jobs are better than one. Well, hold on, let me qualify that statement. Having two jobs that you love is better than having one job that you hate. I have recently discovered the joy of doing something you really enjoy doing, and doing it for a living. So much so, that I am working upwards of 70 hours a week doing it for two different places of employment. And you know what? I love it.  That old adage, “find a job you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life,” totally true. In my prior realm of employment, 40 hours a week was, well, pretty much killing me. Now, I would happily work more than I already am.

Here’s the added hitch; because I also believe in what I am doing,  even the tasks that might come off as drudgery? Not so much anymore. Staying up until 1am doing research for a competitive analysis? Interesting and enlightening. Transcribing 15,000 words of interviews? A learning experience. It’s amazing what a change of job title will do for you. There is more happy in my life, my wife even says that I “skip” (not literally of course, because that would be weird) through the door at night.

So, speaking from experience, I say, find what you love. If you don’t know what that is, do some soul searching, find it. Then do it. Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier, you might even do some skipping of your own.

Filed Under: Motivate, SoCal

Come Together

10/01/2011 By Lexi Rohner 3 Comments

I only just met her. The other ladies I know have been helping her for awhile. Although Kim has cancer, this was bigger. It was about people, women, moms, families, coming together. Do we always need a reason? Maybe. If we have one does it make it easier to donate time, effort and items for a cause? Maybe. I am rarely tempted to donate money to organizations or individuals. I tend to be more local than global. Some may not agree with that, but I know for sure that I can do only what I can do. My first priority has to be my family. Anything I can do beyond that I’ll do. In this case, I not only wanted to help, I was compelled. That is much stronger word, and one I listen to when it comes from my gut.

What I saw was an amazing collective of talents. A fashion show, bake sales, a petting zoo, food trucks, an auction and more. All under the hot sun on a beautiful California summer day. The birthday party before the park event was a great success as well, with live Star Wars characters there to help her four-year old boy celebrate in style. Light sabers for the kids, a very artistic cake and lots of yummy snacks and treats. A woman who was told she would not live to see this birthday was there with her trademark shining smile. The goose bumps rose on my arm as I watched her happiness burst out of every pore. Funds raised that day will help her medical expenses as she fights the ugly creature trying to stop her from seeing her son’s next birthday. Star Wars seemed a fitting theme, plastic light sabers for the kids to battle the bogeyman, as we made a community light saber with our donations and time, and prepare to take collective aim at Kim’s cancer.

Filed Under: Motivate, SoCal Tagged With: , , , , ,

Tanzen

09/22/2011 By Britton Minor 13 Comments

Lately I’ve been wondering if I have any good stories to tell. After all, I am a writer.

“A memoir?” I think. “Nah, too boring.”

Aside from the fact that my life’s story is peppered with the usual suspects, along with a healthy dose of spicy indiscretions, what isn’t dull is depressing. Besides, the necessary seedy characters have sworn me to secrecy under pain of death.

So what other possibilities are there? Poetry? Ok, here’s the latest:

Evening snail

Black tiger of Spring

Walking his ball in thunder

See what I mean? It’s not even a Haiku.. In my defense, it was an experiment for an upcoming homeschool class using only the magnetic words at hand, but still…

What’s left? Humor? Nope. I’m only witty by accident, and infrequently at that. My oldest rolls her eyes at my punishing pun proliferations. And since I don’t drink, I can’t even amuse myself. So how can it be that the desire to write is so strong that its beckoning star blots out the sun yet darkens my soul?  Is this how a man feels when his desire for an unattainable woman obliterates rational thought and he decides to drink poison rather than deal with the pain?

But there is no poison within my reach, though like Juliet I could plunge a despairing knife into my gut and let this unrealized creativity bleed out in a respectable literary death. Alas, I am a coward. I am also a fool who believes that one must not look a gift horse (even an injured one) in the mouth. I simply must keep doing this herky-jerky waltz because it is the only dance I know. Truth be told, it’s the dance I love.

Eventually, however, I am praying that I will find some rhythm, some surety, some style to call my own (and a brilliant Haiku?). Meanwhile, I’ll keep practicing. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…

Filed Under: Humor, MISC, Motivate Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The fallacy of getting organized

09/20/2011 By Robin Grosland 6 Comments

I need to get organized.  I need to develop a system.  I need a plan.

