Cravings and food for thought (also posted on Skirt!)

It’s always amazing to me the impact a few words thrown carelessly around in conversation can have on one’s life. All she said was, “It looks like you put on a little weight over the summer.” And though I shrugged the hurtful words off, it seems they chose to linger much longer than I ever thought possible.

I was sixteen. A self-conscious, awkward girl with short hair, glasses and braces – the whole package that seemed to spell out NERD. I was always the one people spoke of with words such as, “Oh, she’s such a nice girl., or “She’s such a good friend.”. Not bad things to say about a person. But when you are just a “nice girl” no one asks you out. I felt like I didn’t belong most of the time.

I don’t remember when I made the decision, or even if I really did. It’s just something that happened. It started off simple enough. What 16-year old isn’t concerned about her weight? My meals became smaller and smaller, fewer and fewer. I explained to my mother that I had to eat at at 6pm. If dinner wasn’t ready by 6pm I wouldn’t eat anything. Lunch in the school’s grotto was an apple and a diet Coke. I kept a food journal documenting every single thing that I ate, writing down calories and fat grams. I actually began to enjoy the task as if it were a game, something like the limbo, “how low can you go?”

At this same time in my life, my parents were having problems with their marriage. There was lots of yelling. My life was spiraling out of control. Except for one thing: I could control what I ate.

No one seemed to notice anything different about me…I didn’t either. And though only a few days had passed, I decided to up the ante, and I started exercising. It began with walking and turned to whatever aerobics I could do in my room while listening to Bryan Adams or Rick Springfield. Whatever free time I had I spent it not eating and excessively exercising.

In a few days I saw a change. My clothes were looser, and my stomach flatter. I fell in love with this feeling and wanted more. I skipped meals to speed up the process, claiming that I wasn’t hungry because I had had a big lunch at school. I began to loathe food. And I began to welcome the empty feeling in my stomach, its state of hunger making me feel as if I were in a drugged state.

A friend of mine was also experiencing some of the same feelings. Only she was anorexic, I just wanted to “get into shape”. I tried diet pills and found myself shaking in all of my classes, in an amphetamine stupor. I grew tired of that feeling and decided to try self-induced vomiting. Even though I knew I didn’t have much food in me, I thought at least it would speed up the process. I had no idea where I was going with this whole thing, I just knew it was something I needed to do and when I got to where I wanted to be I would know it.

Fortunately, the vomiting thing didn’t really work for me because I was too grossed out by it.

Not to long after I started my “project” my friends began to comment on how great I looked. I wanted even more. I was being noticed and rewarded with comments I had never received before. After only 3 weeks, I had dropped from 125, what I considered at 5’4” to be quite overweight, to a slight 95 pounds. I was happy, but when I looked in the mirror I still didn’t like what I saw. When would it end?

My mother began to notice that I was not feeling well for quite some time. She took me to the doctor who promptly made her leave the room so he could tell me that I was anorexic. Rather than making me uncomfortable and worried, the words seemed to pour over me like warm, soothing water, drenching me in happiness. So I was really thin, it was a medical fact! It didn’t take long for me to dry off. His next words were, “Here’s a card for a friend of mine, he’s a psychologist, and I think you need to see him.” Without missing a beat, I replied, “How much weight do you want me to gain?”

Months later, I was back to normal, though I still wasn’t happy. As a matter of fact at age 42, I still find myself calculating calories and fat grams in my head throughout any given day.   I have never gotten comfortable with food again. And even though I have managed to maintain a healthy weight, I still find myself feeling like I just don’t belong sometimes because of my inner demons.

To eat or not to eat?  That is the question.  Will i ever be able to eat a carbohydrate-laden meal without thinking about where those calories might land?  Will I ever be able to forgo a day of exercise without feeling so damn guilty?

Perhaps saddest of all is the fact that it makes me feel like such a slacker that I don’t have the willpower that I did when I was in  high school – the willpower to starve myself.

