Tenderfoot. Softie. I used to hate those names. Once those words said to me could make my blood boil. I was a tough girl, and I was strong, able to take on the best of you. I ran barefoot over gravel. Snakes, bugs or even toads did not make me squeal.
I might have been a fighter with a big ole’ chip on my shoulder, but yeah, I was still a softie. I fell in love, gushed with pride over my adorable babies, felt pain before and after surgeries, had my heart broken, and etc.
Like Brené Brown, I’ve come to realize being vulnerable isn’t a weakness. Softness holds strength. I’m thinking of the almighty power in the aroma of coffee in the morning. It moves me like no bell of alarm could. Or the giggle of a young child. The smell of dirty laundry. What about the viral memes that flow through society with the ability to change a culture?
I have a few abandonment issues. It seems odd when you’re my age. No, I wasn’t dropped off at a train station as a youngster. My parents weren’t crack heads either.
Think of big families. Loud. Boisterous. Then there’s that one person who tries to speak up. The quiet one. No one’s listening. It’s at that moment you understand the feeling of introverts. Do we jump up and throw potatoes to get attention? Or do we sit down because what we have to say isn’t worth the effort?
People are not listening, and you can tell. Have you noticed the general trend towards perfecting our own bubble? And when we jump into our particular listening mode, you almost hear the weirdness. The “Yes, Aha.” If you were in therapy, they’d say, “And how did that make you feel?” Ick.
Narcissism and Self-absorption are more prevalent than they once were. Maybe it’s because we are living in a more crowded environment. I don’t know. More people are choosing to become attention grabbers-potato throwers. Hey, whatever works for you! I’m currently trying to decide whether to sit back down or eat my potatoes.
I’m not a great poet or speaker, but that never stopped me from saying what I felt. Maybe at times I’d be better sitting down and letting others wax poetic. Maybe. It’s a tough call to know when to speak up and when to sit quietly, hands folded. I want that wisdom.
There were times when I’ve spoken, and the words echoed back at me. Awkward. A room full of conflicted expressions and I was reluctant to continue. I wasn’t understood. How do you breach people’s defenses? Do we have an obligation to try?
It’s awkward at best to keep speaking. Usually, we sit. Or grow red in the face, yelling at our new opponent. The enemy has been marked. There’s another strategy to try. Stop the oratory. Become ordinary. Be Joe. Be Jane. Simple people, everyday activities. Change things. It’s alright if you’re not a great spokesperson. Maybe you hated speech class or drama in school.
Do you tell your friends about your favorite TV show? That local dive you went to with your guy last weekend. Did you share those pics on Facebook? Yeah, so did I.
First grade jarred me from my innocence. That’s when I learned society had expectations. It required me to measure up. I knew about the measuring tape and the door post. I knew my mom was five feet two inches tall and she was tall enough to reach the top of the refrigerator. This was big. Elementary School opened my grey-blue eyes another concept.
What did you get for Christmas? Where did you go for Summer vacation? These were the questions my teacher asked when we were in school. The fun camping trip or the week you spent with grandma became part of competition. Level up.
In second grade one child shouted she went to Disneyworld for summer vacation. My summer paled in my eyes even though it had been filled with staying up late with best friends and playing hide and seek with my cousins. I wasn’t enough. As you can see, my belief in scarcity started young.
Know your currency
My family owned two thriving businesses in our small town of 3000 or so people. None of that mattered to a first grader when it’s story time, though. I reached for a quick currency. The going rate of exchange for school kids was a story. It was how we were proving our worth at that moment. If I’d only seen a bear while camping, gosh darn it!
Fitting in isn’t quite as easy as picking a pair of shoes. You don’t point to a style and say yeah, I’ll take that in size 8. There are methods. But it’s not so simple when you’re six or even twelve. Maybe not when you’re 20. If you’re the queen, you know where to sit. You wear the crown, and people bow to you. There are rules. Royalty. You do what you do because – well, hell, you are you.
Collinsville thrived on its small town charm. Parades filled Main Street on cold holiday mornings with marching bands and paper flowers covered cars with trailing streamers. Friday nights meant a competitive football game or a movie in the theater. We had our regular early morning coffee drinkers at the restaurant. And those who liked to stay late at the bar down the street.
I might not have been tall like my brothers, but I could reach the cereal box on top of the refrigerator by dragging and standing on a nearby chair. It was this new type of measure that was difficult. So, I learned a new trick. I learned to tell my story. But now I know it’s much more than telling a good tale. It’s listening without worrying if your present was better than mine.
“You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” John Rohn
If you look out your front window, you’d think the world is doomed. There are no good guys. Politics are a sham. It’s no good to vote. Why bother?
Let’s view this from another window. Someone will sit in the big seat. Even if they’re the one we voted for, they won’t be doing what they promised always. Yeah, they make good speeches, but we still have wars, and we lose jobs. There will floods and hurricanes and fires. Shit happens folks.
Yes, I admit I had a favorite player this time around who didn’t make it past the playoffs. He’s out. I’m picking another because it’s the game. Now it’s the finals, and I have my ticket.
I’m going to sit in my seat and enjoy the game. If you don’t come to cheer or heckle with me, will you be at home knitting? Well, okay. I understand.
After the elections are over, remember the important stuff. Feeding our family. Educating our children. This political uproar is because we care and we want our neighborhoods, our cities, and our states to thrive.
Real change starts at the grassroots level. Presidents are leaders and are prominent. But remember the might of the tiny germ the next time you catch a cold or the flu. One exposure to a virus can spread through a society changing the way an entire culture behaves. Believe it. Think about it the next time you doff your hat or wear your corset. Still wearing yours? A president didn’t ban corsets. There are many other examples.
