The Pain of a Pleasantry
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
How are you? It seems easy enough, but it’s a farce. I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t answer honestly. My automatic response is, “good, how about you?” Lies, all lies.
Over the years, I’ve learned that this can be a loaded question, especially sitting at the front desk at a doctor’s office. The elder community can be real comedians when they’re hit with this question; responding with “well, I’m vertical” or “how much time do you have?” without missing a beat always made me laugh, so I guess it has some good qualities. Take your show on the road, folks.
It comes down to the fact that this question is nothing more than a pleasantry. If we all answered it honestly, nothing would ever get done. The world would be one extensive therapy session after another. There aren’t enough sofas to handle that.
I take this question to another level, especially from someone I genuinely care about. The world’s weight could be on my shoulders, but I’ll never burden them with the truth. “I’m fine” is my go-to response because it’s easier than reality. Child trauma in the house.
I’ve learned that this is a conditioned reaction, and I’ve been trying to unlearn it over the years, but some situations arise where clamming up is more comforting than spilling my guts. Ironically, those closest to me know when I’m a clam, so I’m not even good at it; I just think I am. I’m such a Pisces.
Breaking these dysfunctional habits is a process and a long, complicated one at that. As always, recognizing the problem is the first step. Next is the unlearning process.
One of my favorite quotes on this subject comes from the book “The Boy, The Mole, The Fox, and The Horse” by Charles Mackesy.
I wonder if there is a school of unlearning?
Recently, I took an accelerated course in unlearning. Have you heard of it? Oh, it’s crazy, and the class comes to you at the most inappropriate time. I was driving on a busy highway to see my granddaughter. My sister called, and I suddenly thought I was dying while we talked via Bluetooth. Oh, yeah, it’s called accelerated for a reason.
I pulled over and listened to my sister recite breathing instructions, prayers, and pearls of wisdom for almost 2 hours before my son arrived.
So, back to our original programming. The reason I hate to be asked, “How are you?” It’s a trigger. Yep, three little words sure know how to pack a punch. While I get back to doing my best to openly communicate my emotions without the fear of judgment or criticism, please, take the time to Enjoy the Ride!
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I Say Goodbye, You Say Hello
Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
Hmm, well, this is an unfortunately easy one for me to answer.
I said goodbye to my mom on 12/4/2020. Correction, 12/2, 12/3, and 12/4. I didn’t get the memo that death isn’t quick and peaceful like in the movies. You heard it here; it’s NOT.
On 12/2, I sat on a loveseat in my family room, watching my mother “sleep” in her bed. I talked about our good times together, especially our vacations at the shore with my kids and how much fun we had shell hunting and playing in the sand. I thanked her for being such a good mom for so long.
On 12/3, while sitting on that same loveseat, mom seemed very agitated, not peaceful. At one point, she screamed, “MOM, MOM!” with desperation so loud my daughter flew down the steps thinking it was me screaming. This was shocking because my mother was an orphan who had never seen so much as a photo of her own mother. It took us a minute to absorb what had just happened, and without saying a word, I returned to staring at the person I loved the longest, and my daughter returned to her work.
Have you ever cried so much you started wondering how many tears a human being has in their body? This was the theme of day 3. At 4:00 p.m. on 12/4/202, the tears of sorrow were replaced with relief for my mother and me.
In hindsight, I recognize that all the circumstances leading up to that goodbye happened for my benefit. However, the longevity of her life filled those final days with all sorts of emotions. As I was saying goodbye to a mother, I was fortunate enough to have, for 50-plus years, my mother had to leave this world at 94 to say hello to hers.
Enjoy the Ride!
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Groundhog Day
What is the biggest challenge you will face in the next six months?
I’m not sure this will be the “biggest,” but it’s something I find challenging.
Remember the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray living each day in a time loop? Well, that’s my challenge for the next six months and forever. Breaking free from the loop.
Every day I wake up grateful for my day. I pray and ask for protection, peace of mind, and mercy to get me through. I ask that this day be a better day than the one before it, and then it begins.
Challenges approach like Ninja’s to assist in my growth. Let’s just say some days are much better than others. But isn’t that what it’s all about? Learning, changing, and growing into the best versions of ourselves.
Relearning. Restricting. Pausing. These three know how to keep a girl on her toes. Sometimes I’m successful; other days, I feel like I’ve fought a war.
So, I will continue this journey to elevate my consciousness over the next six months. The challenge will be recognizing that the challenges I face along the way are coming from a place of lack, fear, and doubt, and I will need to pause before reacting with my comfortable reactive responses.
