The Ugly Truth

What is worse than surviving an abusive relationship? Dealing with the aftermath, the scars and insecurities is hard enough but worse: dealing with well meaning people who want to believe the false face the abuser approaches the public with.
It must be an exaggeration. She must be overreacting. It is a little misunderstanding. He says nice things about you, the implied unspoken being: so how dare you tell me what he really treated you like. How dare you take the mask I want to believe off the guy or gal I like.
It is not easy to verbally express what you go through. What you wake up because your mind is reliving it again. The torturous words intended to push you to self destruction. The physical abuse. The control, manipulation, constant gaslighting. The ridicule and humiliation. The repeated nightmare of the worst moments. Struggling in a friend's bathroom to avoid having fingers broken. Breathing and accepting that you might die in a moment when for the ninth day in a row you've had the person dry fire a handgun at you from two to three feet away.
Just a joke, it must be. I didn't see any of that. I've known him for years, he's just a little crazy and loud. Excuses. Excuses. Excuses that corrode and isolate abuse survivors more.
Who wants to have a heart to heart with someone, who in their opening statement empowers your abuser? When you think back and realize how bad it was and where was everyone? Didn't they hear? Didn't they see? Why didn't they say anything? In a silent way they let it happen. Weather the storm. He needs you. He doesn't mean it.
Seriously, why don't you just talk to him? He is so nice. Everyone knows you can't believe a word he says except when you discuss abuse, now somehow his words have validity? You hear the contradiction well meaning people do not  realize they are voicing. It hurts. You hear "I would rather believe a notorious liar with a known history of abusive volatile behavior than you. Period."
People come up to justify their continued friendship with both of you. That's fine, your choice. But when you do not want to hear what we dealt with and you tell us what a good friend our abuser is you are telling us you are okay with them abusing us and others. You are telling us you want the fiction that the truth discomforts you. You want the blind eye and we can't unlive the darkest moments and bottom line: you were not there for us. We faced it alone. You didn't step in. We went to our private places, you had a normal evening. We dealt with emotional explosions, threats of physical violence, mandates on how we had to appear to you. We tried showing you by resisting directives and arguing or expressing lesser points- we paid in privacy later but you still missed it, minimized it, justified it for your own reasons.
Do not speculate. Talk to us. Listen to us. Our experiences and emotions are valid. Our safety is important. Do not empower abusers. Do not strive so hard to love the mask they make for you. Tear it off and really understand the horror we deal with in knowing you would rather love and support a falsehood than be there for a real human that was treated inhumanly.
You would not befriend someone who tortures animals. You will explain to me the finer points of someone who spent two years making my daily life hell. Where I coped by blogging about every emotional or psychological bomb I was trying futilely to diffuse. My blog was my figurative defense attorney- a regular plea that he would read like some barbaric king to laud the praises of then dismiss as he gleefully entertained himself hurting me.
I'm awake again. Its the middle of the night. I hate thinking back. I hate talking about it. It isn't going to go away. Perhaps eventually it will lessen. Quietly, I find the friends who understand. Who have also survived or who understand abusers and masks. They make it easier. We talk. We understand the isolation that the hurt, the unintended betrayal and empowerment the community offers those who hurt us. He said she said. And he said nice stuff. She must just be bitching. She's a she. She's a She and it happened in a relationship: 50% off the validity of her words; as we can choose to dismiss on the grounds of the relationship is over so they're just bitter. It could be a He it happened to for the same reason. Same justification. Eww. Relationship gonbe wrong. Sigh. File it under: Invalidate and sweep under rug. Stop. Do not perpetuate a cycle. Do not aid an abuser by dismissing their actions. They didn't do it in front of you because they know you would not have tolerated it, you wouldn't have been able to like them if you heard or saw. That's why they wait until they have you alone. They set you up. They play games. They fuck with your head. They quietly remind you they have all the power and control, you have nothing. Community doesn't intentionally endorse this but unintentionally it empowers it. 
We go through each day focusing on goals. Focusing on the friends who encourage us to think and be healthy. Focusing on coping with the scars and fears. Focusing on never wanting to ever have to be in close proximity to the person who threatened us. Who belittled us. Who criticized everything from what we ate, how we look, how we make decisions, what we wear, how we feel, as they wasted our money and told us how much we needed them. 