So now as a 42 year old woman whose body has given birth to two incredibly beautiful boys, whose body has managed to pull her through some fairly scary medical experiences, whose body is a home not a house, something that is lived in and provides shelter and sustenance, will I ever give up that 16 year old image of myself?

I am working very hard to find myself in the midst of all of these cravings – these cravings to have a pre-baby body.  These cravings to have dimples on my other set of cheeks instead of the ones I sport them on now.  These cravings for perfection in a world that perpetuates the horrible myth that there actually is such a thing.

I am working to develop new cravings.  Cravings for happiness and the ability to appreciate all it means to be a mother, a woman, a wife, a friend, a sister.

I am working very diligently to crave life rather than perfection.

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My baby’s all grows up

Once upon a time there was a little boy… (click there <– to watch him – there’s no audio)

Jacob started 7th grade yesterday. I remember when I started 7th grade. I remember the boys in 7th grade. I remember why I dreaded the day when Jacob would be in 7th grade.

Fortunately, Jacob isn’t like many of the boys I went to school with. Not that they were mean or bad. But many of them were too cool – or at least they thought they were, and I have to confess, so did I. Jacob is cool, but not in a cocky sort of way.

The cool boys in my school were good at blending – meaning they all sort of looked alike, acted alike. Of course, maybe that had something to do with the fact that they were all wearing the same Catholic school uniform – dirty gray slacks (not pants), and a pure white shirt.

I don’t think the gray and white were chosen by accident either. I believe that the powers that be were sending a pretty clear message to the boys – from the waist down = dirty parts sure to secure you a seat next to Satan on the Eternity train – from the waist up = the seat of all that is pure and holy. Our skirts were plaid, not sure what that meant – maybe all the lines represented an intricate network of boxes to remind us to keep it all locked up.

Anyway, as I was saying, Jacob is not a blender. Never has been. There have been days when I’ve wanted nothing more than to have him blend because his Tourette’s made him stick out, but, in reality, I’m grateful that my boy hasn’t fallen victim to the Smoothie Syndrome.

I’ll be interested to see how being nearly 13, nearly hairy, nearly deep-voiced will change Jacob. But I don’t think I’ll really see any negative changes. Jacob’s just different.

He’s a yes ma’aming, door opening, follow the rules kinda guy. He’s a give the homeless guy his money, thank the soldiers for protecting our country (every single one he sees), say a prayer for passing ambulances kinda guy.

And no matter the changes that take place, he’ll always be my kinda guy.

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Losing the Wait

photo credit: alancleaver_2000

I talk big, but I plan even bigger. I’m one for making lists and then compiling those lists into endless folders of ideas and to-do’s that usually wind up as to-don’ts because I have way too many and I get overwhelmed.

I have fallen into this pattern in several facets of my life, but one in particular is about to change…no really, it is this time.

I recently started reading Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now and have found a great deal of wisdom that is applicable to my life in the now.

My mind is in a constant state of motion and lately it’s been nearly unbearable. I find myself overwhelmed by the simplest tasks because I can’t seem to lasso my thoughts in. I am in shut-down mode as a form of self-preservation and I don’t like it. Where once I was excited by possibilities and choices, I am now paralyzed by them. I am depleted.

I talked before about being one of those people, the ones who have chemical imbalances and require medication to help them feel even. I have been a guinea pig this summer, a virtual cocktail of anti-anxiety meds being fed to me in the hopes that one will click. I have high hopes that I’ve found that magic pill and even higher hopes that it will even me out enough to start to be excited about the things that I find debilitating now.

I thought I could do it on my own – fix myself. But I realize I can’t. Part of me feels weak, for not being able to heal myself, but I think the true weakness is not being able to admit my needs, not faults, but needs. I need something to balance my brain.

That said, I am ready to embark on my journey to lose the wait that has been slowing me down for so long. I am ready to shed this false sense of self that I have been holding onto and come back to my true Being.

