Modern Day Miracles--Are They Possible?

I do not know how long my internet will last (I am "sharing" with a neighbor) but I wanted to take a moment to write down a couple of things that happened in the process of this move that ... I don't know, shocked me. If there was a message to be told, I think it came across loud and clear.
A few roommates ago (one of the "bad ones") I remember we discussed the idea of God. I am constantly struggling with the strength of my faith. I have beliefs that are constantly tested and challenged by the day to day of real life and the painfulness of reality.
I remember my roommate said something thar really stuck with me. He said he didn't believe in God because he'd never witnessed a miracle. It was the tone in his voice that caught my attention. It wasn't the sort of smug self-important tone he usually had, but one of genuine longing and disappointment. I got the distinct feeling that perhaps he might change his mind if ever he had the chance to see a true miracle.But what is a miracle? Is it as the Bible would have you believe, those who can't see suddenly regain their sight? A person who cannot stand or walk can suddenly dance out of their chair, forever healed by the power of God? Or are miracles something that, if you look closely enough, you see every day?
It's difficult for me to think that we are somehow all connected or that everything means something. It's difficult because I don't understand why in all the universe, I have yet to find someone who is willing to go the distance with me, someone who wants real love and a lifetime to explore it in. It's difficult for me to imagine that all those times I was beaten as a child, and lay awake in fear and silent resentment, that there was a bigger purpose for it all, a deeper meaning that only God himself understands or plans for us.
What if we do witness miracles every day but don't notice them when they happen? What if we were cognicent, even for just a moment, of the bigger picture?
I say all this not to confuse the issue or pontificate on the idea of God's bigger plan or even to be so bold as to say that I myself understand the purposes we serve here on this planet. But I do know, that for some reason, I have been allowed to see a few things lately that gladden my soul.
After leasing my apartment, I had to get renter's insurance-yet another hidden cost to renting I'd forgotten all about. I'd never gotten insurance before and didn't know the first thing about it. I said a few quick prayers and made my way to the local AAA office to inquire about it.
It wasn't a busy day and I went in the middle of the week. I sat on a chair and waited, almost as if one would wait for an interview, until I was greeted by the agent who was planning to sell me the insurance.
I was expecting the usual sales pitch and customary attempt to sell me more than I needed. I hoped that I could wade through the BS and walk away with the cheapest plan possible. But in the end, I got more than I bargained for ...
Long story short, at some point, as is usual, he had to ask me what I did for a living. We started talking about my job and I hadn't even gotten to the part where I was going to tell him that I worked with juveniles. But we fell into this sort of easy conversation that I felt was necessary on a level I didn't understand. My feeling of this was confirmed a few minutes later when, after a few questions from me, he told me that he and his wife had considered becoming foster parents but weren't sure they should do it. Having come from a similar background, I found the voice inside of me rise up and tell him that not every foster care comes out of the system broken. Some of us make something of ourselves. I encouraged him that it was a good thing to do ... and at the end of our conversation, he only sold me the insurance I needed, and told me the complete truth about what I needed and what I didn't. In exchange, I think I managed to encourage him that being a foster parent was a rewarding experience and it is my belief that he and his wife would make wonderful surrogate parents to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in less than ideal houses where abuse and mental illness can sometimes capsize a family.
As I left the building, I was overcome with a sense of pride and joy. For the first time in a really long time, I felt as though I had done a truly good deed. It was as if I was supposed to be there that day to answer his questions and alieve his fears ...
Could that not be called a miracle? The child he takes in and saves today is the person who saves your life tomorrow. The heart that's rescued at its most vulnerable moment is the soul that breathes love into relationships in the future.
But that is not the only miracle that I have may had inadvertently been a part of.
It also has to do with leasing this apartment itself and the guy who showed it to me. He showed me the apartment and, I don't know how to explain this but, there was a sort of energy between us (not a romantic one---I later found out he had a girlfriend anyway) but a sort of energy that tells me that something else is yet to come. It's as if we have known each other before, without a formal introduction. I found myself asking him questions I would never have the couarage to ask someone, let alone someone I just barely met-questions about his life and how he came to be living in California. I should mention that I detected his slight accent and somehow we just fell into easy conversation.
Anyways, after I leased my place, part of the requirements was for me to tell him what I did for a living. I didn't actually write it down, but rather faxed over my pay stubs as was required.
When I came in to see him, to sign the paperwork, there was a knowing gleam in his eye. "I really want to talk to you." he said to me. Well, it turns out that he has wanted to get a job like mine for years. He has wanted to make a diffierence in people's lives and has never had anyone tell him how to do it or encourage him to go for it. He got stuck in the leasing business because he feels he's a good salesman, but something else has been tugging at his heart ...
We are supposed to go to coffee on Friday and I find myself so excited. Rarely do you get the opportunity to tell someone (knock on wood) what a great job you have and how much it means to you to be a part of something bigger than yourself.
Even if we don't end up meeting, it's as if a giant seed was planted there in his heart-a seed that has encouraged him to grow and perhaps seek out that job where he is helping people. Perhaps it will be where I work, and perhaps it will be somewhere else. But it was like watching the sun as it lights up the darkness. It was like watching that moment when the genius discovers some universal secret they have forever been trying to grasp.
Anyways, I am not sure if these things I have witnessed count as miracles. Perhaps they are nothing more than my being in the right place at the right time. But seeds have been sown and thoughts taking root within open hearts and that is something that will have a positive impact on another human being for years to come.
It was almost as if I was supposed to move so that I could run into these people so I could help plant these seeds so that they could go on to fulfill whatever plan God has for them. Wow. I don't know if it's even as grandiose as that, or even if it's as meaningful as I seem to make it. I don't know if that was part of God's master plan or I don't even know ...
All I know is that, if you asked me, I would tell you that miracles are possible. We just have to open our hearts to their endless posibilities and wait for that magical moment when they appear and change not just someone else's life, but our own lives as well.
I don't know what the master plan is and I do admit I continue to struggle with faith and loneliness and a million other things ... but these miracles, even in their smallest measure, convince me that there has to be something out there in the cosmos even if we don't always see it for ourselves.
Perhaps we don't just walk the path to witness a miracle, perhaps in many ways, we are the miracle.

Real Friends

I moved again this weekend. You'd think that it would be like a mantra I'd get tired of chanting. It's true, it feels like I move almost every other year. Perhaps this time, things will be different. Perhaps in striking out on my own, making my own path, I will be delighted to discover my own sense of freedom, revel in my own realizations of independence and the ability to stay in one place for as long as I like-and as long as I can afford the rent.
Truly, I learned who my real friends were. Some of my friends traveled well over an hour to make it to my house. They didn't complain about high gas prices or even the distance, but came with a smile and willing hands to help me load up the moving truck.
I'll refer to everyone by the first letter of their name-to protect their identity. R and his son Z showed up... Z had been at grad night all night long and hadn't gotten even an hour of sleep. R had stayed up with his sick wife (cancer) and had very little sleep of his own ... A had gone on an all-night fishing trip that ended at 4 in the morning, and here she was, just a few short hours later, grinning as she loaded a coffee table and two end-tables into her car. S had stayed up talking to a friend in need until 3:00 a.m.... these are just a few of the stories I heard that day. Despite the fact that they were exhausted, they came anyway.
I don't blame those who flaked out or came up with some lame excuse or another (it's too far or it takes too much time or blah blah blah) but I found myself disappointed for several reasons. The people who upset me the most were the ones who promised to be there, and then came up with some excuse as to why they couldn't make it--at the last minute of course. What happened to the integrity (remind me to write a future blog about this) of doing what you say? The worst quality to have, in my opinion, is flakiness. Because when you tell someone you'll do something, you're only as good as your word.
I also know to invest less energy and time into their friendship in the future. After all, a wise person once told me that the true test of a friendship is the test of need. When you need something, who is there to help you out? Who makes excuses and runs away?
I realized that when a friend is in need, no distance is too great, no task too large, no need too great.
These people are my heroes. They worked their butts off in 100+ degree weather, staying until every last box and piece of furniture was safely in my house. That's after loading it up in the heat, and treking up and down two flights of stairs just to get it to me. Now that, I feel, is true heroism.
Now that the dust has settled (and the unpacking begins) I am looking over that day with a mix of relief and astoundment at the generosity of these people. I hope that the time arises when I can help them out the way they have helped me.
To my friends, my real friends, I thank you. :)

A Puzzle

So I can't think of a title to this blog. But have you ever had one of those days where you make all kinds of mistakes and you look back over your day and were like, "Oh my goodness, did I actually do that?"
This was one of those embarassing days where I want to run and hide in my cave and not come out for a really long time.
It was a friend's birthday last week, and today was his birthday party. I was a little nervous going to this since I probably would be one of the only single people there and always have a difficult time talking to strangers. It used to be so simple when I was with S or J. S would go with me and mope about until we left (he hated parties and groups of people) and J would make up some reason not to go. So it was always easier for me to make excuses for coming by myself. "S wasn't feeling well." or "J couldn't make it." Both of those sound better than showing up alone especially when children of all ages are clinging to their parents and they are all exchanging funny tidbits about their children while I can only smile and nod at what they are saying.
My friend Denise ended up rescuing me, and doing a fantastic job of it. Her quick wit and easy-going personality is always a welcome addition to what might have otherwise been a disaster for me going alone. Of course we were met with the usual "couple" jokes, but in the end, it proved better than me showing up by myself.
But here's where I got stupid. First of all, I'd been packing all morning, then ran to Ikea (a cool place to get home decorating ideas) and my wardrobe is lacking at the moment because practically all of my clothes are packed tightly into boxes stacked in the living room.
Anyways, I didn't really have anything decent to wear, didn't really have a chance to put makeup on or look cute, and my hair--well let's just say that it looked like I walked through a wind tunnel. That's what happens to curly hair when you try to straighten it without an actual straightener. Trust me on this.
So I'm sitting across the table from a co-worker whom I actually respect and think is cool, and he brought his girlfriend. She seemed as shy as he was and didn't even seem to acknowledge my existence. Of course she didn't introduce herself so I guess I shouldn't feel too terribly bad (but I do) because I didn't even say a word to her ...
Okay, so a little history here ... normally speaking, this guy and I work together. He's a great, intelligent, nice guy. But the thing is, it seems as though we can barely come up with two words to say to one another and I can't figure out why! When we're in a group, it doesn't seem to be a problem. But when we're alone, it's like there's this strange awkwardness and I am not sure what it is. We have a ton of things in common, so you'd think that it would be easy to communicate... as easy as talking about the things we're both interested in technology, computers, whatever. But it wasn't until today that I realized what element was completely missing from our little ... "friendship."
So we're sitting there, and he starts talking to me about "work" stuff... and is asking me questions and for the first time ... EVER, I didn't want to answer him. Actually, I didn't want to talk about work at all. Work was the last thing I wanted to think about let alone talk about. I wanted to talk to him about life, ask him questions about what his plans were for Father's day, whatever--anything--but all I could do was choke out some lame reply back to him and then we sat there in silence. When I leave work, I try to literally leave it at work. So when I'm home, or when I'm in a social situation, it's strange to then talk about work again. Yeah, it's fun to relive stuff and reminisce on funny stories, but at that exact moment, I drew a complete blank. I'm sure I sounded like a dumbass. Why didn't I introduce myself to his girlfriend and ask her questions about her?
Anyways, so I've spent weeks (months actually) trying to be friendly to this person because I don't want to feel awkward when we meet one another. I don't know why it feels that way. I get the feeling that I'm the last person he wants to talk to and yet ... we have so much in common it doesn't make sense. I put myself on a one person mission to befriend him and convince him that I wasn't too scary to talk to ... I was hoping that strangeness that seems to prevent us from having a normal comfortable conversation would just melt away and the barrier would be broken.
But I figured out today that ... despite all of this time I have been trying to befriend him, it hasn't worked. He's kept me at a clear distance and perhaps I should chalk it up to the fact that maybe he just doesn't like me. But what does it hurt to be personable?
That's when I figured it out! I share personal details with him (I'm moving, I'm doing this, I feel that--blah blah blah) in the hopes that he would open up and give me SOMETHING I could talk to him about. Something I could relate to and could ask him about. There's only so much work stuff you can talk about and beyond that, it comes down to what makes up who you are. At least his partner will tell me things about his family, his friends, projects he's doing, etc. and it gives me something to ask him about later, "How are you projects going?" "How's baseball?" "How are the kids?"
But if I don't know anything personal about the other person, I am only able to have a superficial and therefore superficial relationship with that person. So in the end, it's no wonder that we stare at each other when we're alone. He won't let me in, for whatever reason. What's strange is, I have worked with him for ... almost a year now and he knows plenty of things about me. I would hope that in knowing things about me, he would understand me better, and therefore wouldn't be hesitant to talk to me or ask me things. But in the end, there's this strangeness there and it still isn't going away ...
I guess this is one of those situations where I'm not going to win. I'm going to walk away from this one and throw in the towel and admit defeat. I feel like I really tried; then again, I wish I wasn't so shy in large groups. Perhaps I could have gotten to know his girlfriend a little bit and so then I could have at least asked him about her and how she's doing.
So anyways, the whole situation is a puzzle to me. I'm not sure I should blame myself and my lack of social etiquette today or just realize that it's clear he doesn't want anything to do with me and leave it alone ...
But that's the funny thing too-we seem to communicate through e-mail just fine. But I still never learn anything new about him. It's like he just answers my questions and that's it. Nothing personal, nothing real. Nothing real. Interesting... Anyways, so it's all a mystery.
I feel bad because I am finding myself starting to purposely avoid him or actually slightly relieved when he doesn't come along to certain events. But at the same time, I am bummed when he's not there. Since we do have so much in common, there's so much stuff I want to talk to him about. But I'm just not sure how to bring it up, if that makes any sense.
Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It's just strange and I've never encountered a situation like this before. What do you think? Am I doing something wrong?