Enjoy the Ride!
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Growth ans Fireflies
My sister is in the process of moving, most likely a plane ride away. Over the past two years, we’ve endlessly talked about her plans while I was processing my own.
A lot of significant changes were on the table. Relationship status, home sales, employment, and aging into a new decade.
Along the way, there were ups and downs, and all around with it, but in the end, everything fell into place as intended.
Now that we’re in the final stretch, the reality of getting on a plane to visit is sinking in on my end.
At 15 months apart, we were raised like twins dressing alike and doing everything together until our teenage years when we had different circles. As we grew into ourselves, we were back together again, having our children together and, most recently, becoming grandmothers.
We’ve been so busy cheering each other on that I haven’t thought about the enormity of this potential distance apart. Yes, I’m happy, proud, and excited about her future ventures, but suddenly I feel nostalgic about what was.
These feelings showed up in my dream last night. I dreamt I was approached by someone requesting I write a passage for their book. It was based on a missing woman, and I was to write it as if I knew the character when we were children. This is how it went.
We were two little girls with big imaginations playing in the basement of our rowhome. We always had each other, never needing outside playmates. As the younger of the duo, I would pretend to be a mother of 4 at the tender age of 9, providing our dolls with the nurturing they deserved. At the same time, my sister, who loved school, bypassed the teacher and went directly to playing a principal, making policy changes, and firing the Barbie and Dawn doll staff members.
On hot Summer nights, fresh from the bath and dressed in matching babydoll pajamas, we would grab our Maxwell House coffee cans with holes punched in the lids to catch fireflies in our yard. We went as far as adding grass to eat while they were being held captive, then, after counting our inventory, we let them go before heading to bed.
I woke up with mixed emotions as I wrote everything down not to forget a signal detail. It shook me on some level. The passages were vivid, and the memories were something I hadn’t thought about in decades. Why now?
Laying in bed, eyes wide open, I thought about those two little girls in the basement. Those roles now look more like survivor skills. Me providing the nurturing, I hungered while my sister did her best to gain control that was nowhere to be found in our house, both happening as we were still playful little girls catching fireflies.
Like us, our parents did the best they could with the knowledge they had at the time. I’m grateful for the consciousness to recognize this for what it is without casting blame on myself or my parents.
Now, off to work where things won’t be so deep ❤
Enjoy the Ride!
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Question Time Over Coffee 24th December
Tonight it’s hot chocolate for me, with a dash of egg nog and whipped cream. Rory is our generous host, and you can join in here to answer some inquisitive questions.
1. Are you more socially or community-minded regarding people, or do you not think there is a difference between the two?
I’d like to think I’m both. I care about the folks close to me and those in the community.
On a scale of 1 – 10, how ethically minded do you think you are?
What behavior do you consider to be ethical?
Hmm, I believe I once was ethical to a fault, probably a 10, due to being conditioned to fear not following the appropriate rules of society compliments of my Catholic upbringing. Now I take the hypocrisy of those teachings into account and drop myself down to a 7.
3. Tattoos are a very personal lifestyle choice by those who have their bodies inked.
So – Do you think tattoos make people more confident or less?
Do tattoos look good on everyone?
I don’t think it’s a matter of confidence, especially today when young people don’t think twice about inking up. My son got his first one when he turned 18. He now has an arm sleeve with an ocean theme and a leg sporting a wilderness theme. It has not stopped him from being a successful member of society.
I think some tattoos look better on some people; for instance, Jason Momoa could sport a turd across his chest, which would be stunning.
4. What enrichment do you personally receive from being social?
Have you become noticeably more socially isolated or socially interactive after the pandemic and the lockdowns? There may be no difference in your social behaviour; if this is the case, let me know below.
I get energized from being social. It doesn’t matter if it’s a brief conversation at the supermarket or a deep conversation with a friend.
I think, if anything, I’ve become more socially selective. The lockdowns certainly spotlighted who and who I don’t want around me. I believe this resulted from my learning more about myself during that time.
5. What would be your top sustainability tip?
Be consistent, and don’t think that your one small change can’t make a difference.
6. We live in a world that treats being open and vulnerable as a taboo and something to be frowned upon, so –
Do you find it easy or hard to talk to your friends and family about your health?
I was raised in a generation where things were not discussed; they were buried under a rug. Therefore, being vulnerable was not front and center. I don’t have a problem discussing health, but I admit I don’t discuss it with everyone.
The younger generations today seem very open, almost shocking us when they start dropping their vulnerability. I love that they feel free enough to do so.
