Emotional, logical and willing to change the world!

Examining myself Part 4

Who am I? This very question has many direct answers and endless theoretically existential ones as well. For the sake of simplicity, I’ll start to examine the more direct answers. Birth seems the most logical place to start, so, I was born into this world a female, a daughter. I still am one, less one parent but still a daughter. I realized recently, that the very thing I was born, a daughter, I may no longer be one day. 
One of the major ways I identify with this existence is being a daughter. It gives me a space to constantly humble myself. Being a daughter means you were once helpless, a baby, then a child and still now I am a woman looking for guidance. Being a daughter, means for me, that I have an obligation to those who give me such a title. It means I have someone to be grateful to, for all they have done for me. It means, someone else has helped me along the way and I owe them the respect they deserve for doing so. It means my longest memories will be as a daughter as well. One day I will be sadden by no longer being a daughter yet freed from my obligations. 
Who I am right now is a daughter, also a woman, also a mother. I’ve been a wife, am a friend and will always be a human. What holds the most control over me, other than being a daughter, is being a mother. There is no other title more powerful to me. It means I am at the helm of other’s worlds. That is an amazing task with which to live. I must do the best I can with all the balance of life in mind. I am committed completely, until my last breath, to my girls for they did not choose me but I chose them. They deserve my all. I will never be free from the breath of being a mom and for that exhausting idea, I am most thankful. I have purpose, if only to keep other humans alive and well and not just survive. I have purpose to make the future better for them, with them and hopefully by them. Being a mom makes me a better me, for I have reason far greater than for myself, to be my best self. With this gushingly thankful idea I rest my thoughts on myself. 

Racism and Political Correctness 

I recently saw an article about which is more of a problem in America, racism or political correctness! I can’t even believe that is the either or! There is a huge racism problem but political correctness does’t fix racism. Fixing racism is a huge task for an entire country, no, worse, an entire world! However, just because there is an expectation or law for people to speak in a politically correct manner, it doesn’t mean people don’t have racist thoughts at heart and in head. 
I am of a mixed race family on many levels. From my great grandfather who had three wives and he himself being of mixed race and then marrying in other races, we are a crazy mix of cultures. I myself have had two different family partners, both of which are of mixed race as well. My family is truly a little melting pot of race and culture. We love it and each other! My children identify with different races then I do and even from each other. It really is beautiful. What is not beautiful is people who think they can squash racism by killing free speech.
Freedom is what we all deserve! Freedom of one’s own right to choose how to deal with their own vessel, freedom of their individual movement and freedom of speech are, at the least, what all humans deserve. So, I cannot even stand the idea that taking free speech away would solve something as in depth as racism. 
I will say that due to free speech I have seen a human being completely transform from being a racist to actually creating a family that is of mixed race. This man had some pretty awful things to say one day about darker skinned people. My husband, at the time, who has dealt with race issues his whole life, took all the comments with a grain of salt. He knew this other guy didn’t seem bad at heart but more likely was raised to believe that people with darker skin are of less value. Needless to say, after my then husband and a mutual friend, had to work many hours with this “racist” guy they were able to rework his point of view. They were able to offer him an open minded and loving view point of the world and the people around him. It literally took him being politically incorrect and straight up crude and racist in order for two other men to show him a better way of thinking and existing. This man is in a mixed raced relationship with a mixed race child now. Anyone knowing this guy, before that day, would have never guessed he’d become a person who no longer rates humans based on their skin color. It took him saying some dumb shit to a couple of patient guys, who want to change the world and in that one guy, they did! 
This is one little example of none political correctness becoming the catalyst for ending racism. I think, it would be harder to figure out who is racist if there is no freedom of speech. The festering and anger beneath a racists persons’ politically correct verbiage may be more dangerous if suppressed. Have you not heard of a blown gasket? Built up pressure is a lot worse than a little steam being let off now and again. Besides, you never know when that steam being let off will be turned into something more beautiful and life accepting. 
I personally have had the opportunity to have a discussion with more than one person who had some racist shit to say. Sometimes I have felt like my words have had impact and sometimes it felt like I was a man pissing in the wind. The beautiful part, was being given the opportunity to offer a more humane point of view, to someone who was obviously raised with an ignorant and narrow minded point of view. 
So, with the racial tensions soaring through this country now, I say as citizens stand together, protect one another, be communities. America can no longer turn a blind eye to the racial issues we have here! This country was horrifyingly founded by stealing the land from the natives and promptly killing the majority of them off. Which by the way was the first mass killing in this country. Then the folks who created the country had slaves work this amazing land. There is no question of the atrocities that have occurred in this country against human beings based on their skin color and beliefs. However, we now live in a day and age where it should no longer be tolerable. It is not acceptable for any black man to be targeted by racist, Napoleon complex having, douche bags in authoritative positions. The “peace” officers who should be in position to protect haven’t been protecting for some time. I feel, when we as citizens turn a blind eye to the corruption on local levels, like in police departments, we’ll never be able to change the state of our corrupt country, that the majority of citizens hate! We must demand change. No exceptions! We must demand transparency with our local police departments as they are suppose to be in position to protect, not kill! Please, someone tell me why something as simple as tranquilizers haven’t replaced these cop killing bullets? 