Thoughts

Packing things when it's time to move always presents several challenges. For those of you blessed to have only moved a couple of times, you're lucky. For me, I have always felt as though I have always been at the mercy of the winds-always waiting for another to tell me where and when to go.
Anyways, as I was packing up my things, I was forced to go through all the old things that I stowed away-some needlessly, and some with good reason. Among other things, I found a letter I had written to J. It was a letter I never had the courage to give him, words that have been left unspoken for years, merely thoughts on paper. I should have just put it back in the box I got it and turned away. Or perhaps I shouldn't keep these things that haunt me and should throw them away altogether, but something prevents me from doing so.
When the other boxes were packed, I picked up those pages I had set aside and began to read it. It was a beautiful letter, and memories of our time together flooded back into my heart, memories I have long since wanted to forget.
It's a funny thing-I always tell people not to live in the past; it's not healthy for you. If you're always thinking about the past, you'll never live in the present, never look forward to the future. Yet there's something about everything that happened that I just can't seem to let go.

I think I know what it is, and I am hoping that talking about it will allow me to make sense of it all, to gather the courage to move forward and pray that true love is again possible.

Although I've spoken about this before, I want to give you a little picture of something. Have you ever truly loved someone? Truly? It's a feeling that poems and sonnets and cheesy songs and the romantic movie empire have all attempted to capture. Love is like the adrenaline rush after finishing first in a race or climbing the tallest mountain in the world. Actually, it makes you feel as though you could do anything-even climb that impossible mountain. You'd do it too; you'd brave every single step even if it meant loss of life and limb just to hold that person in your arms one more time or be held, or feel the gentle brush of their lips as they meet yours. That's love.

I cannot even do it justice, or try to describe what so many who have come before me have done ever so gracefully. All I can say is that, for a brief moment in time, it truly was like a dream. It was like everything I always imagined love can be. Nothing before and nothing since has even managed to touch it even for a moment.

As I go out on dates these days, and listen to the guys drone on and on about themselves, I want to laugh because all I can think about is the guy who asked me how I felt, what I liked, who I was.

I can still remember the soft touch of his hand as he touched my shoulder to ask me something. When I touch someone else on the shoulder, with not even so half a similar feeling or meaning, the guy shrinks away, or leans in closer because he thinks it means I want to sleep with him. It has no longer become a gesture of acceptance and notice.

People confuse my open, genuine nature with desperation. But I wouldn't settle for them; they wouldn't even come close to the love I've known especially as they criticize me or cut me off mid-sentence to talk about themselves some more.

Reading that letter today, I was reminded of the person he was, and
the person I was when I was with him. When things were good, they were really good. People who know him don't understand, but always remarked on our closeness, even after we were no longer together.
There was just something there and always will be.

I sit and ponder these things these days because I am only left with those lingering feelings of the past inside my heart. I am torn between letting those feelings go and keeping them safe in my heart, where no one will ever be able to touch them.

The only problem is, I can't seem to find anyone who touches my heart in the same place or even come close. I don't want to have to compare; I want the guy to blow my idea of something great out of the water, but it never happens. I guess in writing this, every guy who likes me and has access to this blog may be discouraged (and I realize this) … but the truth is, we should all want a love that is going to last. We should all want that bond that holds us together. We should all strive to love someone the way J and I did, even if it was just for a moment.

When I hear of people in real life (every day!) who are with people they don't love, or people they've settled for, or people they're unhappy with, I get really upset. I get upset because I know what real love is and I know that every person who's with the wrong person, is just making it more difficult for someone like me to find the right person.

Maybe my person is in a dead-end relationship and won't admit it to themselves. Perhaps they don't have the courage to get out of it or perhaps they won't ever have the courage to give me a try. Perhaps my person lives in another country or perhaps is married to the wrong person, constantly convincing themselves to give it "another try." Perhaps he has just been burned one too many times and is unwilling to take a chance … but perhaps when the time is right, he'll give me a chance to change his world forever.

I also want to admit something I've never told anyone before. People often ask me what initially attracted me to J. He's got an ego the size of NYC and though he is universally handsome, he continues to hold himself as his 1 priority. Well, the truth is, we had so much in common … he would read what I was thinking without me having to say anything. It's such a rare thing when you are truly understood. It was almost as if he'd finish my sentences for me because he knew what I was going to say. Even more importantly, he'd remember little things that I'd say months later. Even S, whom I lived with, didn't seem to remember the things I said or even what was important to me. But somehow, J did.

The thing I was going to admit is that … I remember him talking about his last girlfriend whom I actually knew pretty well. She was high maintenance and came from money, if you know what I mean. Our worlds couldn't have been more different. When he talked about their relationship, or talked about the things he wanted out of life, he had the saddest look of wistful longing on his face. Just as he'd understood me, I understood him. I understood that look. I could see the sadness in his eyes, even when he didn't say anything; he didn't need to. I always thought, in the back of my mind, that I wished for just a moment he would notice me (this was before we got together of course) because I wished that I could show him what he was missing out on in a relationship.

Of course, I ended up getting to do that, since we later got together. I was convinced that I could change J's life … and I think I did. Just as he changed mine…

Honestly, I'm glad that J and I didn't work out. I didn't really know who he was before I fell in love with him. Of course I probably wouldn't have fallen in love with him had I known. But it was a great experience because I learned so much from him. I feel as though we had our moment, and we taught each other the things we needed to. I taught him how to love another person, and opened the way for his new life now. He taught me how to appreciate myself and what to look for in another person, and to wait, even if it takes a lifetime, to find it again.

Ultimately, I don't know where my person is. I want to believe that he's out there, and his heart will be as loving as a deep and endless ocean. He'll wrap his arms around me, and on those moments when I am unsure what direction to go next or what decision to make, he'll pull me closer and tell me, "everything is going to be all right."

An Interesting Thought

Hello everyone! I've been meaning to update you for a while now about Hawaii, and I will get to that, but I just had this interesting thought and ... for some reason, I want to bring it up.
Remember when you were a kid and before you knew how the world really worked, and before your parents became real people (you know, when you suddenly see them as flawed souls), you probably thought that certain things were important.
When you're a kid, you don't care how much work your father does-but you notice every minute that he is late to your baseball game. You don't care that there are bills to be paid and that work has kept your mom away from home a little later, all you are hoping for is another hour of her time--waiting for the next time she will play with you.
These moments, precious though they are, are the moments that bring families together. We like to convince ourselves that our lives are balanced while we work three jobs to pay the bills (and keep up with the Jones's) and yet it is often our children who suffer.
But what if, for just a moment, we as a society could start placing emphasis on those things we found important as children? Family together time ... moments spent with one another. What if we started working less and giving more? How might this world be different?Anyways, just a thought. I still remember what it felt like to be a child. I still remember the joy and excitement I felt when my mother took time out of her day to play with me or my father would teach me things. As I've grown, that joy and excitement has dwindled as I've become more aware of the real world. But sometimes, it is good to take a step back and remember those things that are truly important.

No Life is Insignificant

As I was driving today, making my way up the hill toward the place I call home, I nodded toward a tree on my right, as I always do as a way to pay my respects. It is the only tree on the drive whose trunk has been colored a shade of red. On the ground, surrounding the trunk, I have seen bouquet after bouquet of fresh flowers. Sometimes, there is a ribbon placed around the tree, a reminder that the person whose life was ended at that particular spot, is still remembered.
I can still remember when my friend Crystal called me one day and told me in an anxious tone, that there was a stand-off at the bottom of the hill. There were police cars everywhere and they were trying to convince a man who had apparently barricaded himself in his car, to give up his weapon. Apparently, at some point, for whatever reason known only to him, the man decided to take his own life.
I didn't know him, know anything about him, know how old he was, or know who he left behind. All I noticed is the amount of cards, gifts, and flowers that were left when he passed from this world to the next. What saddened me was that this man, this stranger to me, had probably felt that way about everyone else. He felt he had no way out, no place to go, no reason to live. But if only he had seen all of the love and all of the people who loved him, whom he left behind.
What strikes me about that particular place is that, when you look out at that particular spot, you can see so much beauty. If you turn and look down the hill, you can't help but see the most amazing view of Saddleback Valley. It was as if he could not see the beauty, because he was trapped in his own prison of pain. If only he could see how much he must have meant to someone here that was perhaps waiting for him to return home, waiting for the man who would never arrive.
So I remind myself, each time I pass that spot, that each person is significant. Each life matters. Each person important in some way. Every life is important; he was important, even if he couldn't see it.
I don't know this person, or what he looked like, or what kind of life he led, but somehow, in some small measure, he has changed my life, and changed the way I look at things. Sometimes it's easy to become bitter and angry and tell yourself that things aren't that great. But one breath of life is always better (in my opinion) than death. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, the sound of the rain as it falls on the rooftops, the feel of warm clothes upon my skin, the feel of someone's arms around you, giving you a real hug ... There are so many little things to be thankful for, and so many people who would miss you if you were gone.
Every person touches someone else's life in some way, whether or not we realize it. Each thing we do has an impact on another living thing. Don't for even a moment, underestimate yourself or the ultimate power you have in this life. Enjoy every single minute of it. Enjoy your time with other people, for one day they will be gone. Enjoy your life, because it is never insignificant.