What is the greatest obstacle to experiencing this reality?
Identification with your mind, which causes thought to become compulsive. Not to be able to stop thinking is a dreadful affliction, but we don’t realize this because almost everyone is suffering from it, so it is considered normal. This incessant mental noise prevents you from finding that realm of inner stillness that is inseparable from Being. It also creates a false mind-made self that casts a shadow of fear and suffering.
-Eckhart Tolle – The Power of Now

I have to let go of my mind – become out of my mind (ironic, considering I feel like I’m already there). When I am able to do that, then I will be so much closer to who I really am and not the person I have allowed to slow me down by creating some “mind-made self”.

I have plans, not lists. Plans to learn to be present in the now, not in the how it might be, or how I’m afraid it might be. I’ve learned the hard way (and am still learning) that thoughts like that do little to propel me forward, rather they stall me out.

Life’s too short to wait for things to happen. I’m ready to make them happen. And if I need a little medication to help put me on the right track, then so be it.

It’s time to jump start the rest of my life and lose the wait because life is going to go on around me whether I jump in or not.

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My Life in Letters – “X” marks the spot

photo credit: eleanor.black

I admit this post is late in coming because I was stumped.  “X”?  What in the world could that stand for in my life?  I was going to force it and use a word like “Xcellent”, but I would be going against one of my rules, no “kute” misspellings.  So as I was on my way to get groceries this afternoon, I was trying to think of phrases to use instead, and I hit the jackpot.

Treasure maps.  Elusive pieces of paper that have esoteric markings but, if found and cracked, will lead to great rewards.  Hmmm, sounds like life.  Well, that is if life was a piece of paper and could be bought in reams.

John Locke, argued that we are all born as “tabula rasas” – blank slates waiting to be drawn upon, our knowledge coming from experience and perception.  If that’s the case, and I tend to think it sort of is, then we are a bit like treasure maps.

We take the journey of our lives, leaving behind a dashed line of memory, certain areas of our journey being  more significant than others are represented by landmarks or, in this case, life-marks.  And finally we reach a point in our journey when we can say that we have found our treasure.

Treasures will vary, of course.  It’s the whole one man’s trash is another man’s treasure philosphy.

In my life, on my map, I’ve had many life-marks – putting myself through college and graduating 10 years later; moving to Memphis and realizing that, while it was an experience I needed to have, it was only to help me realize how important my home was; finding the love of my life life-guarding at a pool, obviously practicing for his role as my own personal Life-guard, and marrying that man; getting my first teaching job and sharing my love of reading and words with kids who as adults now on Facebook have told me that I was one of their favorite teachers; giving birth to my first son, Jacob; getting paid to write;  deciding to have and having my second child, Nicholas, when I was pretty sure I only wanted one for quite some time; discovering Jacob has Tourette’s and OCD and coming to terms with that – a very long (and sort of continuous process); writing a book about that process.  Those are some of the life-marks that have occured between the dashed lines of my day to day.

There are many more that have happened and many more to come for sure.

As for the treasure, well, I have found several treasures along the way.  I think that “the spot” is actually a series of spots.   I don’t think they are all the great and final big daddy of them all treasure.  But I’m not sure that I want that.  I sort of like finding little treasures along the way.

I find that those little treasures sort of sustain me.  Maybe there is a bigger treasure.  Maybe it’s my book getting published.

But maybe the big treasure is nothing more than a motivator.  Maybe those dotted lines along the map, along with the life-marks and the promise of some huge treasure are simply motivators – things to keep us moving, keep us experiencing life and not getting complacent.

I could go all big picture and talk about the treasure as heaven or whatever “life-after” you believe in.  But I would prefer to focus on my treasure in the here and now.   It’s sort of comforting to know that life is a series of “X’s” instead of one big “X” at the end.

Yeah, “X” marks the spot, for sure.  But my life has X’s all over the place.  How about yours?

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Moving On

Looking for a Change

I read an article recently in Woman’s Day called “5 Ways to Start Letting Go: Discover what’s holding you back – and how to get to your good place”.

The author talked about letting go and moving closer to change by overcoming anxiety and figuring out what you’re  afraid of.  Doing this could improve my health and my overall life.  Sounded good to me.