7. What will you be doing this weekend?
Our daughter is in town for the holiday. Today we did some volunteering and went out to a late lunch. Tomorrow we plan to have a big breakfast, open gifts, and go for a walk once the temperature hits 30. It’s brutally cold here today, so staying warm is also on the list.
8. As the writer and author of your blog, how connected do you feel to your audience?
It’s funny you asked this question. I was just saying I feel closer to some of my fellow bloggers, whom I’ve never met, than I do to those in my life.
9. Does your blog reveal too much, too little, or just the right balance of you to your readers?
It’s a potpourri of information.
10. If you were granted a day at being one of your favorite book characters, who would you choose to be and why?
Ok, my choice comes from a series of children’s books I read to my daughter called Eloise. I loved her spunk and the fact that she lived in the Plaza Hotel in NYC.
11. What do you believe is the greatest threat to our planet today?
People
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The Show Must Go On
Just sitting here pondering about life. Concluding that, if nothing else, it’s engaging as we navigate through our individual and collective journeys. I say collective because we’re in this together. Who’s crossing your path today, and why?
Have you ever viewed life as a movie with yourself as both the writer and star? I have.
Of course, there will be significant co-stars. At the same time, God, the universe, creator, or whatever term you refer to as a higher power is trying to direct scenes that include, I don’t know, millions of extras and a storyline that changes daily. Spielberg gave it a hard no.
It all started when I began recognizing a pattern of who I was attracting onto my set. Yes, we’re sticking to the movie theme here. My awareness heightened when someone or something got under my skin. Ugh, what is it? Why are you so f@#$ing annoying?
The answer is simple and complicated. Oh, you thought it would be easy too?
Remember the millions of extras and those co-stars? Well, they play crucial roles in our stories, some more than others, but they’re all critical in their own way. It’s no accident they auditioned.
It doesn’t matter if it’s the disgruntled cashier, a family member, a boss, or someone in between. If they show up, I ask myself whether they’ve been cast as my mirror, a messenger, or a teacher. A memo from the director would be nice; just saying.
The other plot twist to remember is that everyone you encounter is also starring in their own movie. What could possibly go wrong? Without ever being in Hollywood, I think it’s safe to say things can go wry when too many stars are on the stage. Why? Well …
We’re all walking around the studio lot we call this world with unhealed wounds while our particular audiences sling salt at them daily, provoking us to choose between reacting or learning. It’s not a Hallmark movie out there, folks.
So far, I’ve realized that our movies do not include stunt people, which is sometimes unfortunate but necessary if we want that blockbuster; we have to feel the bumps along the way. They don’t call it growing pains for anything.
Another important lesson learned is improvising or using our free will during production makes it very difficult for the director to navigate the script. Ego is always trying to steal the show.
So, until we allow the spotlight to shine on us with certainty, the problematic scenes in our movie will play on a loop until we decide to heal or learn. It’s all about the light.
This perspective has allowed me to view my movie more transparently and ask the director for guidance; this has led me on a path to winning the Best Picture award.
Enjoy the Ride!
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There Goes That News Van
Well, it has finally happened. The moving blues might be settling in over here. I must confess that I miss my Local Newscasters, Meteorologists, and network. A LOT!
I have been watching WPVI, Channel 6 ABC, my entire life, so it’s a big deal to start watching other anchor people at this stage of the game. I feel like I’m cheating.
This isn’t a new feeling, but unfortunately, it’s a permanent one this time around. While on vacation, I was often left with that UGH feeling while watching local news channels. But then I got to go home, where my cool newscasters lived!
Maybe it’s just culture shock. Just thinking out loud.
I’m accustomed to the daily morning banter between the news desk, weather, and traffic reporters. They were the perfect four to send me off into the day. Not to mention easy on the eyes and fashionable.
Not that I want to be judgy Judy over here, but dear lord, stop giving me so much ammunition. All I’m going to say is I may never watch another weather report in my life. Dramatic? Well, a little.
Now, I’m not yearning for negative news, but there needs to be a gentle transition from overnight shootings directly to hampster rescues being “Big Stories.” A robbery? An accident? Throw me a bone.
If I heard this story once, I heard it 20 times in the course of the morning news. Along with the other “big” story regarding the opening of a Lavender Farm. This was day one.
Honestly, though, I can’t imagine the words “murder” or “shooting” coming out of the 16-year-old news anchor’s mouth. She was definitely hampster rescue appropriate and cute as a button.