Wanted: A Vacation

So I'm going on vacation. I haven't been away or taken a break in a really long time. But lately, I've been frustrated for reasons that I've already told many of you. I've included an abridged version here.The truth is, I'm disappointed in myself for so many reasons and a lot of it has to do with my own sort of craziness. I don't suffer from any addictions; I have a good job; I try to do right by everyone all the time; I am hard-working, dedicated, try to be a good friend, etc. You could pretty much say I'm normal in many ways. But I just can't help but wonder why it is that after time and time again, I continue to fall into similar patters of thinking and behavior and frustration inevitably sets in.I am an over-achiever by nature; I admit it. When I set my mind on something, I just keep pushing forward no matter how difficult it becomes. But when I can't achieve that one thing, I forget all of my other successes and seem to focus on that one thing I did wrong or that thing I wish I could have done …It's a strange place to be because I am naturally an optimist in just about every aspect of my life. But sometimes I play tug-o-war with myself and end up confused and frustrated. I can't seem to figure out why I continue to find myself interested in people who have no interest in me. It would be one thing if I could understand what the problem is or why their lack of interest was clear, but it's not. That's the crazy thing; I can't seem to figure it out. I feel like the kid on the playground that nobody will play with, but no one will tell me why. One part of me wants to ask, "what is it?" I mean, am I too fat, too short, too tall, too ugly (I hope it's not the ugly thing-I can't do much about that). I want to know what it is … so maybe I could change it, or maybe, just maybe, in knowing the answer, I'd come up with a darned good reason why they would not be a good fit for me. The other part of me, the one that grew up sensibly and who knows that there's more to life than superficiality wants to SCREAM out loud that being a good person makes up for all the other stuff (being too fat, tall, ugly, etc.) and that a real man would not be daunted by those things because in 20 years, who gives a damn what we look like.But then I remember that I live in California and I can't believe what choices I made to bring me here only to help me find success in one manner (my job) but leaving me completely devastated in another. There are so many places out there where someone like me would have no problems attracting good people; when I return home, I always seem surrounded by people of value, culture, kindness, etc. I'm reluctant to date them because I know that our time together will be short. But for as long as I've lived in California, I've only ever found a handful of people like me … or who I think are pretty great, and they have no interest in me. After all, why would they? They get to see beautiful bodies, perfect makeup, and botox every day … what makes me special? Well okay, so I think I'm pretty special; I don't think I have an ego. But honestly, I can bring a lot to the table in any relationship. I think I'd be darn good at it—not because I have an ego about it—but because I know that real relationships take work and I am willing to work at it and have fun and enjoy one another and really live. I have done it in all my relationships and I feel that's why they never want to let me go … but in the end, I needed to be happy and so I left. There's only so much trying before you realize that they are the Grand Canyon and you will never be able to fill them up …So where does that leave me? Having a great job, a wonderful sense of humor, fantastic friends, only to be miserable and lonely going home to a cold, empty house? Maybe I'm too sensitive, maybe I'm a lot of things. But I just don't understand why all these crazy, selfish chicks end up getting someone while I am supposed to be happy with the single life.The single life gets old. Not wanting to be single doesn't make me desperate; that much is clear. If I were desperate, I could (and would) have gotten together with someone a lonnng time ago (or several times-depending on the way you look at it) but I don't … I don't because I have standards and because I am still holding on to some stupid idea that the right person is out there waiting for me.But at some point, I'm going to have to settle for whomever comes along and I wonder if I'll ever be truly happy? I think I'd rather be alone, not have to answer to anyone, not have to work at something I know in my heart is never going to work out … but on the other hand, I don't know.I just don't understand what is missing about me. I think that if I moved to another state, I might have the opportunity to find someone wonderful, but I'll be out of a job and probably a place to live. So do I sacrifice all of this stuff I've worked so hard for just at the opportunity to find someone wonderful to have in my life?The truth of the matter is, I don't just want someone else to make my life complete. That's not what it's about. It's about being bored … it's about the fact that I am always thinking about things… okay, well here's the deal. You know I can say that I'm not Miss Universe in looks (I'm okay) and I can say that I don't have the perfect body. But one thing I do have, for better or worse, is intelligence. I think about things all the time and if I wasn't asleep, I'd probably never get my mind to shut-up. It sucks to be intelligent I think because I don't like talking about superficial things as much as I like breaking the mind-barrier and talking about things that make us better people and make us learn more about things. For example, I want to know how things work and what people feel about the universe and God and everything. I want to know what makes a car run on gas and just how a magnifying glass is made. And how is it that hummingbirds can fly backwards? These are the things that I want and need to know and honestly, ordinary conversation (i.e. what did you do this week? What's the weather like? Etc.) will be okay for a while, but all it does it leave me wanting for more substantial conversations or waiting for someone who touches, even for a moment, on something real and thoughtful.People that think about these things intrigue me because I can't help but want to pick their brains. Anyone with intelligence is worth listening to because they probably have thought about things I haven't even begun to conceptualize and for someone who's intelligent, it helps me be a better person.That's right, I believe that it helps me be a better person when I surround myself with intelligent people. I don't learn anything by talking about the weather or about what shoes are on sale at Nordstrom. I don't grow; I am just like debris floating in the water, any movement merely at the mercy of the waves. I can't settle for that. I can't settle for a life where someone doesn't challenge me. I can't settle for a relationship where I'm always having to lift up or encourage the other person. Because I need encouragement too. I need to be challenged.But I am more intelligent than a lot of people and (I won't lie about this) I am bored to tears when we talk about things or go on a date. Where's the real stuff? The good stuff? Where is the person who wants similar things?Every time I find that person, or someone like that, I cling to them because I think they're amazing (you should never let a good mind go to waste) and because I need it. I need it in a way I can't even begin to understand or describe. It's like my ice cream, if that makes any sense.J (the guy I dated for two years) was like that … we'd sit and have the most amazing philosophical debates. It was like I could be myself around him, with conversations that were silly and stupid at times, or deep and meaningful, He loved Disneyland on one hand (like I do) but loved to drink coffee, listen to a local band, and talk about the universe and where it was going. He'd turn the lights low and he'd take out his favorite books and he'd read to me, and then we'd talk about it afterward. I'd share snippets of my favorite writing I'd done and he'd gently critique me. That was more fulfilling than anything I've ever known in my entire life. I can't imagine what he's going through right now with his relationship where the girl is as shallow as a 3 foot swimming pool. It's not her fault; it's just that she can't figure out why every time we get together, we have so much stuff to talk about. She always says we "go off in our own world" and leave her out of it. We don't mean to, but we're just so much alike and intelligent, that we thrive on that sort of thing. She is left behind because, bless her poor little thing, she's just not as intelligent and can't keep up.I never wanted to admit that I was more intelligent than anyone else. I didn't want to think of myself as different or better or worse or whatever. But the reality is, I am. I can't run from it or hide from it, or change it with botox. All I can do is hope that somewhere in this stupid sea of superficiality there emerges a person who wants the same things as me or at least can save me from my own mental prison of boredom.Everyone always tells me that I'm a pretty good person, but it's stopped being good enough. It's not good enough that I'm wonderful, loyal, considerate, kind, blah blah blah … it only seems to matter what I look like—and quite frankly, I could care less about that. Because I want people to remember me for the good things I did and the kind of person I was. I don't give a damn if they remember me as pretty. What I wouldn't give to make a real difference in the world or change something or change someone's life for the better …Anyways, with regards to all this, I continue to be interested in people who aren't interested back. You can't force people to be interested; you can't force people to like you or be attracted to you, and for that, in some ways, I'm glad. But on the other hand, it makes me sad too because I am painfully aware of how many guys pass me up because I don't "look like a model" or because I'm just a little whiter than everyone else. If that's even what it is. Perhaps I'm passed up because I am not interested in the mundane, try not to get caught up in drama of it all ...So I feel torn between two worlds, if that makes sense—the intelligent one and the superficial one. I am disappointed in myself because … well for obvious reasons. I can't change who I am and worse, I don't think I'd want to be dumber even if I tell myself I might be happier that way.Another reason I'm disappointed in myself is because I tell myself that everything's going to be all right. I am going to be all right. I tell myself I'm going to lose 40 pounds so that even Stupid Superficial Guy will give me a chance… but then I don't. I consciously tell myself I will go to the gym every day, but then, inevitably, something comes up. Something always seems to come up.Most importantly, I'm disappointed in myself for even caring. I should just keep on keepin' on (as someone once told me) but every so often, little reminders come up and poke me sharply. Perhaps it was my boss the other day who casually asked me when I was going to "get started on finding a man" in front of all my co-workers, or my father who made it clear he didn't want me to be a "spinster." If only he knew …But being non-desperate (and having a life!) also sometimes means I don't get to go out and look for someone. It means I go to work and come home and do my stuff and volunteer where I can and hope that someone will just magically bump into me and realize hey, she's pretty great … but they don't. And yet another year goes by … People say I'm too picky, but if it were only superficial things I was looking for, finding someone would be all too easy. If only I could pretend …So that's the deal. I'm upheld by my silly stupid morals that say "don't sleep around" and for "be a good person" and for "tutor kids" and "make a difference" and all that other nice-people-bullshit that I somehow actually believed. But real life isn't a Disney move and I guess the more time goes by, the more I realize that, and the more disappointed I become.On days when I'm not "full of sunshine" everyone asks me what's wrong. As if I'm not allowed to have a bad day? Or worse, I feel like I have to always be on my "best behavior" because I'm single. Also, I feel I could never settle for just anyone because I could never put up with someone in my life who wasn't supportive and kind … because I know myself and I know I could never do it.Anyways … I'm disappointed for even caring about it, for even wanting more than (for whatever reason I'm not getting). I want to forget about it, push it to the back of my mind and just live my life. But I can't …I can't because every time I see someone my age with a little kid, I think to myself, "I want one of those." But stupid society has made it a bad thing to actually WANT children. Oh sure, people complain and bitch about their children but always were the "best thing that's ever happened to them" but they rarely say they "planned" the birth. That's the thing, there's nothing wrong with wanting kids. But yet it's just another thing I can't have because I would never do it the wrong way (ie get pregnant out of being in a loving committed relationship) and only want a baby's daddy who wants to be there! So that's just another thing I'm not getting to have … and it sucks because I've always wanted to be a good mommy.Instead, I tutor kids and volunteer and even work with kids, and the truth is, it's still not enough. I use all the volunteer-work to fulfill the spot in my heart … but the hole is still there, ever gnawing at me and tugging me in places I don't want to admit I have.So that's the deal. I'm disappointed in myself for wanting these things, but what can I do? I'm only human. I'm not desperate, I just need more than something ordinary.
Anyways, I'm giving myself the opportunity to go to Hawaii and let it all go. Just let the ocean breeze carry my thoughts away on the wind and listen as the sounds of the ocean soothe my heart.
I think things will be okay and perhaps it will take me going away to Hawaii to remember that being picky is not a bad thing. Going to Hawaii will give me a mental chance to start over. Or perhaps what it will take to have a real chance to start over is having the courage and strength to move on and move away ...