Fear robs us of life.  I know.  I just spent this past Thursday night in the hospital with chest pains.  With my family history the doctors (and me) were worried.  After doing a battery of tests, my doctor came to the conclusion it was all anxiety related.  I sort of figured that.  I have a long, complicated relationship with the twins anxiety and depression.

So after reading this article, I wondered what is it exactly that I’m afraid of? I mean I have a great husband, two great kids, a great house…a great life.  What could possibly be making me feel fear?

I gave it a great deal of thought, and even felt some anxiety about it in typical Michelle fashion.  Should I be afraid of finding out what’s making me afraid????

And in my focused state of mind, a rarity lately, I came up with a couple of fears of mine that are driving my anxiety.

I am terrified that I am going to screw my children up.  Especially considering I have a child who has special needs.

I worry about this a lot.  I worry that my choices for my kids are wrong.  I worry that I’m not doing enough – being creative enough, laughing enough, playing enough, making enough homemade cookies.  I worry that one day my kids will resent me for something I did or didn’t do.

I’m not sure what these fears are rooted in.  I don’t resent my parents.  I had a good childhood.  It was stressful at times due to my father’s illness, but it was good.  We always had what we needed, and most times we had what we wanted which was pretty amazing considering our financial instability.

My parents loved us unconditionally and supported and encouraged my brother and me in all of our interests.  So why all this worry on my part?

I think I’m just predisposed to it.  I wonder if it will ever go away – if I will ever accept the fact that my kids will be who they will be either despite my misgivings as a parent.

I am also afraid of not being able to finish what I started.  Now this fear, I understand.  My dad died when he was 45.  I am 42.  I have a lot left to do and I want to do it right.  But if I concentrate too hard on the am I doing it right part, I probably won’t do it at all.  I need to let that go.

And lastly, I worry that I will miss out on blink moments because I spend so much time worrying.  It’s a vicious cycle, this worrying of mine.

I’m trying though.  Trying to live in the moment.  Trying to remember Goethe when he said Nothing is worth more than this day.

Trying to remember Lennon’s words in “Beautiful Boy“:  Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. Only I’d change the words to life is what happens to you while you spend your whole damn day worrying over everything.

Since I so often find inspiration in music lyrics I am reminded of a song that speaks to me.  It’s from the Broadway play Sunday in the Park with George.  The song is “Move On” and, at times, I feel as if it was written just for me.

Stop worrying where you’re going-
Move on
If you can know where you’re going
You’ve gone
Just keep moving on

I chose, and my world was shaken-
So what?
The choice may have been mistaken,
The choosing was not
You have to move on

Look at what you want,
Not at where you are,
Not at what you’ll be-

I am learning how to move on and not let fear get the best of me.  I am learning how to move on and forgive myself for any choices that turned out to be the wrong ones.  I am learning how to move on and forge new paths in this life of mine.  I am learning how to move on despite my fear.

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What’s Her Story?

photo credit: mustafa.alami

Today as I was sitting in McDon’t’s with my kids I noticed an elderly woman over at the soda counter giving herself a napkin bath while I ate my fruit and walnut salad. Ewww!

What happened next is not one of my most stellar moments as a mother although I did manage to redeem myself.

As I was watching her load her white napkin up with cold water and lift her shirt ever so slightly so she could wipe her belly, I thought my God this is so disgusting.

Jacob noticed that I was reacting to something and turned to look as well.  At that point we both started to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.  But in reality we were laughing at her.  And that was not cool.  At all.

After doing a quick internal compassion check, I felt ashamed.  I explained to Jacob that what we were doing was wrong because we had no idea what her story was.  We were judging her…just as people sometimes judge him because of the odd noises he makes. Bad ripples.

Maybe she was homeless and was seeking a bit of relief from the 105 degree oven that was outside because she had no where else to go.

Maybe she was someone’s mother who now suffered from dementia and really saw nothing wrong with her actions.