No matter how often I clean, the house still seems to always be a mess.  If I were more organized and we had a system, it wouldn’t get so messy.

I need to plan better and stick to a schedule.  There are so many things going on in my life that I can’t seem to stay on top of them.  Commitments are falling through the cracks.  I would be able to do all the things I want/need to if I just planned better.

There never seems to be enough money.  If I were just better at sticking to a budget, we could afford to do all the things we want to do.  I should be able to keep track and form a plan so that we are building up our savings while still living a good life.

Do any of these sound familiar to you?  If you haven’t said them you’ve probably heard them.  Everyone thinks that if they were just more organized everything in life would run smoothly.  That’s why there are so many products, TV shows, containers, books, and professionals to help you get organized.  Because getting organized is magical!  It will solve all your problems!  It’s pretty!

Sometimes, in some areas, this might be true.  But I would argue that in most cases no amount of organizing is going to fix the problem.  Organization isn’t the problem.  The problem is that there is just too much.

You own too much stuff.  There is a finite amount of space in your house.  It is filled with things you don’t use, don’t like, or are saving just in case even though you got a new one.  Unless you are going to stack things floor to ceiling so that your family and friends have to call Hoarders, you are going to run out of space.

You have too many commitments.  There is a finite amount of time in the day.  There are people in your life that you don’t enjoy.  There are commitments in your life that you feel obligated to do that someone else could take over.   You enjoy being everything to everyone.  You cannot do everything you want to do.  In fact, it isn’t healthy to be busy all the time.  And you know that.  But you can’t seem to bring yourself to turn anyone down or cut out those things that just aren’t fulfilling anymore.

You are living beyond your means.  There is a finite amount of money.  Rearranging it won’t mean there is more.  The only way to increase how much money is left over is to quit spending it on things that you don’t really need or want.  You’re going to the store hungry and buying snacks when you promised yourself you wouldn’t.  You’re rationalizing that Diet Coke everyday because it’s just a couple of dollars without considering that over a year it’s hundreds of dollars.  You’re going out to eat more than you are cooking and eating at home.  I’m willing to bet there is some way to trim the fat in your budget.  But you have to learn to give things up.

What area of your life feels like it is stretched too thin?  Examine it and decide if it really all must be done and must be done by you.  Is there anything you can let go?  Is there anything extra?  Or detrimental to you?  Are there things or people in your life that you just don’t like? Are there things you own or do because you feel like it is expected of you?  How much of what is in your life did you consciously choose and how much just kind of showed up?

When there is too much, it can be suffocating.  It is oppressive.  It weighs on you.  Whether you are consciously aware of it or not, your brain is tracking it.  Your mind is aware that it is still in your life.  It is sucking energy from you.

We pack our lives so full because society tells us we should.  You should have more.  You should have newer.  You should be more productive.  And everyone around you should be able to tell that you are working harder than them.

It gets so crazy that we start to feel like less.  All those things and commitments that we thought would make us feel better actually make us feel like failures because we can’t stay on top of it all.

Filling our lives, schedules, homes, plans, or budget with too many things is like constantly trying to wear your old pants after you gained twenty pounds.  Maybe you can get them on.  But even if you do, you are not going to be comfortable.  And you are going to look like a sausage.  And that’s not a good look on anyone.

Don’t let your life be a sausage.

Image created at Wordle.net.

Read more from Robin at The Mess that is My Life.

Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , , ,

Quitting to get ahead

09/09/2011 By Adam Rogers From The Smartly 4 Comments

I quit my job, what have you done to get ahead lately? It sounds a little counter intuitive doesn’t it? I mean, who quits their job in this economy? Well, turns out, that person is me, and to be quite honest, I’ve never been quite so happy to be shot of a place.

After many years of struggling through in a world of commissioned based pay, I’ve finally found my way out of a world where I have had little control over my day to day. Sure I had a schedule to follow, but beyond that, my life and paycheck was at the mercy of others. Stricken by a poor economy the last several years have been a rough ride. Finally though, finally I’ve broken the shackles of that world.