After scanning around the other channels, which is another challenge that frankly requires a YouTube tutorial, I located a group that I might, just might, be able to tolerate. How is ABC not ABC just two hours down the road?
One thing that is holding me back from a true commitment is the anchorman’s name. I know it must sound petty, but is it? His name, you ask, is Jimmy Hoppa. See!
How often has he been asked, “did you say, Hoffa?” I don’t know whether to laugh or be impressed. So far, laughter is winning.
The silver lining is I have no idea what is going on in the world. Not a damn thing! But I know where to take unwanted hampsters and find lavender soap if anyone is interested. Hit me up.
I’ll be depending on my fellow bloggers to fill me in on important news like a meteor heading to earth, a mass awakening in D.C., empty seats on a UFO, or if something other than a hampster rescue needs my attention. Please write about it before the WiFi goes out.
Enjoy the Ride!
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Got Thorns?
We hired a new girl at work. She’s the same age as my daughter and very sweet. This week I was training her on the dynamics of the office. Considering her age, I knew I didn’t have to say too much about the computer system beyond a password. I was right; she’s a wizard.
As we talked and got to know each other, I noticed a common thread in her language. Fear. Not just your common fear of, let’s say, spiders, I’m talking fear of life. What in the world?
I was drained by this negative energy by Tuesday, which was a new reaction for me. Typically, the mother in me takes over, but I stopped noting she has a mother. Who I now know is 11 years younger than me. Next up would be my inner Therapist, who I had to tackle before she started to take on another non-paying patient. Boundaries baby.
On my ride home, I could not shake the thought of our conversations. There was almost a sadness about them, and usually, I’m very understanding. So why the hell was I so annoyed? What is it about myself that I don’t like in this girl? Ding, ding, ding!!!
Then I remembered a chapter from a book I listened to recently, The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer titled Removing Your Inner Thorn.
I highly recommend reading or listening to this book for a broader explanation.
This is a complex subject, so I’ll do my best to explain it in the simplest form, and even that is complicated. I think I listened to this chapter 1,000 before it started to sink in.
Let’s say you have a thorn in your arm, and the pain is excruciating because it’s touching a nerve. Of course, you’re not going to let anyone near it because it will cause too much pain. This makes your life very difficult. The thorn now becomes a constant source of disruption in your life. Protecting and hiding is a job.
To solve the issue, you have two choices: One, you continue to protect the thorn, or two, you take it out. As simple as this sounds, it’s actually the most complicated thing a person can do to heal and grow.
Where am I going with this? Well, let me tell you. I’ve had thorns stuck in me for decades! You could say I was a professional thorn protector, or so I thought. I didn’t realize everything I was missing while my energy was focused on creating airbags to keep my thorns at bay. The thorns ran/run my life.
No matter what solution you choose, the thorn will continue to run your life until you remove all the layers, dig deep down to the root and give a good long hug and a quick yank. Free at last.
Through growth and higher consciousness, I’ve learned that my thorns are nothing more than stored energy from the past that sits in my heart. The good part is I noticed my thorn was being poked, but I didn’t have a reactive response; it shows my growth. It’s about time!
When I look at this girl, I see my twenty-something self looking back at me full of thorns. Talk about being tested; she’s my teacher.
The low self-esteem, lack of self-worth, an unhealthy relationship, people-pleasing, and fears out the wazoo were front and center, staring me in the face. Taunting me. Forcing me to feel my own thorns. Oh, not today, Mother F@$#ers, not today.
I thought if I had to sit three feet from my twenty-something self four days a week, I’m going to need a plan that doesn’t involve drugs or alcohol. This was not in the job description.
I asked myself, “what did I need in my twenties?” “what would have helped that wounded girl?”
I had to really dig for an answer without getting too complicated. The answer, drum roll please, I needed someone to see me, the me I didn’t see. In 2022 terms, someone to give an actual f**k.
Now, I’ll have to be subtle. My challenge will be controlling my inner cheerleader to quietly assist this young, intelligent, beautiful soul on her path. Pom-poms in the face could be scary.
Of course, I know I can not heal her thorns, but I can have compassion and not judge her journey. We’re all human. We all have pain.
Recognize the teachers; they seem to show up in the strangest circumstances.
Enjoy the Ride!
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Ratty Robe of Worry
Recently, a friend was going through a medical issue and gave what I like to call “the runaround,” having to go from one doctor to the next and shelling out co-pays all along the way. Without thought, I told her Peace of mind is costly.
Later, when the dust settled, she asked me how I came up with that response. This really made me pause since, well, I had no idea. It just came out of my mouth without an ounce of thought. That’s usually where the truth lies.