Maybe she could have used a bit more compassion than any of the patrons who would be returning to their air conditioned homes after they enjoyed their meal were willing to give that day.  Including me.

She didn’t see me stare.  She didn’t see me laugh.  But it really doesn’t matter because the only person I disappointed with my behavior was myself.  What sort of example was I setting for my kids in judging this woman who was clearly unaware that the entire room was staring a hole through her and uttering rude comments as they rolled their eyes and shook their heads in disgust?

I guess my point is you never know why people do the things they do.  How can we justify our judgment of others when we don’t know the full story?  In a court of law every person is allowed to tell her story before judgment is cast.

Obviously, I will never know this woman’s story.  So, obviously, I have absolutely no right to judge her based on what little information I have.

We all need to learn to show a bit more compassion to each other.

The rude cashier might have just broken up with her boyfriend.

The inattentive waitress might be on her second shift because her husband left her and she has two small children to feed.

The salesperson who didn’t even look at you or acknowledge you  as he completed your transaction might have just attended his father’s funeral.

You just never know.

If you meet up with someone today who seems rude, indifferent or apathetic ask yourself what’s her story? Maybe then you can find it in your heart to be a bit more compassionate and offer up a smile – even if it doesn’t get returned.

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I’m one of “those” people

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photo credit: Shahrukh Hasan

For those of you who are uncomfortable with people who speak authentically about their life experiences, you can stop reading now. I have never been one to mince my words when it comes to who I am. That’s not to say I’m completely comfortable in my own skin (I’m working on that) but I have always been a pretty heart-on-my-sleeve kind of person – just ask Jesus Danny.

Anyway, this past month has been one of reckoning for me. Here’s the sort of short version.

My doctor put me on birth control and it did a nice little number on me. After two weeks, I woke up one morning and really felt as if I had nothing to live for. Seriously. It was quite scary. The only other time I really felt like that was after my father died when I spiraled into a deep depression. Prior to that, I was feeling overwhelmed but not depressed.

I went to my doctor and completely fell apart in his office. My exact words were, “If I didn’t have two kids who needed me, well…” and then I lost it, as in ugly cry lost it.

He immediately diagnosed me with depression and put me on Prestiq. That was a Monday.

I’m already on Wellbutrin because depression has been a part of my life for a long time. In fact, I remember the first time I went to my doctor about my depression. I fought it so much. I didn’t want to take medicine. I didn’t want to be one of “those” people. But I am one of “those” people. My brain is chemically imbalanced. I lean towards the melancholy.

My doctor said, “If you had diabetes, would you take medicine?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Depression is an illness. A chemical imbalance. You can’t fix it,” he said.

Well let me tell you, it’s no way to live. Being all chemically imbalanced and wondering if today will be a day that will matter or not. So I took the “magic” pill and went down the rabbit hole. And what I found was hope.

Two days later life was all sunshine sparkles and starlight ponies – or something like that. I had my moxie back…for now.

Saturday night I went to bed with a massive headache. I really didn’t think anything of it because I have been cursed with a head that aches way too often. Sunday I went on my normal grocery run. As I was shopping and massaging my pounding temples, I had a horrible flashback.

Several days after Nick was born I had a very similar headache – a headache that put me in the ER twice. With that memory pushing its way to the surface I pushed my shopping cart over to the pharmacy and took my blood pressure. Nightmare confirmed! My BP was 188/106.

I checked out without finishing my shopping and got home as fast as I could.

That night i did a bit of internet research and discovered that one of Prestiq’s side effects is high blood pressure. For good measure I also did a bit of research on the birth control and learned that it can cause severe depression. Hello!

I saw my doctor on Monday and told him that I wanted to detox my body and get off both meds because I felt like they were doing more harm than good. He agreed and told me to quit the Prestiq cold turkey since I had only been on it 5 days. He also gave me some BP medicine to take until I get my pressure under control. The downside is that the medicine wipes me out and I can’t afford to be wiped out with two kids to take care of.