The Promise

This mini story came to me one day a few weeks ago and has been swimming around my head. I'm not sure how it's going to end or what's going to happen. I don't know this little boy (now all grown up) but I think I'd like to ...
It started out with a watch. And a promise. It was just a simple watch, something his dad had probably picked up at Target or some other similar store. But to him, because it was a gift from his father, it meant everything. It had a simple black rubber strap, and there was nothing intricate or detailed about the large face and small hands. It was simple and undorned and yet, it was special.
Whenever he thought of his father, he felt a great loss. His father was a quiet man who often kept his thoughts to himself. He was a difficult person to know and yet he had a quiet strength and warm humor about him. As the years passed, memories of what he looked like and things they talked about began to fade, until he became only a whisper of someone who used to love him, who used to watch him play with his friends, who left the world far too soon. As the years passed, his mother had put away the pictures one by one and the only time he was mentioned was in passing during family gatherings or when someone suggested they should watch the old family movies they'd created. Yet he still kept inside him the memory of his father, and the constant reminder of his promise.
He had almost forgotten about the watch, hidden away in some drawer taking up a home next to large white sport socks. Yet he could not forget. It had broken years before and he had yet to get it fixed, partially because every time he picked it up, he was reminded of memories of a person he would never get to see again. He still had so many questions to ask and so many things left unsaid ...
Yet for some reason, while searching for a quarter or some other item that had fallen into the drawer, he felt it and picked it up. He looked down at it, a sense of sadness rushing into him stronger than he realized it would. He rubbed his fingers absently over the face, wiping off whatever lint had accumulated; he couldn't help but remember the last real moments he had with his father.
In those days, you didn't ask your father what kind of person he was, you watched, you observed, you emulated. For some reason, they had never been as close as he wished they had been; he took his presence for granted almost up until the end. But it was what he asked him in his last few moments with his father that he would never forget.
Whenever his father spoke, he always listened carefully for whatever words of wisdom he offered. When his father spoke, everyone listened. Now, here he was, weakened, vulnerable. He waited anxiously and his father said, in an almost whisper. "When I'm gone ... promise me that you'll take care of your mother." But he wasn't the strong one; he wasn't supposed to have to watch his father pass into the next world right in front of him. His father was supposed to be the one to take care of his mother, be there to watch him get married, watch him grow up.
"Do you promise, son?" Of course there was only one logical answer, and it escaped his lips even though he wasn't quite sure what exactly that meant. He could feel as though some powerful magic had just made him and his father closer in that moment than they'd ever been before. It was as if, in that moment, he had a glimpse of what the world was supposed to be and all of the love and hope that it contained because in that moment, he realized how much his father loved him, even though, looking back years later, he couldn't recall if his father actually said the words or that he just remembered it that way.
It was just a watch, but it was yet another reminder of the promise he'd made. He unconsciously rubbed its face again and reality snapped back into view. He set the watch aside, promising himself that he'd take the time to get it fixed. After all, it was more than just a random useless gift; it was a birthday gift from his father, his hero.
So much had changed, and yet nothing important had. His mother still lived in the same house, partially perhaps because on some level, it was still full of the memories of him, and partially because it just didn't seem fair to move on without him.
Deep down, he wondered if his father would be proud of him; would he approve of his life? What would he say if only he was there once more? He had no way of knowing whether or not he was doing the right thing, but he always tried to live right, be a good person, and love with his whole heart.
These thoughts of his father were overshadowed, as the time passed, by the complexity and ordinary business of daily life. But in the back of his mind, he always strove to be the person his father was, and be the man who never broke a promise ...

To Thine Own Self Be True

I've noticed a trend lately in the things I've been writing. When I first started this blog, I just wanted to put random thoughts down on paper ... the funny thing is, I keep a journal, write a blog, and work on my novel all at the same time. Somehow, the original idea of what this blog was meant to be has gotten lost over the last two years and has, instead, focused a lot more on relationships / love. This has a lot to do with the fact that of all the things I write, the ones that get the most feedback always happens to be ones I write about relationships, love, trust, whatever. People write to me from all over the US (don't ask me how they found my blog-but whatever) and strike up a conversation with me.
Usually, I end up hearing their tale-whatever it may be-and it sparks within me inspiration for my next blog topic.
Recently, a friend asked me to write about unrequited love, and the topic is an especially difficult one for me to talk about-for many reasons. My point in telling you the fact that the meaning of my "blog" has somehow gotten lost over the past two years is not because I regret that-going off the "path" is sometimes an integral part of anyone's journey. However, what is especially interesting is that, my heart started out in the right place when I set out to write these blogs. I wanted a place I could just "let it all out" and there was (at least in the beginning) a sense of anonymity, where I could write with reckless abandon and my heart wasn't really too invested in the idea of adding "friends" to my pages-so I didn't have to worry about hurting anyone.
What's ironic about the topic my friend asked me to write about is that unrequited love is a circumstance that, I feel, starts out much the same way as I started out with this blog.
Unrequited love, quite simply put is love that is not returned to the other individual. But I dislike using the word "requited" because it is, essentially, another way to say "returned." So, for the purposes of this blog, unreturned love has to start somewhere.
It usually starts in the heart of one person who is interested in another person for whatever reason. Now, before I continue, I would like to differentiate between scary unreturned love and normal unreturned love (is there such a thing?) … Anyways, I am purposely excluding those individuals who take unreturned love to levels that includes (but is not limited to) stalking, violence, and extreme vindictive behavior.
So it starts with interest. But what defines interest? Some would argue that "interest" is little more than chemicals in the brain that cause us to be attracted to another individual. It is those little chemical signals given off by the brain that cause us to seek out certain people and not others. Personally, I think it is a combination of many things.
The truth is, I can't explain why some people are attracted to other people for no inexplicable reason. I can't explain what causes someone who promised they loved you one minute, only to ignore you the next. I can't explain why someone would talk about marriage in one breath only to complete stop talking to you the next.
There are some things in life that just don't make sense, no matter how much we want them to. We want to find a way of explaining things to soothe our hearts when we feel lost and alone. It's so hard to find someone we connect with (because it's so rare these days) only to discover that they have no interest in you or don't return the level of interest you have in them.
The only explanation that I can offer in circumstances like these is one. Perhaps this explanation will not soothe your heart (you know who you are) and perhaps it can't fix what's already been broken. But the truth always wants to be found, and perhaps this idea is something to consider …
I think what happens is that when we begin to like someone, for whatever reason, we begin to idealize them-place them up on a pedestal where they are impervious to being human. What I mean is, we have somehow made them god-like in our minds without realizing it. Until we can take off those rose-colored glasses, we can't truly see the person in front of us. We want to believe the best in them-so we give them the benefit of the doubt even to our detriment.
I have myself done this a thousand times. When I'm interested in someone, I forget about all the bad habits I see them displaying because I'm so busy picturing how wonderful they are in my head. Don't think I'm crazy; I'm sure that other people do this too. You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. In the beginning, we want to believe that they like us back-so our heart fills in all of the little questions we ask ourselves about their character, their judgements, and their personality.
So when they ditch us after promising us the world, we can't figure out why and we're left hanging only to ask ourselves, "what happened?"
Worse, there's a feeling of loss that often accompanies these feelings because we feel as though we are losing something special, something that meant something to us. What becomes readily apparent is that these feelings that we had are clearly not shared by the other person because otherwise, they wouldn't treat us that way. At least, that's what we tell ourselves anyway.
I think the main reason I fell in love with J (and really felt he fell in love with me) is because when we first met, there was no need to think about each other in an idealistic way. We accepted each other because we were both taken at the time. Yet years later, when I sought his advice, I noticed something that I think is key …
When two people fall in love, they go through the same "rose colored glasses" stage. They idealize each other and then, when the feeling wears off, realize that they still love one another. But what happens when they idealize one another, it wears off, and they realize that it's not a good fit? Someone is bound to get hurt …
It just sucks when that person getting hurt turns out to be you. It sucks to have invested your heart and your time and your whatever into a person that will never return how you feel.
This has also happened to me a time or two; I think it happens to all of us. Everyone gets their heart trampled on, stepped on, and sometimes broken. No one is exempt to getting hurt unless they never open their heart up in the first place.
But if you don't open your heart, you'll never be willing to let someone wonderful, faithful, reliable, honest, etc. inside. But at the same time, if you just openly give your heart to each person who promises you the world, you'll run the risk of getting cut open like a fish fillet.
So what is the ultimate answer? I don't know … I do know that you deserve to be loved. You deserve to have someone who appreciates you and knows what they have is great. I've said this a million times, I know, but you should never have to convince someone of how great you are.
Either you're great, or you're not. The right person is going to think you're great and isn't going to let you go no matter what.
One thing I've often seen is how many excuses we give other people when we don't want to date them. "I'm really busy" or "I'm not ready for a relationship" or "I don't know what I want." Etc. etc. While those things may be true, there is one thing I know to be true.
If I wanted my favorite ice cream, and I knew I wanted it, and I knew it wasn't in the freezer, I would go and get it. I probably wouldn't let the cost hold me back, or how much time it took me to get to the store to get it. I certainly wouldn't be (too) annoyed to stand in line and wait as the cashier rang me up. Why? Because it's something that I really wanted. Put whatever it is you've really wanted into the sentence. Computer. T.V. Whatever. My point simply is that if you want something badly enough, nothing is going to stand in your way.
It's like the girl (or guy) that you perceive to be too "shy" or too whatever to ask you out on a date. I've heard one friend in particular (and yes, even myself a time or two) say over and over again how she has to ask guys out because they are too shy to approach her. But the truth of it all is this … (and the truth sometimes hurts) … if he liked you as much as you liked him, he wouldn't let anything stand in his way of asking you out.
Because real life is about finding someone wonderful to spend your time with. Real life isn't what we see on television. Real life means that you could die tomorrow. And if you died tomorrow, would you be happy with what or who you have right now? Because if not, then you'd go out and get whatever it was or whomever it was that you thought even had a possible chance of making you happy.
So that's how I feel about this. It's a tough subject because I'm personally terrible at decoding interest. It's always so much easier to give advice than to take my own …
But anyways, I just want you to know that there is someone out there who is going to love and appreciate you. You won't have to decode them or figure out what their secret word is or why they've abandoned you or why they aren't speaking to you or whatever. If you are dealing with that, my only advice is to try and let them go so you can make room in your life for someone better.
I know it's difficult to let someone you love, someone whom you've shared your dreams with, go. I know because I've been there; it took me 2 years to get over J. But in the end, perhaps instead of focusing on what you don't have with them, maybe it's time to focus on what you do have within yourself. Perhaps instead of looking at the love you are missing out on, you should spend time to know and love yourself.
A good healthy relationship starts from the inside out. When you love yourself, you can love another person. I think that Shakespeare said it best when he said, "To thine own self be true …"