What issues are on your mind?
Education. Healthcare. Money in politics. War.
What can you change?
Wolf-Pac is taking the Money in politics issue state by state
Education is a broad topic. Volunteer at the local level. Search for organizations you can support.
I had a wad of tangled jewelry, that I needed to untangle if I wanted ever to wear any of the necklaces. Based on the familiar terms of today, I should FIGHT the tangles. But I couldn’t beat them. The chains. The knots.
I’m a problem solver by nature. I use this skill in my job. Often my obsessions over a personal decorating issue can keep me awake at night debating whether I prefer the black bedspread over the navy. In the case of hands and fingers working out the tiny knots in my necklaces, I’m fine. I’m not thinking. I’m doing. It’s almost instinctive how my fingertips will sort through the tangled heap of chains until I have restored order.
Cooperation leads to working together. It ends the game. Fighting causes resistance and prolonging the battle. Is it possible that some enjoy the fight too much to learn to participate or cooperate?
When I was a young girl, I’d see the guys driving the trucks or the farmers who’d intersect on the road wave to each other. It was a thing that men did. But something caused me to wake up recently and take a look across cultural lines.
In both eastern martial arts and in yoga practices there are standard greetings. Both bow in reverence. Martial arts have variances depending on the disciplines, hands at the sides usually, turning toward the teacher. Respect. In yoga, it’s the prayer hands, a quick bow, and Namaste.
My trigger? I was reading a quote about loving your life and was surprised to find the wave, the greeting instructed in another culture.
So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.
Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none.
When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.
When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home. – Chief Tecumseh
Honor someone today.
Show someone respect,
salute a stranger, smile.
Question: So, what does Namaste mean anyway?
My yoga teacher concludes every practice by saying “Namaste”, and I’ve always wanted to know what it really means.
Answer: Yoga teacher Aadil Palkhivala Weighs In
The gesture Namaste represents the belief that there is a Divine spark within each of us that is located in the heart chakra. The gesture is an acknowledgment of the soul in one by the soul in another. – yogajournal.com
Getting my hands dirty. Working with my entire being – mind, body, and heart by creating something that stirs excitement and that brings hope to others, that’s what I crave. I like helping people build their lives and find out how they can change and grow in ways they didn’t think they could. There’s nothing better.
Years ago when I was in the Christian movement I wanted to be a part of the millennial generation because I believed they were the generation changing the world. Crazy huh? I assumed it was all about a God thing. Not so. It’s about people, working together, with different attitudes, methods, and backgrounds, all coming together to end suffering in the world. One subject matters, we all must care for our fellow man.
As I struggled to form words to begin this post, a CNN notification just popped up to tell me that—as the world reels from the terror attack on Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, which killed at least 50 people and injured at least 50 more making it the “deadliest mass shooting in US history”—police in Los Angeles have in custody a person who was armed to the teeth and headed to a Pride celebration in the LA area. So far, the events seem to be unrelated in the strictest sense—i.e., these men likely did not know one another or coordinate in any way—but any attack, or any attempted or planned attack, on a gathering place for LGBTQ people during Pride week can certainly be said to have at least a couple of things in common.
It’s May 2016, and we say hello to Red Pill politics. You might not be familiar with this version of the Red Pill. Red vs. Blue has been splashed across the media in The Matrix, in the policy with the Republicans and the Democrats, and then there is the one I’m talking about, the angry men. I mentioned it in a post from 2014 – The Thing You Didn’t Say.
Be the man
Is your wife too loud-mouthed? Here take this pill and read this book we can fix your marriage because it’s your god given right to be in charge. I’m idealistic, and it shows like an episode of the Brady Bunch. Because I believe families can be a unit, caring for each other. And if dad is in charge, he is there to protect his family. Well, I know that’s just bat-shit crazy.
The Red Pill movement contains more than just one aspect. There are get-rich-quick schemes, pick-up artists sneaky tricks, and even how to keep your dates at arms length while still having all the boys-will-be-boys fun. There’s too much to include in this blog, but check out some of the links below.
Redpillers define themselves as opponents to progressives. They seek to roll back the achievements of “cultural Marxists”, “Social Justice Warriors”, “political correctness” and “radical feminists”, justifying ruthless tactics as a necessary response to these perceived excesses. – Boing Boing JAY ALLEN / 11 AM WED, JAN 28 2015
Strategic Play – Put the woman in her place
So Trump has accused Hillary Clinton of using the Woman card? I’ll use it. Men have been using their cards for centuries. They’ve used it to start wars, claim land rights, even dictating women’s clothing. Didn’t women just battle over the right to vote? Was that a woman card or a man card? And then there’s education, reproductive choices, where to live, who we can marry, and I could continue. You think this has ended in our modern times? Nope. I listened to a story on This American Life, by Ira Glass. A young woman spoke about how when she was seven she lost the right to choose how her body functioned sexually. Yes, it was all about religion, but it doesn’t matter. I won’t go into the entire story because it’s sensitive and revealing, but you’re free to listen to it here 586: Who Do We Think We Are? or below. You can’t play the woman card when you’re seven.
Sugar and Spice
Donald Trump wants to shame women. Sit down and be pretty. He wants women to keep their mouths closed and their opinions to themselves. It’s not going to happen. I will not be ashamed. I will not sit down. I’m a Bernie Sanders supporter, but I’m a woman also. My first choice is Bernie, but I won’t stay home on election day. You shouldn’t either.
They need to know that desire is a mess, and that everyone suffers from its mess. –
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