I am now in my third week of detox and it has been hell. I’ve had terrible headaches daily, and my blood pressure still hasn’t come completely down. I’m working my way back to what was a normal life – though filled with anxiety at times – for me.  I welcome that at this point, compared to what I have been through lately.

I’m striving to learn how to handle my stress better. I have started running again and plan on adding yoga and meditation as a regular part of my day.

My journal, that has been patiently waiting on my bedside table, will become a part of my routine as well. I know the power that can come from unleashing my words. It’s been way too long since I’ve put pen to paper.

In my attempt to gain some control over my life again, I have pulled out a book that resonates with me in a whole new way – Eat, Pray, Love.

In the beginning of the book, Gilbert, who is going through a nasty divorce at the time, writes a petition to God where she asks for specific things from Him. At this point in my life I thought it might be a good idea for me to do the same thing.

Dear God,
I feel strange writing to you since I don’t really conform to the whole religion thing and to some here on Earth that’s hypocritical of me. Whatever. You know me, we’re tight, despite my lack of churchiness. Anyway, I have a few things I need from you. But you probably already know that, huh?

I am at a point in my life where I am struggling. Struggling to find a balance, I guess. And since I’m not really the coordinated one in my family, I thought maybe I should ask for a bit of divine intervention.

I want to learn to be a bit more laid back. I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist and I worry way too much. Do you think maybe you could help me out a bit here with that? I don’t do so well on my own. I want to do yoga and meditation but, for some reason, have a hard time committing to it. Maybe you could help me out with that. Lord knows, I mean, You know that it would only serve to benefit my entire family. So it’s not a selfish request on my part. I think both of those would help me out with my stress level and allow me to feel a bit more grounded.

Also, maybe you could throw in a bit of self-confidence. Not too much because I certainly don’t want to be arrogant. But maybe just enough to make me actually like myself. I know I’m supposed to LOVE myself because I’m all a part of you and everything but it’s hard when I look in the mirror to focus on the divine part of me instead of the bits and pieces that don’t seem to fit the mold I have in my own head. I mean I know animal print is in right now, but I have a hard time accepting my spots. Just sayin’.

If I could “fix” the things in me that are holding me down, I really feel like it would benefit more than just myself. So there you have it. You know best, so I ask that you give me the wisdom to accept your response to my requests.

I thank you in advance for your attention to my personal matters.
With all due respect,
Michelle McGee

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A conversation with my 15 year old self

Jim Croce wanted to save time in a bottle.  I would have no idea what to do with a bottle of time – well I could probably figure it out but what I’d rather do is go back to a particular day in time and have a conversation with my 15 year old self on the first day of Sophomore year.

And the conversation would go something like this:

42Michelle:  Oh I’m so glad I found you.  I wanted to talk to you for a minute about something that’s about to happen that will set some destructive behaviors in motion.

15Michelle:  Umm, oh-kay, who are you?

42Michelle:  I’m you, just older.  Much older.  Much wiser in some ways.  Well, sort of – I’m getting there.

15Michelle:  This is a little weird y’know.  I mean you look, I look pretty good for being old and all, I guess.  So what’s so important you need to come all the way back to 1982 and talk to me?

42Michelle:  In a little while, Sarah is going to come over here and say something to you.  Something that will stay with you.  You’ll never let it go.  I thought that maybe if I came back I could keep it from affecting us so much.  It’s been very difficult over the years.  It’s still difficult some days.

15Michelle:  Okay, what is it that could be so bad?

42Michelle:  Sarah’s going to say that you look like you’ve put on weight.

15Michelle:  Is that it?  I mean that sucks that she would say that and all but, I mean, whatever.  I don’t care.

42Michelle:   You do care, Michelle.  Deep down it will hurt and that hurt never went away.  Trust me.  You already had a tiny scratch somewhere inside of you, but those words cut you deep.

15Michelle:  How do you kn- oh, that’s right you’re old me.  So what happens to me after she says that stuff?