Why We Are Attracted To Broken

On some levels, we are all broken. We all let the things in our lives affect us, our pasts, our experiences, our friends, our families, our biases, our filters, our prejudices, etc. In truth, we are all to some extent a product of our environments!
In our everyday lives, we have the opportunities to interact with people who, like ourselves, have been broken. Some people take the things that happen to them, and take time to reflect, time to adjust themselves, and regroup back to center. Those people have an internal "compass" that eventually points back to their True North. These people don't let their past hurts color their lives or their future. They have the unique ability to be able to learn from the past, and forgive themselves and others, and move on.
For everyone else, however, life is a constant journey toward reaching that True North, that center. I think that many people search their whole lives to find happiness, but they reach for it, only to find themselves just short of it time after time.
One thing I have noticed in talking to people, is just how many broken people really are out there. In your lifetime, especially depending on what you do for your career, you'll probably come across plenty of broken people. If you're good at reading body language, you'll be able to see it in the way they carry themselves, or that faraway distant look in their eyes. But often, we can't tell when people are broken.
So when we get into a relationship with them, we often find ourselves slowly drifting away from "healthy" and into unhealthy without even realizing it.
Sometimes, when we find ourselves in an unhealthy relationship, we often wonder exactly how it is we got there. It didn't start out unhealthy, right? I think we tend to blame ourselves and our own shortcomings (at first) for the reason that things aren't going the way we think they should. So we try harder or we stick around longer, or just the opposite, we give up too early and we run away. The question really comes down to: how do I know I'm in an unhealthy relationship and what can I do about it?
I would, unfortunately argue, that people prefer to stay in an unhealthy broken relationship—but I'll get to that shortly. I think that there are some tell-tale signs when you're in a relationship that's not healthy. In the end, it's up to you to decide when to stay and when to go. But here are some things that I've seen from observing other couples and from past experiences. This stuff is just my opinion. I'm not a doctor; I have no formal training and I certainly don't profess to be an expert or know anything more than the common person. I just observe things and this is what I have seen or witnessed. So take it with a grain of salt if you wish, I won't be offended.
Signs of "Unhealthy":
Demeaning ArgumentsLet's face it, everyone has disagreements—every relationships goes through moments of discourse and unhappiness. I would argue that it's normal to argue! :P It's normal to have a difference in opinion or to not agree on everything. When you need to recognize it's unhealthy is when the other person (or when YOU) put someone down while you're arguing. Now, if you do this in every argument, then you might need to look at yourself and look at how you communicate with other people. But that's too much to look at right now. I should also mention that there are "levels" of healthy (and who's to say in the end how healthy it has to be or what really is healthy. But I can help you determine for yourself how to tell the difference, even if the wording is different). Here's an example of a healthy vs. unhealthy argument.
Let me set the scenario up for you: You and your boyfriend are supposed to go out to dinner. He promised. He's promised you a "date night" for weeks. Of course, given your busy schedules, it has to be after work. But the day comes and he calls you and asks you if he can go get a drink with the guys instead. Here's how it all plays out …
Healthy Argument:You: You really pissed me off today. Them: Why? What did I do?You: Well, I'm upset because you promised that you would take me out to dinner tonight, and you blew me off to go have a drink with the guys and now it's too late to go out.Them: But you said it was okay.You: I know, but I figured you be back in time and … blah blah blah.
Now, one thing you'll notice immediately is that this is more like an interaction than an argument. There's a vital component that's missing from the above conversation and why (in my opinion) things aren't escalating. Now, let's take a look at an unhealthy conversation (same topic).
Unhealthy:You: You are such an ass! You promised me that you'd take me out to dinner. But you forgot!Them: I'm not an ass! I just wanted to have a drink with the guys! I don't see what the big deal is! Why are you getting so upset?You: Because you promised to take me out for weeks! We never go out anymore and it pisses me off when you say you're going to do something and don't do it! You're just so insensitive!Them: Look, I've had a long day, I was tired, and I just forgot, okay?You: That's the problem, you're always forgetting … blah blah blah…Them: Why are you being such a bitch?
Okay, so whenever I'm in a relationship, I really try to pay attention to how they are interacting with me when we argue or disagree. Are they willing to discuss the problem rationally and not make it a personal attack? Because that's a bad (bad) sign. The reason that I think that arguments sometimes escalate into something unhealthy is because one person tends to attack the other person. Look at the unhealthy conversation above. You'll notice that at some point, one person started calling the other person an "ass" which made the other person instantly defensive.
Anyways, I guess my ultimate point is simply that, when you are in an unhealthy relationship, things are eventually going to blow up out of control, no matter what.
The biggest way to tell if you're in an unhappy relationship is to ask yourselves how you feel about yourself when you're with them. Do they make you feel good about yourself? If you can't be honest with them (big red flag), you walk away feeling drained, or you find yourself wanting more and more time away from them, these are all indicators of a bad relationship. This doesn't necessarily mean it has to be a romantic relationship. You can have an unhealthy relationship with a neighbor, friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever. It doesn't really matter.
What matters is, a good person will try to lift you up, support you, make you feel good about yourself, challenge you (in a good way), encourage you, etc. They'll make you want for more, just being around them. They have a way of making you feel good about yourself, and enjoying their company. If you aren't having things go the way you want them to go, then sometimes you must stop and take a look around, and ask yourself why.
Now here's the saddest part (in my opinion). I think if you gave people a choice between choosing a broken relationship and choosing a healthy one, they'd inadvertently choose the unhealthy one every single time. And here's why… because people (whether they realize it or not) would rather be broken. I've touched on this before, but let's take a look closer, okay?
What's the difference between someone who's crazy, and someone who's normal? Okay, crazy is unpredictable. Imagine crazy is like a roller coaster ride: you can never predict what's going to happen next with that person. Therefore, crazy is more exciting because you will experience higher highs and lower lows with crazy. If you don't know what to expect, it instantly beckons that side of you that craves change and unpredictability. That side of you convinces yourself that there is something "special" or "different" about this person, and you're right. I've heard this said a MILLION times. The person will always tell me, "there was just something about this person that I couldn't quite put my finger on …" and later as they lay with their heart in the gutter, wondering what it all means, I'm reflecting on the fact that yet another person has confirmed what I already know: that person that they couldn't quite put their fingers on, was crazy! They just didn't realize it!
You see, crazy is fun at first! Exciting even! It's exciting when you meet someone who is different than you, and yet perhaps a little bit like you-or a little bit of what or whom you'd like yourself to be! If we see someone who, for example, takes all these crazy risks, we'll find ourselves attracted to them because the people we often choose as our partners are a direct reflection of how we see ourselves! Or rather, how we'd like to see ourselves!
Anyways, on the opposite end of the spectrum, are "normal" people. Normal people (although can you really define normal?) are the ones who are stable, have good jobs (or whatever) and minimal drama. These people are consistent, they are like the tea cup ride at the local theme park. While their lives are constantly spinning around them, they stay in one place. They don't go up, they don't go down, they just turn with the environment. Therefore, they're not as exciting! Therefore, they are boring to some. Thus, you'll find a longer line for that roller coaster than you will for the tea cup ride! It's just human nature to want to find that bigger roller coaster, that bigger thrill, that person with the unique qualities that we "can't put our finger on." But here's the think, those people are broken!
The other reason that people prefer to have someone broken in their life is because broken is more newsworthy. Let me explain. If you were to watch the news every night, and it was always about people saving the world, or wonderful things happening, you'd stop watching the news, right? That's the same thing in relationships. Bad news is more newsworthy. Therefore, when someone's in a crappy relationship, it gives them something to talk about with all their friends. It gets them more attention, more compassion, more … whatever! So few people truly are happy these days, but when you find a couple that's truly happy-everyone seems to resent them!
The other reason that the above is true is because … If you find someone normal, someone wonderful, it takes everything you've previously thought about relationships and it changes it. It's like living 20 years of your life and wasting it on terrible people, people you didn't connect with, people you were merely physically attracted to, etc. You see, if you find someone wonderful and all you've had is broken, your whole past doesn't make sense anymore, it was like you wasted all that time with the wrong people. Worse, being with someone wonderful permanently changes how you feel about relationships … suddenly, you start to expect more things from someone. You start to want that same treatment from every relationship. You raise your expectations.
Another reason that I believe people prefer someone broken in their life is because as long as they're in an unhealthy relationship, it allows them never to look inside themselves or make changes in their life! It let's you stay the same, you never have to grow as a person. It's like always looking for someone who's physically attractive, and forgetting about what kind of personality they might have. Would it surprise you if they ended up being a terrible person inside? It shouldn't … Again, like I've said before, people look for people who are a reflection of how they feel about themselves. People who only look for "physical attractiveness" and don't care as much about personality, are they themselves self-conscious about how they look. They want to find someone pretty (handsome) so that they can feel better about themselves. Because if they were ugly, most people wouldn't know that they had a wonderful personality until you got to know them. Some people just can't get past what other people look like. They don't seem to care that life isn't about what you look like, it's about how you feel about yourself. They link physical beauty with inner beauty … but that's another blog for another day. My point is simply that by not looking outside the "box" it allows people to stay in their comfort zone, never challenging themselves to grow or be a better person. I think that people are afraid to think outside the box, they're afraid to be alone (yet another reason I could add but won't), or just don't know what they want. So it's easier to stay the same, and stay with that person.
Finally, I think that people prefer to have someone broken, or to remain in an unhealthy relationship, simply because they don't know what normal looks like. They don't know what having a healthy relationship looks like. There is someone I know whom I think is a wonderful, amazing person. One of these days, I am hoping he realizes that he deserves so much more than what he's getting now from his life. The problem is, he gets into unhealthy relationship after unhealthy relationship and can't ever seem to figure out why. As the years have passed, he continues to remain the same, and never truly finds happiness. Meanwhile, really great women (whom I think he'd do so well with) he passes by. The thing is, I have begun to realize that he probably doesn't even know what healthy is! I don't think he would realize a good thing if it bit him in the ass! And that's sad because … he might miss out on someone amazing all because he continues to look at broken as being normal and okay. But it's not. I don't care how beautiful someone is or how physically attractive they are… in the end, it doesn't make up for them being crazy or them treating you poorly. It just doesn't.
Personally, this subject really hits close to home because … I have gone through a lot in my life-stuff I've worked hard to overcome. You know, I used to get freaked out whenever anyone would come behind me and just touch me on the shoulder. I would flinch if someone came to close to me, and I'd back away. I worked on these issues, and I faced my fears, one by one. Sometimes, I'd ruin potential relationships because of it, or I'd allow my past fears and shortcomings to determine how I'd react in any given situation. But one by one, I faced those things and I've come a long way. But sometimes I feel as though I've worked hard to put those things behind me, only to be passed by because I've got my life together (for the most part). Like I said above, it seems as though people would rather have broken. They'd rather have the girl who has drama (or creates it) or the girl who gives them the roller coaster ride through crazy town. They treat them like crap and ruin potentially great guys by treating them like garbage. Meanwhile, someone like me, who wants and knows what great looks like, who knows a good thing when she sees it, has to side on the side lines and wait for them to even notice me or give me the opportunity to show them what they're missing out on. But the truth is, you shouldn't have to convince someone how great you are. They should be able to see it ... but they don't, because they're used to broken. Maybe (a friend offered this one to me) they think that you're too good to be true and won't give you a chance. So that's what I'm constantly dealing with ... and still waiting for the guy who knows a good thing when he sees it and wants similar things...
I've been waiting for a lonnng time. I'm not complaining; I'd rather wait a lifetime to find someone great than to disillusion myself in finding someone crappy. The truth of it all is, I can't handle getting hurt too many more times; my heart is too sensitive and fragile. But I see how things work, and disappoints me. I try to make sense of why a perfectly good guy would rather stay with "crazy girl" than be with someone like me, and I can't figure it out. Many of my friends ask the same questions, and I can't answer them.
Ultimately, you have a decision to make. You get to decide what makes you happy and what doesn't. But I pray, for your sake, that you pick happiness. Find whatever it is that makes you happy, and do it. Don't settle for sort-of happy (my guy friend told me that the other day), don't settle for "slightly miserable" and don't settle for less than something or someone great. Believe me, they're out there and you will find them! And even if you don't, don't worry.
My final thought is this: a great wise teacher said something to me once and I've applied it to life. I was plugging a formula I'd learned in math into this problem. No matter how many different ways I tried to attack the problem, it didn't work. Nothing seemed to work. I was so freakin frustrated that I wanted to rip up the paper and never touch math again (ugh! I hated that subject)… but when I went back to my teach and he saw all the eraser marks on my paper, he took a look at all the things I'd tried and said, "If you find a formula that isn't working right, stop using it. Don't try it again on another problem, figure out a formula that works, and then try it until you get it right. When you do it right, it should be easy."
In a nutshell, when it's the right thing to do, it should come relatively easily. It shouldn't be that difficult. Relationships don't have to be difficult, especially at the beginning. So if you find that you are putting in a lot of effort with very little result, perhaps you should take a step back, and ask yourself if you are using the right formula, or if you're with the right person.
It's okay to admit defeat; it's okay to move on, and it's okay not to be perfect. After all, it's just math. It's just the rest of your life and a few eraser marks on the paper of your life won't matter when you've gotten the answer or the person right.

My Favorite Words

There is so much I want to say but can't ... at least, not yet. So I was thinking about some of my favorite words. Words can be fun ... at least, I think so. Words have the power to hurt or to heal, to start and end wars, to break and to fix. Nothing else has that much power.
With that said, here are some of my favorite words and their meanings.

Transcend : to rise above or go beyond ... This word makes me feel like there's always a possibility of going to the next step, rising to the next level, going forward-without looking back.

Peace: a state of tranquillity or serenity ...Makes me think of harmony (also a good word); would say it's like a state of non-movement. A sort of unambivalent freedom.

Embolden : to make bold or bolder; hearten, encourageTo me, this feels like giving strength to something. To make it stronger. Stronger is almost always better.

Create : to cause into being, or to evolveThis is a really powerful word, don't you think? It's like nothing has suddenly become something. To create is to give power, to grow something, to become something, to make something new.

Dishearten: To shake or destroy the courage or resolution of; dispiritThis is such a strong, meaningful word. When taken literally dis-to take away from, the heart. It's almost like to discourage, to hurt.

These are a few of my favorite words. What are yours?

Celebrity: Gossip, Insight, or Crap?