How though, how did I do it? Well, it started with finally figuring out what I actually enjoy, and then figuring out how to do that every day. For me, what I loved was the interaction with others that comes with the wonderful world of social media. I started there and let it grow, slowly at first, doing side jobs here and there, until one of those side jobs, turned into something more, something that could actually pay the bills. At last came the day, the day I spent doing the thing that I really loved to do, doing only that, and it was over, I was done. All of a sudden, work was no longer work, it was joy, and my hope is that each and everyone if you might find the same joy in what you do.

Filed Under: Motivate, SoCal

Balance

09/05/2011 By David Scott 5 Comments

I broke down a little last week – after two days of sleep shortage and sleepless night, the wife and I fell to bickering over breakfast and left the house irritated with each other. The problem was a craving for accomplishment – we had agreed on a new writing-oriented and exercise-oriented schedule, and it was almost impossible to keep.

My schedule is my friend – it keeps me sane and helps get everything done. But I have noticed a certain tendency to overdo it and schedule every moment of every weekend and even some of the weeks. It is far too easy for me to fill in on a calendar that I will write an essay, complete a short story, exercise five times, and spend time with three groups of friends in the same week.

Easy to plan, hard to actually do. On one hand, minutes spent away from work are precious and need to be carefully doled out, but on the other hand they are still all too finite, and you can only cut them down so much. There have been Saturdays when I have triple-scheduled: errands in the morning, barbecue in the afternoon, and a concert at night. This is, to put it bluntly, demented.

Last week, I realized that I do have limits… If I just try to jump from working-at-work to working-at-home it tends to give me insomnia, as my brain never has a chance to sit in a lower gear. So, this week we are relaxing a bit, scheduling less, trying to sleep a bit more. I am finding walks help – exercise and a break from everything else, a chance to talk away from distractions or projects.

I know that I want to accomplish more and better things than I am now, that I want to one day live a life where I set my own pace and do what occurs to me instead of living a corporate life style. I also know that I want to do this without necessarily completing the whole corporate cycle of worker to manager to director to VP to Chief Officer, and all. I have a firm opinion that such a cycle leaves one with a great deal of money and freedom, but perhaps a bit too late.

I improved my life a great deal by going back to college. It took a lot of midnight oil burning but my wife and I did it together. I am hoping getting some writing done can have the same effect, but it is hard: I had my first print story publication last year but have not submitted anything since! It is just so hard to sit down and work on that empty page.

This week, less goals, more walks and naps. More time to think and relax, to get ready for a busy weekend. We are trying to leave more weekends open, more time to spend at home and relax, read and play, but also time to confront the blank page and try to get something done. The brain can be a fickle thing… it can hurt or help us, but we have to help it, too.

Filed Under: Motivate, SoCal

Happiness is….

09/02/2011 By Dashing Gray 2 Comments

I consider myself to be, generally, a pretty happy person. This doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days or that stereotypical redheaded outbursts never happen—as my supervisor and fiancée can attest. But overall, I do ok.

It doesn’t hurt that I’ve got a good job, a wonderful fiancée, a supportive family, and a home I love. Nonetheless, happiness is also about making small commitments every day to look on the bright side —one of those lessons from mom I generally ignored as a teenager. When I was in the midst of a tirade, my mom would occasionally try to get me to voice affirmations—positive statements about my life designed to put the stressor into perspective. This strategy never worked for me (and still doesn’t—if I’m ranting, the rant must run its course); however, I have since come up with my own adaptation. This is an adaptation which, in all my wizard wisdom, I shall now share with you (Wicked reference. Anyone?).

So here we go. Dashing’s tips for lifetime happiness. Or something like that.