42Michelle:  You latch onto those words and you decide they are true and you vow to change things.  Within 3 weeks you drop 25 pounds.  And with everybody telling you how great you look, it makes you feel good about yourself.  Looking back at pictures, I can’t believe I couldn’t see how sick I looked.

15Michelle:  Gee thanks.  So I go on a diet and make myself look worse than I already do?

42Michelle:  Not really a diet so much.  You just sort of stop eating.  You make up reasons you’re not hungry – like I just ate, or I’ll eat something later.  And you exercise a lot.

15Michelle:  But why would I do that because of what one person said to me?  I mean, yeah, I don’t really like how I look but I’m 15, I’ll get over it.  I will get over it, right?

42Michelle:  No Michelle, you don’t get over it.  And you do it because it’s control.  I know that now.  With Daddy being so sick all the time and things at home just being what they are, I think that subconsciously I did it, you do it, to have some sort of control over something in your life. It’s a whole psychology thing I learned about in college.  Plus, when everyone starts to tell you you look awesome, it feels good.  We’ve never had much self-esteem you know.  That hasn’t changed enough, but I’m working on it.

15Michelle:  So what do I do?  What can I do to keep this from happening?

42Michelle:  Let it go as much as you can.  When she says it shrug it off if you can.  I’ll tell you now, years from now you are going to realize that you looked great.  You just never believed enough in yourself to know it.  Believe will become an important word in your life, but I won’t get into that right now.

15Michelle:  I’ll try.  But it might help if I knew one thing.

42Michelle:  Okay, what do you want to know?

15Michelle:  Ummm, will I ever have a boyfriend?

42Michelle:  Well, you will.  It happens a little late for us, but I’m thinking if you let Sarah’s words roll off you, and remember my words, you might have a bit more confidence in yourself and boys like that sort of thing..so I’m told.  So I’m thinking you could change that whole first boyfriend thing and all.

15Michelle:  Oh man, how late is late?

42Michelle:  (I hesitate) 19.

15Michelle:  19!!?  Oh God, that’s really late.  I bet I don’t even get married, do I?

42Michelle:  Oh now there’s a story to tell.  You do get married.  And it’s not late.  And the man you marry is so incredible, it will more than make up for all the waiting you had to do.  Trust me.

15Michelle:  Oh you better go…here comes Sarah.

42Michelle:  Remember what I said.  Promise me?

15Michelle:  Yeah, I promise.  And you know what?  I’m glad I grow up to be you.  You seem kinda cool.  Kinda like someone I’d like to be when I’m old.

42Michelle:  Hey now, I’m not that old!  You have some real adventures coming your way, Michelle.  Stay strong.  And always believe.  It will come in handy later. Oh and one more thing…you are so beautiful.

15Michelle:  Yeah, well, you have to say that.

42Michelle:  No, I don’t.  But you have to start saying that to yourself, if you want things to change.

15Michelle:  Okay, I’m beautiful.  How’s that?

42Michelle:  Now just believe it and you will be fine.  I’ve got to go now.  I have to pick up the kids from school.

15Michelle:  Kids?!  Oh boy.

42Michelle:  Actually, it’s oh boys.  But that’s not something you need to worry about now.  It’s all good.  Goodbye, beautiful!

This is a true story and one that has become a part of my history.  I’ve known for a long time what an impact casual words thrown around can have on a person, especially a young person.

Be aware of what you say to any young person in your life.  You never know what they will latch on to.  Give them words of encouragement, not criticism.  Build them up.

Give them reason to believe in who they are.

Give them reason to believe in what they can become.

Give them reason to believe.

Because without belief, there is no hope.

And without hope there is no joy.

And we all deserve to live a life filled with joy.

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Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I like David Bowie. I had several of his buttons – clothing’s version of the bumper sticker – on my jean’s jacket back in the 80’s.

I liked David because he was different and he liked it that way. I liked David because he looked like a girl looking like a boy or a boy looking like a girl, and it worked. I liked David because his lyrics made me think and his music made me want to “put on (my) red shoes and dance the blues” – which for me meant being heartbroken over Jesus Danny.