Examining Myself Part 3

Part 3
I find myself in a constant state of conflict. My desires to be surrounded by people I love and to be completely alone, are sometimes in such brutal battles my body feels physically exhausted. I grew up as an only child but with a huge extended family. I loved holidays and vacations when all my family would gather together. Big dinners and gatherings with loud joyous adults and lots of other kids to play with were exactly how my holidays were growing up and exactly how I pictured my every day life as an adult. I don’t exactly have that picturesque, day to day life. I have a slightly bigger family but our days are not always joyous. Especially, seeing how we have a teenager and a toddler at the same time! Joyous seems to still be nearly reserved for holidays. Okay, that’s not true, we have small moments of bliss all the time. We also have several moments of complete and utter chaos. We have messy moments, loud moments, personal moments and all the other types of moments with at least one other person around.
As a child, for the most part, my life was quiet and private. I always had time to myself. I would spend hours roaming around outside playing in the dirt, grass and woods. I would have all sorts of creative projects going on and all the space I needed for them. I had peace and quiet and long for company. I wanted a sibling to hang out with. I wanted someone to have the same life so at least one other person understood me. I wanted the life my kids have now. 
I have five, beautiful, young women who I consider to be my daughters. They range from early twenties to not even two years old. They all have very different personalities and they all have different backgrounds and of course, everyone of them is unique. It’s truly amazing! Yet, truly exhausting! What I learn as a parent with one child, is hardly useful with any of the others. When one response works with one child, you can almost bet, it will not work with another, yet I try! Almost every time, just to check my state of sanity. I love it though. I love all of them so very much. I’m thankful for every challenge we’ve had because we’ve had each other. My girls have one another to turn to and they will, hopefully, never feel alone in this big world, like I always did.
So, when I’m in a moment of being pulled in too many directions and desperately wanting to throw my hands up and walk away, I start fantasizing about being alone, completely alone. I dream of quiet mornings with no one to interrupt my morning coffee, no matter how early or late I sleep in. I dream of reading in silence, stretching while all I hear are the birds outside and peeing in peace. The one place I will never have peace again is in the bathroom! I have all girls, so I have accepted this. I still imagine cold cups of lemonade refreshing me after a day in my gardens alone. I imagine cleaning up after myself and when going back into another room having it be exactly as I have left it. I dream of creating and not having someone interrupt my process. I dream of grandeur. 
Then after my silly fantasy of being blissfully alone, I imagine wanting to share all of my desires with someone, with my family. How is it, that being alone sounds so beautiful, all the while dreaming of sharing my peace with others? It’s because my own duality came with filling my space and time with others, while truly appreciating my own company and space. I think, I like myself the older I get. Maybe all these conflicting feelings are simply preparing me for an empty nest one day or maybe I’m just a mixed up regular old mom who loves her family but dreams of being alone. 
I don’t wish my family away. I love them and all the chaos that comes with them. However, I love being able to do my own thing. We all need to create and find space for ourselves. Especially if filling all that space with others is what we’ve spent our time doing. In reflection, I probably just need more snippets of alone time and not actually a life alone! 