  • Expand your “friendwork.” I have never been exceptionally great at making friends. I’m not an outcast or anything, but I’m relatively shy about inviting new people into my life for fear of getting burned. It’s always been my style to have a few close friends and to leave it at that. Recently, however, my fiancée has introduced me to a whole bunch of interesting people, thus regularly expanding our network of friends. The different personalities, interests, and stories these new friends bring add dimension to our “friendfolio.” For the first time in my life, I have a whole group of people to invite to an event rather than just individuals. It’s exciting! As an added bonus, plans are never ruined by one person’s prior engagements—we have lots of people from which to choose!
  • Make something good out of something bad. Example: I hate winter. Nothing makes my outlook on life crash and burn like the darkness and cold of wintertime. To avoid sinking into a deep depression, I have to find something to make these potentially moody days better, and I’ve found that bright-colored scarves, mochas, and festive coats make everything a little better. Although I am currently still desperately grasping at the last wisps of summer, at least I’ve got a lovely new pea coat awaiting me when the snow starts to fall.
  • Seek opportunity. It is easy to continuously rag on a bad situation, especially in reference to jobs where you feel stuck. I am fortunate to have a supervisor who wants to see me move up the ladder and who encourages me to try new things. But even if you do not have that luxury, you can try looking for whatever opportunities your situation does present. Work for a park district? Make use of the perks, and take a class that interests you. Part of a huge team project? Volunteer to present some ideas at a professional conference. A stalwart organizer? Take care of that project no one has had time to do—your coworkers will love you. Whatever your situation, always try to consider what possibilities are being presented and take advantage of them—the more experiences you have under your belt, the better your chances of getting out of there!
  • Embrace your inner nerd. Trust me on this one: It is a lot easier to be happy when you’re not so worried about external stresses, like dressing a certain way or being perceived as cool. To all you high schoolers out there, I feel you. Being confident in yourself is a lot easier when you get older, I promise! But if you’ve passed the trying teen threshold, consider pursuing a new interest. My friends and I have become really good at developing creative opportunities for fun—ranging from an at-home wine tasting that concluded in an amusing conversation about “legs,” to “train day,” where we explore our hometown transient-style for a day. Whatever it is that makes you happy, even if it’s unusual or unpopular, give it a try: after all, aren’t some of the coolest people you know the ones with unusual interests?

And my favorite of them all:

  • Always look forward to something. Whether it is a small reward, such as an after-dinner ice cream run, or a large event—like a vacation—it is always nice to have something to anticipate. Anticipation helps to put the dreary parts of your life into perspective; it’s much easier to get through a tough week when you know you’ve got a glowing orb of awesome floating just over the horizon! As my least-favorite month of November creeps closer, I am not looking forward to the loss of outdoor greenery or the dreary dampness of fall nights. But you know what I do like? Road trips! So as I plan out my social calendar for the next few months, I should definitely consider the possibility of some autumnal travel. In fact, I better get planning!

What are your secrets to happiness?

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged, she spends way too much time in local coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

Filed Under: Chicago, Motivate

At war with the art of Writing

08/29/2011 By Stacy Robinson 5 Comments

Last year, I got a letter from my son, who was away at camp.

Let me amend that: Last year, I got an envelope from my son.  I was quite excited to receive the lett— the envelope.  He’d sent two letters within the first week.  The first was printed on a scrap of paper.  It began: “I’m not gonna make it.  Pick me up Sunday…”.  The second came two days later, written in code, with the key included on a separate piece of paper (possibly the remainder of the scrap of the original letter, folded  eleventy-seven times for security purposes, no doubt).  The crux of the coded letter was “having a wonderful time; send money…”

So, after another two weeks, with nothing further to grace my mailbox, I was eager to get something.  I ripped open the envelope, took out a piece of paper, and………………………………………………

Nothing.

He’d sent me BLANK paper.  As in: bright white with translucent blue stripes, college-ruled and fringed in all its perforated glory, unsullied by anything as mundane as pen or pencil.  Perhaps, as a follow up to the encoded letter, this one was written in invisible ink.  I stewed a bit, fretted less, and figured I would have heard, from one of his counselors at least, if he had been abducted by aliens, was suffering from amnesia or was dead— if, in short, there was some physical reason that prevented him from writing.

When I retrieved him a week or so later (after the requisite hugging (from me) and embarrassed shrugging (from him), and the commotion of goodbyes and hellos), I asked him about the Blank Letter.  As it had been less than an hour since I’d picked him up, I tried to keep the aggrieved-mom tone from my voice.  I mostly succeeded.  His reply?  “There were no working pencils, Mom.”

I stared at him as blankly as the “letter” in question.  Never mind the pack of 24 mechanical pencils that had accompanied his eight pre-addressed, pre-stamped envelopes.  Or the pen that I’d sent in his care package, along with a book of word-finds and sudoku.  No.  Working.  Pencils.  In the entire camp, a camp that housed a couple hundred kids and staff, not one writing instrument that worked.  For him.

Sigh.

Why, you might ask, do I bring this up?  Why use almost 500 of my allotted 750 words (when I can barely say “hello” in that amount of words, let alone write an essay that is somewhat cogent and literary and hangs together with some style)?