25 years later and I still like David. And I find that lately I am digging out those red shoes and dancing the blues of a different kind.

You see Bowie wrote this little ditty called Changes, that pretty much describes what I’m dealing with now. And while I’m pretty sure David wasn’t talking about a woman’s hormones, I can certainly draw some parallels between David’s rock and roll life and my own rocky rollercoaster of a life now.

My doctor recently dropped the “M” bomb on me as in, “Given your age, you might be going through the early stages of menopause. We’ll have to do some blood tests to be sure.”

Well, damned if the blood tests didn’t come back shouting to the world, “This biyotch’s goods is getting old!” Yep, it’s been signed, sealed and delivered to my woman parts to start the shut down process.

Now The Change could take anywhere from one to ten years, and unfortunately there are no vampires involved.

One. To. Ten. Years! One to ten years of feeling angry, irritable, depressed, and just plain bitchy. Uh, yeah, I checked in with my life and that’s just not going to work for us. Thank you very much.

I won’t lie. When I got the call that confirmed the whole hormonal she-bang, I felt sad. I wasn’t really sure why since I don’t plan on having any more children, and even if I did I might still have one to ten years to follow through.

After much thought I realized a couple of things were going on. First, being told that I was entering that stage of my life, in my mind, meant that I was old, used up, not the girl I used to be. Second, I felt like a petulant little girl who is having something taken away. Something that, even though I no longer want or need it, becomes valuable when someone or something else decides to take it away from me.

But then I thought of David and his song and I Googled the lyrics and realized that it was a song of empowerment, not of resignation.  And I thought that if I have no choice in the matter and I absolutely have to go through this Change, then I was going to do it Bowie style.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
Turn and face the strain.
Ch-Ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man.
Time may change me.
But I can’t trace time.

One thing I know for sure is I won’t be wasting those cute red shoes on some sad blues song anymore. Nope. I’m putting on the red shoes, but this time it’s so I can kick some hormone sass! Watch out Lady “M”, here comes Moxie!

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Bliss it was to be alive

Bliss in action

Bliss it was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven.
-Wordsworth

Mr. Wordsworth had some words worth listening to. How many times have you found yourself searching for your own personal bliss? Searching for that something that will overload your happiness in-box.

I know that I have wasted years looking for that very something. Maybe wasted isn’t the right word, because there is nothing wrong with searching – at least it implies that you believe there is something worth searching for – that you haven’t gone all half-empty on your life.

But maybe we are looking too hard. I think Wordsworth was onto something that we should pay a little more attention to.

At the playground yesterday, I watched my boys running around, laughing, goofing off – being young. And if I’ve ever seen a look of pure bliss, absolute heaven it has always been on the face of a child who is doing his job.

So what is a child’s job? Just to be young. According to dictionary.com one of the definitions of young is:

being in an early stage generally, as of existence, progress, operation, development, or maturity; new; early.

To some this might seem to be a state that is not desirable.  After all, we tend to associate being young with immaturity.

But consider this:  When we are fresh, and unmarked by too much life experience we still have our wings – we still long to fly like angels – we still feel invincible.  Maybe those are heaven’s residuals still clinging to our souls.

The laughter of children just playing and being young might just be the closest thing to the echoes of angels we will ever hear.  And if that’s the case then shouldn’t we all make every attempt to retain our youthfulness – a certain level of immaturity?

I’m not talking about youthfulness in terms of frozen botox faces.  It’s an internal youthfulness that may not magically remove your wrinkles – in fact, you might just wind up with more in the form of laugh lines – but it will create some pretty great magical moments in your life.

The fountain of youth is closer than you may think.  I challenge you to do something young today – something fun a child would do.

Will you hop on a merry-go-round, or play hopscotch?  Will you spin in circles until you drop or challenge your child to a jump rope competition?

Whatever you do, I bet it will make you smile.  And while you might have to nurse that aching hip or bruised knee later, I bet you won’t regret it.

How will you find your heaven today?

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