This isn't a trick question. How much money do you think gets made every single day from selling celbrity gossip? You probably guessed it--millions, billions ... a lot. I read a statistic somewhere, but can't find it now. My point is simply that people like to gossip! They like celebrities and like to follow their lives because something about that celebrity sparks their interest. Perhaps they are intrigued by their looks, their attitudes, or whatever. Whatever it is that compels millions of Americans (I'm strictly speaking USA for the moment) to follow along with their favorite celebrity ends up reaping millions of dollars in profits. Even though I'm stressing the money part, it's not really the fact that we are dumping money down the drain that I want to talk about.
It's the celebrity (celeb) that I want to talk about. What is beginning to bother me is how much press time we actually give these so-called "stars" whenever something happens in their life that we consider "newsworthy." Lately, newsworthy items seem to be bad news tidbits or gossip about their sad, sorry lives. And I admit, I get sucked into it when I hear my friends say, "Oh did you hear about so-and-so" or "who is dating whom?" Because it's fascinating to see from one moment to the next who these people run to.
While it's fascinating, I'm really concerned with the fact that these are celebrities. These are people who are acting (or singing) or whatever. They are putting on a performance or projecting only the characters of themselves! They aren't showing us who they really are. They are people whose real personas sometimes get buried underneath the pressure and expectations of being a star. They always have to appear "happy" or like they own the world or else they are focused in even more by the press (take for example the reaction by the press when Russell Crowe threw a telephone at someone) ... And pretty soon, they are being picked apart piece by piece. So in all reality, they aren't allowed to have a bad day.
Ultimately, it also concerns me that we (inadvertently) encourage children and other people not only to look up to these people, but that by emulating their behaivor, we will be more like them, or at the very least, more famous. But we should really be asking ourselves why it is we put these people on a pedestal when they are real people like you and me.
These people get airbrushed to improve their skin (Cameron Diaz has notoriously bad skin / acne scars) and their photos "improved" with editing software to make them look tanner, more attractive, and thinner. So why is it that we make ourselves try and look like something that's not real to begin with? Why are we, as a culture, so fascinated by pretending to be someone we're not?
I've especially noticed this behavior, this significant change relative to the location in which you live. This behavior and attitude is especially prevalaent here in California. People seem to think that you're not beautiful if you're not super thin, super dark skinned, or super rich. Funny thing is, I'm none of those things. I clearly give the word "white" a whole new meaning, I watch what I eat, but I still need to lose some pounds, and to describe me as "rich" would be a giant stretch of the imagination.
But the truth is, I'm okay with that. What is so disappointing is that other people aren't. They talk about getting a "boob job" (or ask me if I've ever considered getting one), etc. etc. because they aren't happy with themselves.
But my ultimate question always comes down to ... How many people are actually, truly happy? How many of those celebrities, who have to hide behind masks, fake personalities, and character-based personas, are happy? Because if happiness leads to drinking, drugs, and rehab then I don't want *that* kind of happiness. Count me out.
I am still happy to watch the sun as it dips below the hills, shedding its last bit of light on my part of the world. I'm still content to take a walk with my dog and watch as he discovers something new. It's still the simple things that make me happy-not the money, or the things, or even my reputation that propels how I feel about living. Truth be told, I feel bad for people who rely on things or money to make them happy. I feel bad because it's those people who think that having "things" at least makes you enjoy life more while you're here. While an argument could certainly made for that idea, one thing I've consistently noticed is that things only make you happy for a little while.
You get something you're really happy with. You love it, appreciate it, and value it. But pretty soon, there's something new out there that you become fixated on, and the next thing you know, you want something new or different. Suddenly, you look around yourself, and your world is filled with things.
I think that we should take a look at these stars and not emulate them, but take it as a thing of what not to do, how not to live our lives. We shouldn't think that going to rehab is okay. We shouldn't think that making ourselves thinner to make ourselves look better is okay. What we should be focusing on is how to make our lives happier, how to make the world a better place, how to appreciate each other and love ourselves. Those are the things we should be encouraging our children.
Give me a role model who can do those things, and I will be happy to follow their example. One thing I've noticed as a sad final note is that ... it seems as though people now look at broken as normal. Don't get me wrong, I think that each of us struggles with something and we are all (in some way) broken. We all struggle with inner demons and obstacles in our lives. However, it's a sad commentary on the way of society to see people who view going to rehab as a normal event. They have become so desensitized to it that they just accept it- "because the stars do it." And we have started to think "It's okay to have a drug problem-because this person has it." I've noticed that we want to make "broken" normal and yet we don't really even have a "normal" to compare things to! You can't say that airbrushing photos to make a celeb's appearance better or making them look thinner is normal!
Anyways, I just thought I would share ... Maybe it's time we started finding real people to look up to, real people to respect, and real people to base our lives on.
Stars are supposed to be (as defined at Dictionary.com) as a "heavenly body." Despite all the bad press that Oprah gets (eve the good press is so sweet it sometimes makes me sick)... I've noticed that she really tries to do good in the world. She tries to be a positive role model and lead by example. How many people whom we call a "star" can say the same thing?
Before we start changing our lives, getting the lipo, changing how we look, etc. maybe it's time to start looking looking to a different direction to find the things that make us happy-maybe it's time we start encouraging ourselves to be ourselves. No one seems to like a cookie-cutter house. Greatness isn't defined by looking and acting just like everyone else. Sometimes the most beautiful (and extremely valuable) pieces of art are those that are unique ...
Just a thought.

The Filters in Our Lives

So lately, I've become much more interested in photography. There's something about taking images and making them look great that intrigues me. I think it has something to do with the fact that, with the right shot, you can not only capture a moment in time, you can almost capture a sense of being there, in that moment.
Have you ever looked at a photo and even though you've never been there, you can feel as though you could have been? The textures seem so real, so alive, they just grab you from its two-dimensional plane?
Anyways, I'm fascinated by it and recently bought a really nice although not professional quality, digital SLR. It's the kind of camera I'd say an experienced hobbiest would use or the amateur perfecting his / her craft on the path to becoming professional. But hey, it allows me to use different lenses and try different effects (before I have fun with it in Photoshop) so I'm completely happy with it so far.
There are several kits that you can buy to enhance your camera-one of which, or a few of which, are filters. There are all kinds of filters, but I'd say that UV filters, polarizing filters, and possibly flourescent filters are probably most common. Each has its purpose in the field of photography.
But specifically, the polarizing filter operates much the same way our sunglasses do. In a way, it helps provide much stronger contrast to the things we see-for example, it will help darken a blue sky or make the shadows stand out a bit more.
As I was thinking about this, I was reminded about the filters that we often place on our lives. We assign "filters" those things that we want to see, and those things we refuse to see, all in the course of our journey through life.
What's especially interesting is that it is these filters that color our perspectives and provide contrast to how we view life in general. For example, Someone who is racist uses a biased filter over the camera of their life to judge other people based on those things they believe. These beliefs, or filters, are rarely if every challenged because it requires the person (just like the camera user) to remove the filter in order to see a "normal" picture.
I often wonder what lenses and what filters, I have unknowingly applied in my life. Worse, I wonder how to break them down and make them clearer. But then, I see other people's filters, and it convinces me that mine aren't so bad.
There's a guy I know who always gets into the bad relationship. His latest "mistake" continues to treat him poorly. But because he's only been in destructive, unhealthy relationships, he somehow seems to think that this one is good for him. Or perhaps he even sees that it's unhealthy, but doesn't know another "filter" to use for his life, so he sticks with her. So he goes through day after miserable day wondering if there's someone better out there ... and there is. To quote a friend, you can't find the right someone if you're with the wrong someone.
A girl friend of mine always lets men walk all over her. Oh and ... she sleeps with them right away and always tells me, "But I thought he was going to be a nice guy." She is a super attractive Hispanic woman who could probably have anyone she really wanted. But the filter she is using has somehow caused her to view herself as someone not good enough or strong enough or whatever enough to find someone great. And so she let's herself get sucked into these situations where she feels that sex is the only way she can make them interested in her and then can't figure out why they don't stick around.
But then there's me. I think I have the "strong" "tough" filter on right now. But I've had to be that way. I'm starting to wonder if I'm too outspoken (remind me later to tell you how my boss sort of implied that I have that tendency) too independent, too stubborn perhaps? I'm not just talking about relationships, either. It seems like when I get "comfortable" in my job, I start speaking my mind when I don't know if I have the "right" to do that, if that makes any sense.
Well anyways, these filters continue to color our lives and we let them. As for my guy friend, his friends keep telling him to "dump" his girlfriend (I don't dare tell him that). But still, he keeps on trying. I am not sure that he would even recognize something or someone good if he saw them (remind me to tell you later about how he probably thinks I'm crazy). He might not even know how to have a healthy relationship or even what it means to be in one! So in putting on a "broken" or "different" filter, he in essence changed a part of his chemical makeup thus forever altering how he views the world.
I guess I am wondering at this point, if it is possible to change back--is there a magical answer for these filters we place over our lives? My girl friend claims she wants to find someone wonderful, but time after time after time, she ends up with the same kind of guy. As the friend who provides the "advice" I don't know what to do. I don't know how to remove that "filter" or even if it's possible.
What do you think?

Scary but Going For It Anyway ...

You know, when I was a young girl, we lived in the middle of about one hundred acres of woods and forest. Believe me, when you live in Oregon, that’s possible. At night, not only was it extremely quiet ... but you could often hear things crashing around in the forest.
It was those sounds that terrified me. Of course, I always ended up getting the chore of taking out the garbage. I would run as fast as I could across the driveway to where the garbage cans were. Then I would sift through the trash (a strange thing my mother would insist upon to ensure nothing important had been thrown away) and make my way back as quickly as possible to the house.
Things that scared and terrified me also made me eager to overcome them. A famous story (that my mother always tells at parties-so embarassing) is that when I was four, I saw the curtains moving on the door outside (due to the breeze) and I asked what made the curtains moved. "Ghosts." My brothers insisted. "They are trying to scare you." Well, while the thought scared me, I marched over to the door, opened it, and shouted, "BOO GHOST!"
If you fast forward, this approach to life actually is true just as much today as it was then. Things that terrify me only bolden my resolve to conquer them (with the exception of scary rides and death-defying stunts of madness)... even the idea of my current job scared the crap out of me, but I did it because I wanted to prove to everyone else (and especially to myself) that I could do it. I could be strong enough, tough enough, brave enough.
I did it. Six years later, I am still here ... having conquered many fears and shortomings within myself to be able to do it. But the truth is, underneath it all, I think I’m still afraid on some level.
Fear is a natural part of life. Some of us are constantly running from it, and others take the time to face our fears-we just do it a little bit more slowly than most people. We don’t run from them, but we don’t jump in either ...
I think I need to take my relationships slowly, one day at a time with someone patient, kind, and romantic. :)
Those are my thoughts.

Part of my Novel (PUZZLEMENT)

PUZZLEMENT
I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.
~ Martin Luther King Jr.