Why?  Because I stare at a blank screen, free-floating pixels at war with the delete key, and I think to myself “No working pencils.”

I seem to be stuck, at war with my art.  Or stymied by it.  Like that character in The World According to Garp, the woman who wrote brilliant first chapters and nothing more, I stop after the first few perfectly wordsmithed sentences, unable to continue, unsure where my writing wants to go, unclear what I’m trying to say.  And if I got quiet, and allowed myself to listen to the voices whispering in my head, I’d be afraid that I really have nothing to say at all.  Easier by far to have no working pencils than to face a blank screen.

So what to do?  Like a recalcitrant teenager, I ignore the computer sitting malevolent and silent on my desk.  Or at least, I ignore the document section; Facebook and youtube seem to work just fine.  At times, I will type at the screen, though I seem to delete way more than I type.  It is an odd little dance that I do, a two step of add and subtract: one sentence written, three thrown away.

I work myself into a frenzy of writer’s block— frustrated, distracted, mopey— and then, glory be!  A friend reminds me to breathe.  Breathe, he says, and take my pencil.

So I do; I grab onto his metaphysical pencil, and take a deep breath, plunging into the fray once more.  And as is my wont, I write about the thing that scares me the most.  I write about fear, and doubt, and tiny whispers that leave me breathless and drenched in flop sweat, convinced of my ineptitude.  I write, and I delete– but with precision and mindfulness.  I still feel a bit logy after so long an absence, but the pixels are starting to dance instead of stumble.

Breathe.  Find a pencil.  Write.  A writer writes, even through the fear.  How else do I get to hope?  How else do I get to dance?

Read more about fear and hope, dancing and doubt here: http://staceyzrobinson.blogspot.com

Filed Under: Chicago, Motivate

Are You Who You Want to Be?

05/03/2011 By JulieOrdonez 2 Comments

“So why don’t you? Why don’t you just do it already? I mean, what’s stopping you?”

When my then boyfriend (now husband) and I drove down to grab some dinner one night a few years back I remember he and I struck up a conversation about his interest in the medical field. When I first met him he was on his way toward that path, and he had ambitions and dreams of endless nights of studying, long, caffeinated on-call hours, and the intense pressures that come with a career in the medical field, to be gratified later by the immense sense of love and humanity that comes with helping to save the lives of others. Over the next few years afterward however, he got off course, and so when he and I began discussing this again at this point in time, and I sensed how he obviously hadn’t given up his dream, I uttered those words above to him: Why NOT? I asked. What’s stopping you?

Flash forward to the present. He’s now in the field he always dreamt of, doing what he loves. And while I’m beyond proud of him for taking that dream and running with it, I couldn’t help but sit and wonder about myself. Sure, I’d accomplished a lot in my fairly young life. But I wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be just yet. And why was I not there? Good question.

There are things called fear. Failure. Guilt. Rejection. Doubt. Anxiety. All these emotions that created barriers within myself that stopped me from being where I wanted to be. Things that stop all of us, at one point or another, from what doing what we need to do to be/do/see what we want from life.

“I want to lose the weight, but I just can’t seem to stick to it…”

“I want to fix my marriage, but it’s going to take a lot…”

“I want to go back to school, get my degree, but you know, it’s gonna be hard….”

“If I could do it over again, I would have done something different…it’s too late for that now..…”

“I’ve tried so many other times, and am still in the same place, so what’s the point anymore? “

For me, I had aspirations of everything from wanting to work for a magazine to being a better Christian, a better wife and mom, traveling the world, to losing those last few pounds of baby weight. It’s not that I didn’t think I could do these things; I knew I could;  it was actually taking those steps, taking that deep breath, and the actual diving in that scared me. It’s that fear of the unknown, the having to trust that everything would be alright and letting that control go, that sense of uncertainty that comes with trying something new that stopped me from going for it full force. I’d attempted to go for it multiple times before, only to have the voices of doubt invade my thoughts and erase my confidence, thus stopping me in my tracks.

Sitting in my living room today, having watched the events of this evening unfold and hearing Obama speak of how Bin Laden was dead, several thoughts and emotions ran through me: first, obviously, the great sense of pride I have for our military and our country, of course. Then, I thought of all the other events of the last few years, the war, the massive earthquakes in Japan, Haiti, Chile, the chaos and uncertainty that already exists in our world and the uncertainty that is everyday life, and just how unbelievably precious each and every single breath we take really and truly is. And how trivial our doubts and fears in actuality are in comparison.

