Posted in beauty, family, Goals, inner peace, Life, People, Uncategorized

In Honor of…Well, Me.

I am a terrible housekeeper. As much as I dislike the mess, I am just not that great at picking up after myself. My mother, who is not only organized and neat but has a home that could be featured in a home decor magazine, does not understand this.

“If you just get in a routine…” She tells me, “It’s really easy.” All the while looking at me as if she doesn’t understand how she could have missed my learning disability all these years. But I am not so clueless that I don’t GET how ridiculous it is for a relatively intelligent woman to be baffled by a pile of dishes in her sink, overwhelmed by DUST, and incapable of remembering to pick up her panties off the bathroom floor before her company arrives.

The conclusion I have come to is that it is easy for HER, and it is hard for me. Sort of like the way being a bleeding heart liberal is second nature for me, but not so much for all the conservative (insert any other colorful descriptives you want) republicans littering our streets. We are what we are, and until it becomes imperative, or really, really important to ourselves that we change, we remain that way. Sometimes, even then, we can only make a fraction of the improvement we wish to.

I am so not saying that people can’t really change- I believe with all my heart that part of our jobs here as humans are TO change. Especially those crappy little parts we keep hidden from all but those lucky folks closest to us. What I am saying is that maybe, instead of focusing a ton of energy on being who other people think we should be (MOM), we ought to save the bulk of the work for becoming super awesome at the best part of who we are. Yes, it is important to live in a home that has some cleanliness and order- otherwise, your children will contract previously unknown bacterial infections that will then be named after you, and that is how you will be remembered for all of time. Lets face it- you don’t want to go down in Wikipedia as the originator of “Duncholera” or “Duncanyllococci” or something, and have school children cutting and pasting your visage into their essays until an antibiotic is found, right? So for me, that means understanding the difference between being lazy and using my ineptitude as an excuse for slobbishness, and making a solid effort to not wind up on the show “Hoarders.”

I think part of what led to my recent descent into the pit of doom and depression was my despair at being unable to adapt the way I thought I should have into my role as the mother and woman counterpart in a family unit.  I felt like I wasn’t good enough at running my household, at getting dinner made every night, washing the dishes, singing the lullabyes, paying the bills and fixing all manner of domestic wrong. And to make matters worse, I didn’t just feel like a failure…I resented and disliked that role as well. Here I had given up everything that made me happy in the world for THESE PEOPLE (i.e., my children and boyfriend) and I sucked at it. Enter all forms of self sabotage and abuse, causing depression and further dysfunction, blah blah blah.

Well, duh. I was trying to do what I thought I SHOULD be doing instead of what was right for me. This morning, I was sitting outside, sipping my coffee, thinking about things, and it occurred to me that my current happiness is directly related to me being excited about my life again. I have plans to head out of town today with my best friend Grace, to go visit our other best friend, Vera, in San Francisco. Next week, I am starting NanoWriMo, this month long writers event, and I’m excited to be attending the first write-in on the first. The day after that, I am going to Reno for an NA convention with some friends.

Every single one of these things feeds my soul, and makes me happy. When I am happy, somehow the dishes get done, the bed gets made and life becomes easier to manage. The baby and I have even found a new way to cope with each other when things start to get a little tense between us- we get into a warm bath together with about a gallon of Lavender scented bath products and we soak until we can stand each other again. There may also be some rubber ducky antics thrown in, just to keep things fun.

Today, I am going to honor and adore who I am, not who you want me to be, who you think I am, not even who I wish I was. Because the greatest service I can provide the universe is to be the very best version of myself I am capable of being. And not to infect you all with Duncholera. Have a fantastic day!

Posted in aging, family, Goals, kids, Life, Uncategorized

Time Flies By…

Hellloooo! Man, if I can’t manage to finish and post this blog, then I give up. I have been trying for what seems like a very long time to blog about SOMETHING…but for one reason or another, I either couldn’t finish it, and/or decided not to publicize my most private goings-on. I’m fairly certain my life is pretty averagely dysfunctional, but it really makes me wonder about the secrets within families and between people who are closely bound in ANY kind of relationship. I used to talk about everything with anyone, and I still do talk very openly about a lot of stuff-most stuff, even. But time and experience taught me (the slow and painful way, naturally) that some things are not open for discussion. If you discuss something, you are inviting the opinion, advice and judgement of the person you are confiding in, and you just never know who you can really trust 100%. I used to have the biggest mouth in the entire world- I didn’t mean to, and when I said I promised not to tell, I meant it. But even when I tried my hardest, I’d let some small detail slip, and then get so nervous trying to backtrack that eventually, I’d just miserably repeat the gossip, verbatim. Now, I’m older, and not only do I have more self control than I once did, but I also don’t care nearly as much about other peoples issues. That sounds mean, but it’s at least a good indicator that I’m trustworthy. By the time you finish telling me your secret, I’ve already forgotten the first part. Also, if someone wants to know something I don’t want to tell, I just say “yes, I know, but I’m not telling you, so quit fucking bugging me.” which was hard for me in decades past. Ahh…the finer points of growing up.