Birthdays were really special to me. They meant that a person was one year older and I couldn’t wait to grow up. Today was my fifth birthday. Five years old. It seemed like such a big number.
Sun was shining through the windows of my bedroom, a hopeful indicator of a good day to come. I kicked the covers toward the end of my bed; for once I didn’t mind getting up. I padded over to the door and peeked into JJamie’s room to see if she was awake yet. She wasn’t. I poked her hard in the arm.
"It’s my birthday!"
"Shut up. Go back to sleep." She rolled over.
I stared at her for a moment, debating whether to poke her again, but decided against it. It was annoying she didn’t seem to care it was my birthday.
The old wooden clock downstairs told me that it was 10:00 a.m. It was late and no one was yet up. Other than the snoring I could hear from Mom’s bedroom, the rest of the house was quiet.
A quick glance outside revealed Dad’s truck was gone. I felt a stab of disappointment. His trips to the woods meant he wouldn’t be home until late, and he hadn’t asked me to go with him.
I sat on the couch and stared at a blank television. Turning it on would mean trouble. It seemed as though everyone had forgotten my birthday. No one talked about it or brought it up. It was the only time of the year I got a present.
I wracked my brain to try and remember when the last time they had actually spoken about my birthday. As I sat on the couch, I recalled the terrible events that had led up to today.
It started with an argument, like it always did. Like always, it ended with Mom screaming, Dad yelling, and then the all too familiar sound of the screen door slamming closed.
Normally, the subjects of their arguments were a mystery to me, some sort of grown-up predicament I hoped would be resolved with as little violence as possible. But this time, as I covered my head with my pillow, I knew it was my fault they were arguing. They were arguing about me.
It had also started earlier that day, during one of our usual trips to the store and my brothers had come along. I always hated it when they came along, because they always made me do things I didn’t want to do.
I found myself in the toy isle, a small collection of books, crayons, markers, and games. Someone grabbed my hand roughly, and I looked up with a start. It was Jay, gripping me so that I couldn’t let go.
"Come here." He whispered, pulling me toward the candy isle.
He picked up a snickers bar and some gum. "Put these in your pockets." He said.
"No."
He punched me twice on my arm. "Put these in your pockets or when you get home we will hurt you." He shoved the candy into my hands.
"Hurry up! Put it in your pockets."
I tried to put the candy back on the shelves, but this time, he pinched my arm, hard.
"Do it." He hissed.
Trembling, I put the candy in my pockets. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe when he turned around, I could put it back on the shelves.
Just then, Dad came up with a cart of groceries. "Let’s get going. Go get your brother."
Jay disappeared around the corner. I knew that I only had a few moments alone. I was trembling and afraid. And I couldn’t bring myself to put the candy back.
"Time to go!" Jay announced, grabbing my arm again.
I could barely breathe and my heart was racing. It felt like it was suddenly a million degrees in the store. It seemed to take forever for Dad to go through the line and the telephone at the checkstand kept ringing.
When the clerk finally picked up the phone, she focused her eyes on me. I tried to hide behind Dad, but then a larger clerk came and spoke briefly to the clerk. Then, he said something that I didn’t hear. Dad looked down at me, surprised.
The next thing I know, my pockets were emptied and the stolen candy revealed. His look of disappointment overwhelmed me, and I began to cry. I glanced quickly around, looking for my brothers, but they were nowhere to be found.
We paid for the other items, and rode home in silence. When we arrived at the house, Dad stopped the truck, but didn’t get out. We sat there for a moment before he said, "We aren’t going to tell this to your mother. She doesn’t need to know. Understand?" He looked at my brothers expectantly.
It was only later that I learned that they had said something anyway. Mom was angrier than I had seen her in a long time. They fought and after Dad’s usual disappearance, she came for me. She took me out onto the porch, made me pick out a piece of splintered cedar from the wood box, and then hit me over and over again. I tried to tell her the truth, but it didn’t seem to be the truth she wanted to hear.
The one thing Mom always demanded to know when she hit me was why. That seemed to be the only answer I didn’t know.
Finally, out of desperation and pain, I told her that I was hungry; that was the reason I had stolen the candy. At one point, I put my hand behind my back in order to prevent her from hitting me any longer, and she just kept hitting me anyway, giving my arm a few painful whacks and then hitting me harder for trying to defend myself.
The whole time, she said things like, "This is hurting me more than it’s hurting you." But I didn’t understand how that could possibly be true; I was the one who would wake up in the morning unable to move.
When I was safely in my room, unable to sleep from the pain, I reflected on the events of the day. All I could think was that Dad wasn’t there to protect me. He wasn’t there when I needed him the most.
I felt hopeless and lost, and cried myself to sleep.
It seemed that after my worst beatings, Dad always found a way to take me to the store. Another excuse to get out of the house, for both of us.
"I’m going to take Dawn to the store." He announced one morning.
"She doesn’t deserve to go."
"It’s almost her birthday."
"Do you deserve to go to the store?" she looked at me.
I didn’t know what to say. If it appeared for even a moment that I actually wanted to go to the store, she would find a reason to not let me go.
"No." I replied sullenly, pretending I didn’t care one way or the other. But I did care; I couldn’t wait to get out.
"Take the little beast with you." She sneered. "But she doesn’t deserve to have a birthday."
When we were safely in the truck, it refused to start as always. I was anxious to go before she changed her mind. The truck responded to the turn of the ignition with coughs and sputters. After a few more tries and some cursing from Dad, the Ford roared to life.
It was only when we were out of sight I began to relax.
"Ah, that woman!" Dad understood me; it was as if he was acknowledging feelings I didn’t have to explain.
We got to the store, and I found myself terrified to go in. I grabbed Dad’s hand and looked down at the floor. It felt like everyone was staring at me and my face stayed red the whole time. The clerks would certainly always remember me as the girl who stole from them and I couldn’t bring myself to look at them as we passed.
I stayed as close to Dad during the whole trip as I could, not wanting to leave his side. But when we got to the meat section, I knew it was annoying him.
"Honey, go play." He told me.
Reluctantly, I walked slowly down the isle toward the place I loved so much. There were the same old boring coloring books-Transformers, Superman and Friends, Barbie. But as I moved them aside, a small box caught my eye. It was a picture of a giant chocolate chip cookie with a bite taken out. I picked it up, and realized in excitement that it was a puzzle! It was perfect.
Smiling, I raced to find Dad. As always, his answer was the same. "Okay angel. I don’t have the money to get it today, but if it’s still here the next time, I’ll get it for you, okay?"
"But Dad, it will be gone!" I had never seen such a marvelous thing at the store before. It was better than a coloring book or stickers. I knew that if we didn’t get it right then, it wasn’t going to be there when we got back. But Dad refused, and I put it back on the shelf, hiding it under the coloring books.
The day passed, as it always did. I was in trouble, so play time was not allowed. The next few days, I spent countless time thinking about that cookie puzzle and how much fun it would be to put it together.
A few days later we returned to the store, and I couldn’t wait to get there. All I kept talking about was the cookie puzzle. Dad seemed surprised that I still wanted it. "If it’s still there, you can have it." He chuckled, reminding me that someone else might have bought it in our absence during the week.
I raced to my favorite isle, dug through the pile of coloring books, and discovered that my puzzle, the thing I had waited for, was gone.
Determined, I kept looking-digging through the books. Checking twice. Three times. Maybe it was somewhere else in the isle. I checked the rest of the home goods-the sewing section, the light bulbs, the cleaning supplies. Where else could it possibly be? I walked up and down the isles, scanning near the bottom shelves. Maybe someone had picked it up only to set it down again. It wasn’t long before I found my dad.
"I can’t find it." I whined.
"You can’t always get what you want," was his nonchalant reply. That was it? Here I had waited a whole week only to come back and discover it gone? It was more than I could bear. Mustering up my courage, I approached one of the store clerks. He seemed about the same age as my dad, only taller and much larger in the stomach. "Yes?" he looked down at me uncertainly, as if he didn’t know how to deal with small children.
"There’s a puzzle …" I started. But I realized I hadn’t known what to say and suddenly I was embarrassed.
"A puzzle?" A strange look spread across his face. I was bothering him.
"I was looking for this puzzle I saw here before." I managed.
"Really?" he wiped his hands on his apron. "We don’t usually sell puzzles, I don’t think. But I’ll help you look for it, okay?"
I nodded, taking the lead down the aisle to where the toys were. He claimed the store didn’t sell puzzles, but clearly it did because I had seen that puzzle. Perhaps he didn’t even know where the toy aisle was let alone what to find there. I doubted he had any kids.
"See? No puzzles here." Was his brisk reply, not even having taken more than a minute to help me look. He didn’t even bother to ask anyone else. "Okay." I took one last look through the shelves and then gave up. Clearly, it wasn’t there. Someone else probably had seen how neat it was and had taken it home. I missed out, again. I feeling of disappointment surged through me and nothing else I looked at seemed to even come close to the value of that puzzle.
I found my dad again. When he encouraged me to go play, I just remained by his side, staying silent.
"You really wanted that puzzle, didn’t you?" he said as we left the store.
"Yeah."
Our ride home was spent in silence. I was thankful, for it was one of the few times when silence was welcome. As we drove, I reflected on the fact that despite the few toys I had, somehow that puzzle was the only thing I wanted.
The only consolation seemed to be that my fifth birthday was coming up and I was really excited about it because it was a chance to get another toy if I was really lucky. It wasn’t so much the idea of getting something that excited me, it was the idea of the surprise. Something nice they had to do just for me. It was my birthday. The only day out of the year it got to be all about me.
It seemed as though the days couldn’t pass quickly enough. I was such a good girl. I did more chores in the next few days than ever before; I even volunteered for extra projects-just for a chance to get a birthday present. My mind continually focused on Mom’s words that I didn’t deserve one. If only she knew who I really was, would she say that about me? Would she call me undeserving? Would she call me names then? If she knew that I wasn’t the one who wanted to steal anything, who even thought of such things. Would she even care to know it was the idea of her precious, favorite son?
With all the extra chores, the days flew by. I didn’t have much extra time to beg the boys to play with me anymore. So when they took off on their usual adventures, I did not attempt to go with them or try to figure out where they had gone.
One morning, while our parents were asleep, Jamie and I were peeling potatoes for breakfast. Chris started searching through the cupboards, excited.
"What are you doing?" Jamie asked him.
"Looking for something."
"Duh. What are you looking for?"
"More candles." Was his only reply.
"For what?" Jamie’s hands were on her hips now, their usual resting place.
"For what?" Chris mocked her voice.
"You’re acting more and more like Jay every day."
"Shut up." He kept banging the cupboards closed loudly.
"You shut up!" she hissed. "You’re going to wake up Mom. I’ll tell you where the candles are if you tell me why you want them."
With that, he stopped. "It’s actually really cool." He said proudly. "If I show you what we’re doing, you have to promise not to tell anyone!"
Jamie shrugged, "Who am I going to tell?"
"Her." He pointed to me.
The whole time they had been talking, I had been standing there quietly, potato in one hand, peeler in the other, listening to their conversation. Even though I knew they hated it when I overheard their conversations, my curiosity had gotten the better of me, as it often did.
"She won’t tell anyone."
"Yes, she’ll go running to Daddy, and then we’ll all get into trouble." He emphasized the word Daddy as if to remind me that my dad was not his father, but rather his step-father, a person they detested.
"I will not!" I protested. "I want to know what’s going on!"
"Shhhh!" they spoke in unison.
"She won’t tell." Jamie looked back at him.
He looked at me. "You have to promise you won’t tell anyone."
"I won’t tell. I promise." I was anxious to know what the secret was. I would have promised just about anything to find out what they were up to.
"You better not." He grinned.
Jamie got a chair and stood on top of it, opening cupboards far above my head. She pulled out several large candles and matches. She handed me some to carry, as if to make me know that I was definitely in on whatever they were doing.
I could tell from the way she looked at him curiously, that she was not sure what they were up to either.
We headed silently out the front door and Chris led us back toward the barn. The barn was an older wooden building in the back of the house that housed chickens, goats, and rabbits as well as their feed, hay, and miscellaneous other items including the lawn mower and all of Dad’s woodcutting tools.
Puzzled, both Jamie and I followed him quickly to the barn, almost breaking into a run to catch up.
We opened the door to the barn as quietly as we could to avoid the loud crack it often made as it swung closed. Rays of sunlight peeked into the barn from the random places where the wood was inconsistent or not firmly fit together. But it still took my eyes time to adjust.
"What are we doing here?" Jamie asked Chris, but looked at me. I simply shrugged.
Jamie grabbed me by the hand and we followed Chris past the rabbit cages on the left and back toward where hay bales from the season before we stacked up against the far back wall. The barn had a particular smell, one that I loved. It was a mixture of freshly cut grass, animals, and life.
The hay bales, which at one time were neatly stacked and orderly, were now placed at odd angles and into a strange configuration. We could hear someone or something in the back of the barn.
"Get in here!" I heard Jay demanded.
I stared down at the two candles I saw, and couldn’t bring myself to go into the center of the fort. "The candles!" I gasped.
"Shut up and get in here … now!" Jamie demanded. But it was no use. I wouldn’t budge. I backed up as fast as I could, despite more protests –including threats from the boys. As soon as I was safely out of the fort, I left the barn as fast as I could, my heart beating loudly in my chest.
But I was afraid and stood outside the barn, breathing hard. Didn’t they know what they were doing? The hay was mostly wet, or damp, true, but it could still catch on fire. It wasn’t all damaged by the elements; dad had seen to that.
My mind raced with the possibilities. I was especially afraid for Jamie. If the hay caught on fire while they were inside, they could die… and so would the animals.
A few minutes passed, and I could see the three of them emerge from the barn. I silently hoped that they had extinguished the flames of the candles before they left. They looked annoyed by me and passed me, saying, "Not a word."
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to be a "tattle tale" and partly, I hoped to earn their trust. They were only my half brothers and sister and it always seemed like they had their own secret club that I was never a part of. More days passed and still I said nothing. One morning, I woke up late and, like I always did on a beautiful day, sat by the window to admire the beauty outside. I dared not go downstairs lest the day begin and I wanted to enjoy myself just a bit more. It seemed as though the moment Mom heard any movement, she would assign chores, wake up, and start our day of working.
I glanced outside and it was practically cloudless. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were singing their usual happy chorus. I watched as the moisture on the roof of the barn dissipated into the early morning sun. But that’s when I realized that it wasn’t dew but black, angry smoke rising from the building. As quickly as I could, I put my shoes on and raced outside. Dad was already there, running in and out of the barn. He was wheeling out the lawnmower when I found him.
"Get inside the house, now!" He yelled, his voice panicked and harsh.
I immediately obeyed. I waited inside Mom’s greenhouse for signs it was over. But I could hear more yelling and heard the boys being told the same thing.
When it was over, half the barn lay in ruin. I don’t know if any of the rabbits or other animals were hurt, because Dad wouldn’t let me into the barn for weeks. A part of me believes that they had to have been, because given the damage to the barn; there was no way the animals in that section of the barn could have lived.
I had never seen my dad so furious. He yelled at Jay and Chris. Nothing escaped him; he knew exactly who it was. When the yelling was done, I could see that he held in his hand two of the candles, now charred and grotesque looking, that had been recovered from the barn.
No one even questioned whether or not I had started the fire; dad knew me. For once, I felt safe. Safe that is, until Dad started questioned them about their involvement.
I think they would have given in, would have admitted that they were responsible, but Mom came in the room and suddenly their story changed. Before long, the fire was my fault. Jamie claimed she had seen me carting off candles to the barn; suddenly candles that I had never seen before were produced from my room, supposedly "hidden" by me in an attempt to be sneaky.
Before long, I was accused of starting the fire, and with three witnesses against me, I had no chance of anyone believing me. I didn’t even bother to ask them why, nothing they could say would be a good enough answer.
When Mom beat me, she kept demanding I tell her over and over again why I had taken the candles to the barn. But after my hair had been caught on fire, I had been afraid of fire, terrified of it. I could not possibly think of a reason that would make sense to bring the candles to the barn, so I kept telling her the truth, over and over again. She kept hitting me as if the idea of lying to her was more atrocious than the act itself. As each hit continued to torture me, she did not let up and my cries of pain did not stop her.
At some point, I was so much in pain that I found myself unable to breathe. She continued to demand that I tell the truth; she claimed she would stop if I told her the truth. I started to question whether or not I knew what the truth was anymore. It seemed as though it wasn’t the truth she wanted, but merely for me to acknowledge that I was a bad person and that everything was my fault. But she kept hitting me and I could scarcely think as the pain seemed to radiate in all directions in my back. She didn’t even seem to notice that she was now hitting my lower back, the cedar making a painful loud whack as she struck me again and again. When she paused to ask for me to tell her, I made up a story about how I had taken the candles to the barn when everyone was sleeping. I made up a story, ridiculous and impossible, but she didn’t seem to care. She started to hit me again, this time demanding to know why I had lied to her. She didn’t stop hitting me as she promised, and I had given away my integrity. She demanded over and over again to know why I lied to her. No matter what excuse I gave, she would come up with another reason to hit me.
"Why did you lie to me?"
"Because I was scared to get into trouble."
"Then why did you keep lying to me?""I don’t know." I don’t know had been my standard answer, but her questions came as fast as my lies and the whacks even faster.
"Tell me why you lied."
"I don’t know!" I cried, the pain unbearable, the truth like a fleeting thought I couldn’t hold onto.
"WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME?"
"Because I’m a bad girl." I cried out in sheer desperation. Those were the magic words, because she stopped. At long last, she threw the cedar block back into the wood bin.
I pulled up my pants, wincing in pain as the cloth rubbed against my tender backside.
"That’s what you get for lying to me. You don’t seem to learn anything." Her arms were folded now, her eyes distant and cold.
"Now you are going to go to bed." She demanded, pointing inside.
I walked slowly past her, watching her out of the corner of my eye, shaking and afraid to turn my back lest she grab me. She didn’t, but she kept watching me, all the same. Every movement hurt, but I was afraid to show her how much because I feared she would only say something more or do something else. I made my way slowly up the stairs, using the railing to help me. I remember one leg hurting so much that I had to put very little weight on it.
When I got to my room, I was afraid to turn around, afraid to look at what had been done. And yet, I felt my body growing hotter by the second. When I got to my room, all I remember is turning around and seeing something terribly wrong. The backs of my legs had welts the size of softballs sticking out, swollen and hot. Sometime after, I must have collapsed.
I woke up, and found ice packs had been placed under my legs. Jamie stood above me, positioning my legs. Apparently, I must have passed out from the pain, and she picked me up and put me in bed. We didn’t say a word to mom, and luckily she didn’t come up the stairs for us that night.