The truth is I don’t think I’ve ever had Peace of mind, in the true sense. Being born into a household with an older parent, a lot of my childhood was spent worrying about death.
I was 10 years old when I realized my dad was older than my best friend’s grandmom, and in that instant, my carefree childhood began worrying about the future. Fear is so much cheaper than Peace.
If you were wondering, my dad died when I was THIRTY-ONE.
This pattern of worry or fear of the future has been with me for a long time. It didn’t get buried with my dad; it followed me into each phase of my journey. I’ve mastered this behavior.
Now, here I sit at the point in my life where my kids are productive members of society and my parents are ironically resting in Peace. This is supposed to be “my” time. So, why the hell am I sitting in a constant state of waiting for the other shoe to drop? It’s like being in a foreign land without a translator.
Apparently, I’m not comfortable in a state of settled awareness. I don’t even know how to react to being present. I prefer the ratty robe of worry. Currently, I’m training myself to keep that robe in the closet and unify myself with the now. Did I hear good luck with that, Lisa?
There are days, even weeks, when the struggle is real. Why? Well, life. I’m not made of stone, and I have a T.V.
I know for sure that unlearning is a hell of a lot more complicated than learning. Trying to untangle decades of trauma, behaviors, and thought processes will take some time and effort. I’ve been doing the work, as they say, for a year. Yes, I’ve made some significant strides, but the world as we currently know it has me grabbing that ratty robe more often than I’d like. There are no back-to-school sales for unlearning.
Now, if only I had an eraser. Enjoy the Ride!
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It’s Complicated
Once again, the universe is knocking on my door. Hello, it’s me again.
This time by way of a post on addiction, alcohol to be exact that stirred up a memory I haven’t thought about in years, 10 to be precise. Our minds are complex places.
The memory is of my sister-in-law and her untimely death due to her prolonged use of alcohol. Her story, like everyone’s, is complicated. The big gray area does exist.
Her name was Debbie, she was 51 years young.
My first impression of Debbie was that she was beautiful, intelligent, fun, creative, and talented. She loved her baby brother very much, and she shared a birthday with my sister. A winner.
As we got to know each other better, I realized something was off, but not having any experience with alcoholism, I just thought she was a bitch. I was naive, and everyone around her was in denial.
I learned that when their mother died suddenly at 48 years old, Debbie was in the middle of a typical mother/daughter squabble, and they were not on speaking terms. Forgiveness also died that day.
Debbie and her siblings were grieving the loss of their mother individually, being left with a disabled father in disbelief and not much help. Two siblings had spouses for support, and three were left to their own devices. Grief is a complex emotion, and this was a recipe for disaster.
All three chose alcohol as the device to numb the ache. One escaped. One continues his imaginary competition with Keith Richards, and Debbie, wearing an anchor of guilt for two decades, was found dead in the melting snow 10 years ago this week. Free at last.
As I said, Debbie was intelligent and creative, two skills that come in handy when you’re keeping a secret of this magnitude from the world around you. Keeping it alive is another story.
Living a lie every dang day had to be exhausting. I can’t imagine trying to keep up with the responsibilities expected of me while strategically contemplating how I will sneak in a drink and keep my act together throughout the day. That is no joke; it’s a full-time job.
I know she wasn’t the first or the last to juggle this lifestyle. We’re only human.
Over the years, her intelligence and creativity grew exhausted, while the disease grew arrogant, insisting on vodka in her coffee, leaving the creamer on the curb. Acceptance? Blind eyes? Both?
As with everyone in her life, we grew frustrated trying to help someone who was not ready to receive the offers. She was in her own way.
Correction, she was ashamed, and shame is a powerful emotion. Seducing her with lies quietly convincing her she was worthless while blocking love like a linebacker. Vodka was her helmet.
So, we made excuses to justify the behavior and make ourselves feel better. Talk about creativity.
- She’s only hurting herself.
- She’s a functioning alcoholic.
- She’ll know when to stop.
- It’s not like she’s sitting in a bar all day.
- The list goes on …
After two turbulent marriages, endless lost opportunities, burnt bridges, and too many stints in rehab, the secret was sitting center stage, not Debbie, and it showed. You can only fall down so many times, literally, before surrendering or succumbing.
According to the coroner, she “succumbed” to her disease, alcoholism.
We are ALL worthy of being the best version of ourselves.
If you are suffering, please ask for help. There is no judgment. Make the call.
Do it for Debbie ❤
Life With The Top Down 
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