Examining Myself Part 2

Why, underneath the surface, am I so damn angry? This question drives me nuts and I think that’s because the list is so ridiculously long. I’m angry due to abuse and not just abuse done unto me but the grotesque amount of abuse that is accepted around the world. I’m angry that I have short comings that affect my life negatively. I then get angry when others have the same shortcomings. I’m angry that the world is controlled by deplorable excuses of humans. I’m angry there is so little love. Yet, I have to push forward every day and offer my inner light, even when it is in the middle of weathering it’s own storm and is only a flicker. These few topics are merely the droplets that create the meniscus of my underlying anger. 
I will try to address my anger at abuse. I think it’s actually more towards the lack of trying, by most, to stop it. I literally do not understand how anyone, never mind a mass of people, will stand by and allow another innocent human to be abused and or killed. The enslaved out number their suppressor and hardly any uprisings occur. There are extremes and masses of people in enslavement camps in North Korea. Then down to every day one on one atrocities there are moms who ask their daughters to sweep their abuse under a rug, so daily life will continue on unaffected. There are men watching each other abuse females as if they are worthless and never step in to stop it. This and more make me angry. Do you realize humans, yes humans are our world’s number one commodity? It’s beyond disgusting that humans are still bought and sold! There is no profit in ending abuse! That means there will be no intervention just the same as there will be no cure for cancer. Disgusting!
Now, a much less heavy topic is my biggest shortcoming, my memory. It makes me more angry than it should. I do not have a horrible memory or anything even like that. I literally am so angry that I can’t remember it all. If I read something two or three times it may not stick, if there is no immediate relevancy. If I have a conversation without mental noting it as it moves along, then I will forget the details and only retain the gist. This truly upsets me. It hinders me. I have to put so much effort into remembering details that I literally have to save all that energy for work. Oh, that boils my blood. Not even my passions seem to be able to retain all the details I want to keep. I’m angry that brilliant brains are wasted every day and I so badly want a brilliant brain, so I could change this awful world. 
Back to a much bigger subject, the world and how it is ran truly upsets me the most. It is not a new way or even an old way but seemingly the way. A few elite, controlling, psychopaths go around using up resources for their desires, their control and do so on the backs of slaves, serfs, citizens and even each other. The entire world is ran in such a way to benefit few. This very subject is the matter of a complex dissertation on how not to run the world! 
To finish with only a glimpse of what makes me angry, I’ll finish this post with love and light. I do get angry that I push so hard, most days, to better those around me and beyond. I have been given some seriously atrocious situations to live through in life and yet, I shine. I shine because the gift of life is precious. However, I’m angry that I’m surrounded by those who can’t appreciate the goodness around them. Even in the depths of living hell I’ve managed to be kind to those who needed it. When others have squashed any possibility of hope for love, I have mustered up light and love to offer. How? I can’t say I’m sure. I do know, it angers me. It makes me so mad when others take my love, any love for granted. It’s depleting! 
As I write, I think the last topic about love being used up with little return is what has made me the most angry. I will not allow it to snuff me out, even when I feel it would be nice to just stop feeling so much pain. There is a pleasure in enduring all the hate in spite itself. 
These subjects are on my mind always. I’m not angry at the dumb first world shit. I’m angry at the overall picture of how the majority of humans are suffering. Too many suffer in silent while others cry out loud about silly misgivings. I wish so badly people, humans with any glimpse of humanity left would band together and end the true evils of the world. Until then I suppose I will remain angry, just under the surface. 

Examining Myself part 1 

I contemplate and wonder what’s really going on inside me! Can I answer the question of who am I? No, not exactly and I’m not posing this in a philosophical manner. Well, that’s not exactly true. However, my main focus is to be able to explain myself and to do so would mean I need to first understand myself. Ugh, I’m too complicated. Even the idea of diving into my own psyche is rather exhausting. I guess, that explains why it has taken me so long to even try. It’s a little intimidating yet exciting trying to work through and figure another person out but to figure myself out seems, monumental and in the most exaggerated sense. I will push forward in trying to figure myself out and sharing it with you all. Hmm, more likely some of it, but I will say my goal is to truly pry myself out of my own comfort zone. In that box no one goes very deep, not even myself. Stay tuned for the inquisition. 


I feel the need to remind people of decency! If it is someone else’s special day then do not make it more difficult on them. Don’t invite them to do what you want and have a picnic lunch unless you plan on, at least, paying for your own lunch, never mind pay for the person who’s special day it is! Don’t get them a consolation gift, it’s insulting! Then definitely do not decide to have a party and ask them to call people, pay for the food and do the prep work. Don’t expect them to clean up afterwards either! I really just don’t understand what the hell happened to some people! How the hell can anyone be so self absorbed, where they literally cause nothing but stress and anxiety for another person on their special day? How can anyone then justify said behavior and approach? I seriously don’t get it! 
I feel so crushed. I feel so insulted. I truly don’t want to be around absolutely anyone! I’m so mad that on my own damned birthday I had to pay for my own lunch. Sure, that sounds petty. However, my bank account was hacked the day before, so my accounts are frozen. The person taking me out knew this! We stopped at the fucking bank that day, so I could sign paperwork about the hacking! Then two days go by and it’s this pathetic attempt at throwing me a birthday party, three friends were invited, and I have to pay for all the things we need to have the party. I truly just want to leave my life. I truly am beyond disgusted by all of this. I feel so used and abused. The one true thing I wanted for my birthday was a day alone. Now I have more debt and no time to myself! I just want to scream!  

Alone women, alone babies

Pushing out another human from your body is amazing and powerful. It makes you feel everything all at once and there is no other experience even close to it. Unless a woman has support and kindness all around her, lifting her up, it becomes too easy to fall. Feeling like this amazing experience just happened and then realizing there isn’t someone there cheering you on or rather telling you well done, you just feel a void. That void is the very essence of where a family is suppose to be. When a child enters the world, he or she should be entering into a family not just a place and time. When a mom is alone, where is she suppose to find the strength she needs to pull herself up and be a mom? Well, if she succeeds, she will have to dig deep. She will imagine every moment with her child being everything she doesn’t have herself. She imagines each kiss she gives her child will warm her soul. She imagines every gentle touch is offering the security she wishes she had. Meanwhile, her heart is a messy, broken organ barely able to keep pumping. Her idea of love is so beautiful but it cuts every happy moment enough to remind her she lives in misery. She sits there in an awful, sterile room, nursing her baby, wishing someone would hold her and look at her adoringly. She wishes all the beauty, she was told she had, was there comforting her instead of feeling nearly hopeless and alone. Alone with a reminder that a family for her was nothing more than a broken promise. 