Enough. I thought to myself. Just do it. I looked at my husband and said, completely out of context, “That’s it!” After a bewildered look from him, I explained myself. If I sit around and wait for life to happen for me, it never will. Life is precious, it’s a gift, you do what you will with it. You want something? Go get it.  I can work to change things in my own life. I can live the life I was meant to live, I will and deserve to achieve what I want from it. I can think back on that little girl who used to scribble short stories in her notebook, dreaming up her future life and what it would be, and know that I can say to her I did it,mama. I did it.

Laugh more, love more, let stress and insignificance go, focus on what matters and to hell with what doesn’t. Live more.

To quote one of my favorite songs by the band Switchfoot:

“This is your life. Are you who you want to be?”

 

Read more from SJM’s personal blog here.

Image found here.

 

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate, Nostalgia, Opinion, Spirituality

Strong Enough

03/15/2011 By Caitlin White 3 Comments

When I was 17 years old, I spent the summer living in California with my Aunt.  I took a college course during the week, took sailing classes on the weekends, and spent the summer exploring the state with her.

One morning, she asked me if I wanted to go for a bike ride.  I said yes.  I assumed (like most people would) that meant a leisurely few laps around her neighborhood, maybe a pretty trail ride.  It did not.

After I’d agreed to go, she told me it was actually a 42 mile bike ride.  It was too late to back out. Off we went.  To make matters worse, she insisted that I wore padded spandex bike shorts.  I was 17, I would have rather died than let someone see me in padded bike shorts.  I had not yet learned that there are (many) times in life where function outweighs fashion.

We started in Anaheim and biked along a path (ahem, a 21 mile path) to the beach.  It was lovely.  And I was 17 and whiny.  I was sweaty, and hot, and there were cute surfer boys, and I was wearing padded bike shorts.  We ate pizza and walked on the beach before starting the ride back.  I’m sure I whined ever more that direction.

My butt hurt for days.

I can remember asking her why she had wanted us to take this bike ride and she told me she wanted me to know that I was strong enough to do it.  That is was important for me to know that I was strong enough to do it.

I didn’t “get” it then.  But I did learn enough to say “no” when she asked me if I wanted to go for a jog the next day.

***

This year, one of my goals is to train for a 5K.  I started a training program that alternates running and walking for set periods of time.  Each week a little more time is spent running and a little less time walking.  However, for most of the program, because it is designed for beginners, you don’t actually cover 3.1 miles.  The focus is on time, usually about a half hour, not distance.

Last weekend, I decided I had to know if I could cover the distance.  I didn’t go fast (in fact, my running is pathetically slow, I’m pretty sure I walk faster), but I did the whole thing.  I ran and walked and ran and walked and repeated until I thought I might fall over.  But I did it.

Instead of feeling exhausted, I felt something click into place.  13 years later and I finally got it.

Sometimes it is just important to know:  I am strong enough to do it.

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate

Charlie Sheen and My Grandmother

03/03/2011 By Sheryl Stein 9 Comments

Dear, dear Charlie Sheen.  Watching you implode before the public eye like a supernova hellbent on destroying itself and anything in its path has been riveting, I admit. To be sure, I don’t think I can keep track of the various news stories that have splashed across the screen in the past few weeks. Something about prostitutes, drugs, alcohol, allegedly threatening violence to various ex-wives, having your children removed from your care, stopping production of your sitcom… all you’re missing is a link somehow to the middle east and you’ll hit some sort of perfect storm of newsworthiness.

And your words,  your nonsensical, inflammatory language. They’ve been captured by numerous television and radio outlets, all falling over themselves to have you on in order to boost their ratings. People love to watch a car crash, and you, my friend, are an explosion tantamount to a fiery Indy 500 moment coupled with an atomic bomb. Several web developers have created sites which do different things with your random quotables, all in the name of grabbing their 15 minutes on your back.

It all has made me think of my grandmother.