Speaking of which, my birthday is just a few days off- I am blown away that I am turning 37. Not because I feel like I am old, really, but because I can’t believe how insanely fast my life is going by. It feels like as soon as I get used to being who I am, where I’m at, everything changes again…I honestly remember the day that I turned ten years old so clearly; I was, what? Fourth grade? I sat at the very top of the monkey bars and contemplated the fact that I was now a DECADE old. From here on out, my age would have TWO numbers in it. I literally thought about that, twenty seven years ago, in Fresno, California, at Del Mar Elementary school. That same little girl is still right here, as well as the chubby middle school kid, the mouthy teenager who thought she knew it all. That teenager succumbed to a lifestyle that took her away from dreams she never even had a chance to start dreaming, and that teenager gave way to a young woman who was beautiful and insecure and sick, funny, weak, smart and unkind. Lots and lots of things occurred, lots of time went by, and she didn’t go very far. That same, scared, defeated girl is still here, too. I have been so many different women in my lifetime…life is not perfect, but at least today I am not afraid. I am not terrified of tomorrow. I don’t have to rely on anyone else for my life to move forward. Sometimes I forget the difference between FEELING AS IF my life depends on someone else, and HAVING my life rely on someone else. I’m okay with the person I am today. I turned out all right after all!

There were some blissful times in my life where I really kind of had it all…well, not “all” in the sense of tangible, luxurious things. I had none of that. What I actually had was NOTHING. No rush, no worries, no responsibilities, no place I needed to be. I just did my thing, all the time, partying, up for nights in a row, staying wherever I wound up and never feeling like I had anything less than all the time in the world to get down to business.  I dragged that stage out quite a while past where it was appropriate, and it wasn’t the same anymore. I felt time going by, felt the need to be more, have more, see more than I was seeing from that place. So I moved along, finally, and started filling up my life with grown up things. I enjoyed, and still enjoy, the sense of achievement that comes with accomplishing a dream, however small. What I don’t like is the worry and problems that come attached to everything I love or want or value. I worry about my kids, my job, my relationships with people. I worry about money and bills, my car, my phone and my laptop. I worry about my teenager not fitting in, and then about her fitting in too well. I worry about things that happened a long time ago, and things that may very well never happen. I NEVER used to worry about stuff, and now it’s always happening, like background music…I’m humming along, not even aware of the song. Also, I feel stretched a little thin, a lot of the time. These are the things I don’t love about this phase of my life. I want to be calm enough to enjoy all the good stuff that is right in front of me, but there’s so much to do, and so many things going on, and I get that tight, tense, angry feeling…like one little minuscule thing, and I’m going to snap. I don’t like all the chores and rules and activity of being this kind of adult. I feel like I still haven’t quite caught on yet.

Every year, around my birthday, I sort of look at my life and see what’s what, and come up with an idea of where I’d like to go next. Things I’d like to work on, eliminate, think about, and so on. This year, I just want to cut the shit. I want to stop knowing what I need to do, and doing something else instead, and then hating myself for it later. I want to plant my feet firmly on the earth and do what is best for myself, even when I’m scared to death of what that could mean. I want to enjoy the beautiful faces of my daughters, and never forget for a minute how blessed I am or how fast it goes by. I want to find the right words to say to Aisley, to make her softer. I want my Camryn never to have a reason to be so hard. I want to be with people who love me and have my best interest at heart, and I want to recognize when that is not the case. I want to laugh more, cry some, and be angry a LOT less. I want to slow down. I want to stop running, and just slow down. What is the point to this life if I’m too busy to see all of the real and valuable things it contains? I want to remember how much I love, and am loved. That’s my goal this year…and maybe the rest of them, too.

I’m wondering if you guys have that same, surreal feeling about your life ever? Does it seem impossible that you could be however old you are? Are you a worrier, and if so, have you always been, or is it new? Thanks for reading, and I’m so glad to be back!