Suddenly, everything I did was regarded with suspicion. Everything I did was carefully watched and criticized. I didn’t get to play outside or sit in my swing for a very long time. Every day, Mom made me work in her greenhouse, forced to water the plants for hours, clean up dead leaves, replant the pots she had broken in her fits of anger, and stay out of her way. Everything that had gone wrong was my fault; every bad thing that had happened was because of me. I was treated like a bad seed, and Mom often told me how "rotten to the core" I was. She couldn’t believe she had given birth to such an "evil" child. And yet, I kept quiet and kept on watering the plants. My fifth birthday was coming up, and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.
A few days before my birthday, Dad produced a package and put it next to their bed. I knew it was my birthday present; it was the only time of year when we got anything special. Suddenly, everything that had happened the last couple of weeks dissolved into the curiosity of wanting to know what was in that package. I made excuses to walk by their room when Mom wasn’t there, just so I could try and figure out what it was. The tedious hours spent watering plants melted away as I pondered the mystery of the brown package. There wasn’t much else to think about or look forward to.
The night before my birthday, Dad and Mom got into a giant fight as to whether or not I would get my birthday present.
"She doesn’t deserve it. I think we should take it back." Mom’s voice was demanding.
"It’s hers. I’m not taking it back." Dad’s voice was adamant.
Around and around they went. Mom finally yanked the door open and stared down at me. She had set me to hand wash the entire living room floor.
"You don’t deserve to have a birthday this year, do you?" She stared at me with those piercing blue eyes of hers.
I didn’t know what to say, but the worst response was no response.
"No." I kept on washing the floor.
"That’s right." She snarled. "You don’t deserve a birthday. Therefore, you’re not going to have one."
The days passed slowly; I was given more chores than normal. I somehow had convinced myself that if I did the chores without complaint, I would be reward with whatever it was that was in that package. I hoped that maybe by my birthday, they would forget that I was the "bad child."
The day of my fifth birthday, as I sat on the couch, I recounted all of the events that had happened that had led up to this day. As the day wore on, no one even brought up my birthday. Maybe they forgot! So I decided to say something about it.
"It’s a very special day!" I told my sister, bouncing up and down in front of her.
"I already told you, go away!" she hissed. I left her alone. But later, while she was cleaning the kitchen, I decided to check the fridge to see if they had a cake hidden away for me. There was nothing there.
"There’s no cake." I sighed loudly, shutting the door.
"Shhh." Jamie put her finger to her mouth. "Mom will hear you and wake up!"
"But it’s my birrrthdayy!" I whined. "And you haven’t even said anything to me. You didn’t even wish me a happy birthday!"
Jamie grabbed my arm and looked down at me. "Listen. Mom told us we aren’t allowed to talk about your birthday. So if I were you, I’d just shut up about it already."
So there it was; Mom had decided not to even acknowledge my day. Worse, she had told everyone else not to bring it up either.
"But why?" I protested, even though I already knew the answer. "You could at least wish me a Happy Birthday!" I protested.
"Happy Birthday!" she whispered. "Now leave me alone before we both get into trouble."
I was so upset that I started to cry, and ran out the front door before she could stop me. It was my fifth birthday and Mom told everyone that we weren’t going to celebrate it this year. The one thing I had to look forward to had been taken away from me.
I busied myself with my chores, and tried to forget that it was supposed to be my birthday. I kept singing the words over and over again to myself, but it didn’t feel the same. Usually, I’d get a cake made just for me on my birthday. We didn’t have much money, so cake was rare in our house. Celebrating anything was rarer still. My birthday was being taken away from me for something I hadn’t even done. The thought of it all made me angry at my brothers and especially at my sister for not sticking up for me.
Later that evening, dinner was especially quiet. I was usually the least quiet of everyone; I always had something to say. But today, the sadness I felt couldn’t be lifted. Mom continued to stare at me throughout my meal. I could feel her eyes watching me as I put bite after bite into my mouth, not daring to look up. One by one, everyone else finished their dinners first and asked to be excused. As usual, I was the last one left at the table; it was just Mom and me. The silence made me anxious. At some point, she said, "It’s your birthday today."
I looked up, surprised. Maybe I had been wrong after all.
"Yes!" I dared to let excitement creep into my voice.
She got up from the table and brought me that brown package I had waited so long to open.
"Your dad should have taken this back; you don’t deserve it." She plopped the package in front of me.
I didn’t dare answer, for fear that she would change her mind.
"Open it." She demanded.
"Really?" I looked down at the package wondering if it was a trick.
"Hurry up." She responded. I tore into the brown package with a fury, and there it was-the puzzle I had so desperately wanted. It came in a small box and it was perfect.
I just stared down at it, and couldn’t help but smile. Dad had remembered! That’s why I wasn’t able to find it at the store. He had gone back and gotten it for me.
"May I be excused?" I asked, picking up the puzzle.
"You may." She responded, but she had a strange look on her face. "But you can’t have the puzzle."
I looked up at her curiously.
"I just wanted you to see what you were missing out on." She replied, picking up the puzzle with her bony skeleton hands.
"You don’t deserve to have it. So when I feel you deserve it, I will give it to you. But not until then. Do you understand?"
"Yes." My heart sank. She had given me the puzzle only to take it away again.
Worse, she placed it on her dresser, right where she knew I could see it, and it sat there for weeks and weeks. I tried to convince myself I didn’t want the stupid puzzle anyways, but I did. I pictured putting it together over and over again, and imagining what it might be like to get to eat the cookie. Sometimes I imagined that I would wake up from the bad dream I was having and she would hand me the puzzle and tell me how sorry she was for having taken it away, but she didn’t.
Some time later, Dad saw it sitting on the dresser and mistakenly assumed I had left it there after playing. I don’t think he had any idea she had ever kept it from me. He handed me the box, to my amazement, and said, "Here you go pumpkin. Make sure you put that away so your Mom doesn’t get upset that it’s out."
I knew I wasn’t supposed to get it, but I was so excited, I couldn’t say a word. I took the puzzle up to my room and hid it underneath my pillow. I didn’t dare attempt to put it together just yet.
When Mom found out that Dad had given me the puzzle, she was furious, but after yet another fight, the battle was won. It ended in a flurry of thrown items and slammed doors, but in the end, they seemed to forget why they were fighting. I had been beaten, tortured over something I hadn’t done, and punished for it. But I was also left with the best birthday present I had ever gotten: a silly puzzle shaped like a cookie with a bite taken out.