I never really knew my grandmother, you should understand; she died when I was 11. My direct memories of her involved brief Sunday night phone calls where we talked about Lawrence Welk, trips to Nathan’s for hotdog lunches, and a painting of a rose she made for me which I treasure to this day. I never went inside her Long Island apartment; it was part of a residence filled with the newly-liberated, completely unsupported mentally ill of 1970s New York, intermingled with a lot of elderly people. It was far too scary a place for me, a little girl. I often wonder what it must have been like for her.

My grandmother was, in the parlance of the day, manic-depressive. She endured shock treatments throughout her life as well as many other treatments probably unfathomable to people nowadays. There were points in my father’s and my aunt’s lives where they were sent off to live with aunts and cousins while my grandmother was getting help. How frightened she must have been, and what was worse — the illness or the cure? Back then, mental illness was not only unacceptable, it was stigmatized. You were somehow a defective specimen of humanity. Dignity never entered into the picture.

But my gram attempted a life of dignity in between these times. It couldn’t have been easy, losing her husband pretty early on in all of this. And sure, there was the day when she went out and, apropos of nothing, put money down on a house.  I don’t ever remember her babysitting my brothers and me the way my other grandparents did. My gram was not a regular fixture physically near me; she was like a star I wished upon, but not for myself: for her.

And as I watch Charlie Sheen catastrophically exploding through the cosmos, I’m wishing on him. I’m hoping someone out there will stop him on this path toward self-destruction.  I pray that someone is helping him to harness that light for something better, stronger, and more positive for himself and for his family.

Blazes are not always glorious in my book.

Visit Sheryl’s personal site here.

Image: suphakit73 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Filed Under: Entertainment, MISC, Motivate, Opinion, Spirituality

Five years

02/09/2011 By JennyT 9 Comments

This year will mark my fifth year as a divorcee. I remember back when the wounds were still fresh, when I used to scour bookstores and online articles for some beacon of hope that one day I would walk amongst the human race again, I stumbled upon a little website.

It was a website for women who had recently divorced. I’ve long since forgotten 99% of the content, most of which gave financial advice, but retained one tiny morsel. It was a quote that said: “It takes the average woman approximately five years to get over a divorce.”

For the first few years post-divorce, I clung to those words like a life preserver. “Five years. You can do it” I’d say to myself on the most arduous of days. “Five years? Ha!” I’d say to myself on my confident days.

As the half-decade mark approaches, I ask myself: Am I over it?

Yes.

And no.

Five years ago I could still look at my ex, still talk to him and maintain some semblance of a “relationship”. A choppy and somewhat chilly one, but a relationship nevertheless. That was before I learned of the affair. Before he tied the knot mere months after the divorce was final. Before he stopped paying child support.

Now, almost five years in, the very sight of his car in my driveway causes a cold dagger to run down my spine. I feel my cheeks get hot and forget to breathe. I am torn between wanting to plead with him to have some compassion, to help support his kids; and wanting to run out to his car like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, blue paint on my face and a flaming medieval weapon in hand. Our communication has devolved into terse, punctuation-free texts and emails. It’s hard to believe we’re the same two people who used to sit on the same side of a restaurant booth and draw pictures of our dream house on napkins.

Five years ago I was a shy, fat stay at home mom with few friends. My world had been my husband and my kids. When I got divorced, I was forced to reach out. The loneliness you feel after the divorce dust settles can be stifling, so you find yourself making friends. Find yourself overcoming the fear of rejection and eventually, basking in the gorgeous warm glow of friendship. I have a support system now that the pre-divorce me could have never fathomed.

Five years ago, I wanted nothing to do with men. The thought of getting married again, hell…the thought of even dating again made me cringe. Since then, I’ve been wavering in and out of the dating scene, even had one serious relationship. That one ended because I wasn’t ready to commit. This year, I’m feeling like committing wouldn’t be so bad.

Five years ago, not a day passed that I didn’t spend at least a few furtive moments dissecting my marriage and its ultimate demise. I used to lay in bed at night and wonder what happened, what I could have done. What I shouldn’t have done. Now, when I manage to stay awake for more than five seconds after falling into bed, I think of things like my future. Things like how proud I am of my kids, all four of them, for how they’ve thrived and grown and survived. I think of what I’m going to do the next weekend. I think about my job working with special education kids and how I might have never found it or them if I hadn’t gone through the divorce.

Am I over it?

I think I’m over it enough for now.

Find more from Jenny here.

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