Fleeting thoughts of my dying dad…

I’m sitting at our table in my dad’s seat. It’s painful and surreal that this seat will soon be empty at dinner. I do suppose, the youngest of the family will take it’s place as she grows out of her height chair. The thought alone brings a rush of emotions swelling to my lower lids. What is it about the assigned seats in our family? Why does an empty chair hold so much weight? 

My dad is gone

It was early in May. It had finally started to warm up and the world had brought us a stormy spring day. It was Friday the thirteenth. I had spent three days in one of the local emergency departments’ lock down rooms with my daughter. I was feeling guilty for not being in two places at once. While others were by my dad’s dying side, my soul was being ripped apart watching my daughter suffer. What was left of the shredded edges of my soul became saturated with desire to absorb her pain. I sat helpless holding her close knowing we had so much work ahead for her to heal. Work so difficult it seemed inhuman. There are no short cuts worth taking, at least not that day. Leaving my daughter, that evening, in a locked down, mental health facility was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I crumbled bit by bit on that drive home. The rain had started to lift a little leaving blankets of fog along the road home. It was a peaceful but painful drive. Dusk was approaching like my arrival home. I had just enough time to completely breakdown over leaving my daughter, to gain composure enough to enter my home. I wasn’t sure if my father would be there to talk to one last time, to tell me one last time that everything will work out or to tell me one last time he loved me. I didn’t know if I would get any comfort on this horrible day and I had to prepare myself for the possibility of more pain, more loss. That is what I arrived home to. A quiet body with no breath. 
Watching my father suffer was like having the last part of my childhood being ripped away. I felt incredibly helpless. The process of death taking hold was going to happen, there was no other way. Everything he knows as existence, his life, had to come to an end. I don’t know if my dad knew why I wasn’t there as he drew his last breaths. I don’t know if he remembered that I was with my daughter or if he was sad or mad that I wasn’t there. Those thoughts will forever haunt me. 
The last time I saw him, I was trying to say goodbye for the last time. I wasn’t sure when I’d be home again when I left that morning but I knew he may not be alive when I returned. Yet, hugging him and kissing him and telling him that I loved him so much wasn’t enough, I knew it. However, you don’t vocalize something like, I probably won’t see you again. That would have killed hope. Hope that he would be talking and coherent when I came home again. 

My dad had looked so weak. More frail than I could have prepared myself for. I have had loved ones die and I have cared for some elderly people but there was nothing to prepare, the little girl inside my heart, for my dad dying. I have written about the misconception of age, within my head, that I have, when it comes to my parents. I kind of always had kept this idea of my dad being around thirty-five years old. He was so young, strong and limber. I remember him doing front handsprings and kicking in the air so high. I remember him carrying heaving loads of lumber and buckets of concrete while working on the house. I remember my dad climbing on the roof, like a monkey, to clean or repair the chimney. I remember my dad always bulling and tearing around, to get as much done as he could on weekends. I remember rockets, gadgets and all sorts of machines that he had made. I remember being in awe of everything he could do and growing up to realize, my dad is still doing really cool things that I can’t figure out. He was always there to fix broken toys and often made them better. Even as an adult he was still the one I went to when anything broke or wouldn’t work or when I didn’t know what to do. As mechanically different as we were, I’ll miss having that one other person who just understood me, because we were so much alike. 

We never hugged much and I was always ok with that. My dad treated me like a boy and growing up in the 80s that meant, slaps on the back for praises, I was expected to stack wood, learn simple mechanics, play in the mud with cars and avoid pretty much anything girly. I did have a strong inner girl but was a genuine tomboy. I loved spending time with my dad and grandpa. Looking back, now, having kids of my own, I’ve gained perspective. I must have been such a pain in the ass. Yet, my dad had patience of a saint. He’d be digging, making wall forms and pouring concrete, all while I was under foot. He’d be working on cars laying under them while I was right there asking a million questions, and never retaining much of what I was told. Yet, he kept answering my questions. We grew to have an understanding of each other, the kind where words were not always necessary to communicate. He told me he loved me often but I never needed him to say it. 
That day in early May will forever be one of the worst days of my life. I felt like all that was once right was wrong. I’m not sure why my world imploded all at once but I’m thankful my dad gave me all he did for some how, I’m okay and will keep carrying on. 

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