As I talk I listen. So many men and women have come individually, talked of what they are dealing with or have dealt with. What hurts each of us the most: the hurt. The isolation. Hearing alleged friends conjecturing to us and our loved ones that we are oversensitive, overreacting, misunderstanding. Support us. Stop wanting to believe the excuses and dismissals. We didn't fall down the stairs. We didn't deserve to have someone try to break our fingers because we did not jump to one of their rigid rules. Listen. Be aware of the mask. Tell us we don't deserve it: that is the best truth you can give us. Give us a place that is safe. Give us someone to talk to where our words are safe to express without judgements or danger of them getting back to where they hurt us worse.
I appreciate the friends who realized and intervened in a healthy way. The ones who saw the severe depression, anxiety and isolation. The ones who persisted, to be there then and now. People who had an idea of what I was not saying. Who solidly approached the problem with practical sense and compassion. Letting me work it out and validating, reminding me who I was and could be and that I could choose healthier choices and people.  The friends who explain abuse and behavior of people who don't understand. The friends who communicate safety and support. The friends who look us in the eye and give us permission to heal and remind us that we were not deserving of the abuse and that we are allowed to heal, that our emotions are valid and they let us cry when we need to, which is far to often. The friends who love us even on days we struggle to like ourselves.   
As I sit here awake in the middle of the night having to mentally process again. Having to work on scars and wounds he told me I deserved as I am a terrible human being that is so deplorable no one but him could possibly tolerate my presence. Seeing the gun. Feeling the struggle in the bathroom. Watching my friends Melissa and Amy figure out they could stop him by walking in with a smile when he started shouting, when they heard my voice raise with stress and defensive words. Seeing the look in their eye as these beautiful women stood for me when I didn't believe in myself enough to try. It hurts to remember what they had to hear and go through. But go ahead, invalidate their experiences, tell me how we overreact and are overly sensitive.
What caused that distress and severe sensitivity? Not being treated like a human being. Being tormented and terrified and hurt. But wait? Shhhhh. Don't talk about it. It makes people uncomfortable. Don't talk about it. He doesn't want to people to know how he is when you were alone and the mask was off, they might treat him like the asshole he is. They might call him on his behaviors. The community might have open communication. It might be harder for him to flatter his way into another relationship. The next unwitting person might have a chance to hear something other than the gaslit version of his history that makes him sound like he was just harmless and misunderstood. They might hold him accountable. Him. Her. The abuser. They might avoid the nightmares, anxiety attacks, depression, isolation, the shaking, the fear, the rage and the humiliation of having to remember it and express it to process it and to try to neutralize the poison.
Do not stay in an abusive situation. You do not deserve it. There are places to go. There are people who  can help you deal with finances, getting the things you need to live, you are not a burden. You do not deserve it. You deserve to be safe. You deserve to be treated with respect. Your feelings and experiences are valid. You deserve to be treated with respect. You do not deserve humiliation, pain, punishment. You do not deserve guilt. You are not guilty. It is not your fault. We will not be mad at you or stop being your friend because you left or because you are being abused. There is nothing wrong with you. You are not a monster. You are not repugnant or undesirable. You are beautiful, human. You aren't perfect, but that is okay. You make a wonderful you. We value you for who you are. You are brave. You survive. You survived.
I fight the anxiety. I sit here expressing to heal. I sit here thinking of the wonderful moments and people in my life. Thinking positives and breathing, reminding myself I am safe. Reminding myself of constructive goals I am working on. Trying to keep healing and growing.
Putting together resources to start a safety net of support for abuse survivors working faires. Taking time to gather and connect strong resources and working on the framework so a solid network of volunteers who support each other and are there to talk to for those going through or dealing with past abuse to go to for support and community connections if they need more than a supportive conversation. Figuring out what we need, what would help us all heal and grow. Speaking out. Each time I do, my words echo back from another trickle of people dealing with abuse issues hearing they have permission to break the silence- supporting each other. It is hard to speak. It is hard to feel. And the feel doesn't ever fully go away. Someone has to speak. Silence is endorsement. Silence is an ally of Abusers. Quit buying the mask. Quit trying to invalidate our experiences. We aren't buying that mask again and we don't want to hear why you like it. Would hurt you too much to look behind the mask is that why you jump to rationalize our experiences that you weren't there for? Your judgement is empty. Your conjecture invalid. Your choice to hurt us by rubbing the mask in our faces? Not nice. Not healing. Not telling us you are trustworthy. Not demonstrating integrity. 

  If looking would hurt you, we faced them without their mask- consider that and you may start to understand the sorrow and isolation. You can't handle a horrible peek at what we starkly faced. Paint another sparkle in their eye, use the broken glass of their words and deeds to make their smile glint in the light. So shiny. So friendly. Such a good person you say, as our heart bleed from being chewed up. Such good people abusers are, just misunderstood?

The Challenge of Breaking the Silence

I was sixteen. Our school band was doing a concert program with the band from the next town. A boy I had a crush on from the summer program I had been in asked me out. I was excited. It was the first time I had been asked out. I got in the car to go home. I told my mom. Before the words were gone the hitting and screaming started. The next day I told him I couldn't go out with him. He didn't know why and I was the butt of jokes.
Why didn't I tell?
When you live with abuse, abusers do their best to control your life. They manipulate people through how they act. They can act better than a Shakespearean performer. They have an image they carefully construct for the outside world, away from others, the mask comes off. I learned to do my best to tell the truth, and found despite this, friends and peers wanted to believe the sugar coated persona of my mother. There were exceptions. People who knew what abusers and abuse was like, people who spent time with her watching how she interacted with me. In Girl Scouts, one of the other leaders watched as I sat in a corner excluded from activities and snacks, ridiculed and put down by my mother when I tried to join in. She wasn't someone my mom wanted to impress, so she got treated to mild abrasiveness and hostility as well. That woman fed me, included me, encouraged me to visit her family and gave me a place to feel safe and normal.
There is the threat of violence and disbelief. Being told people will not believe you, and when they aren't around getting you back is a top priority.
You get out of an abusive relationship. You work on yourself. You work on yourself. Because you can trust you.
I found myself in an abusive relationship years later. Waking up to be baited into arguments. Being told daily that while I was amazing I was terrible and undesirable. And the threat of if I lose my temper it is your fault that I hurt you. Your fault.

Abusive people work hard to present a persona they want the world to believe. They talk highly of you, they are proud of you, grateful to you. They do this to affect people's perception. Who do you believe, the one shaking and crying and messy crying abuse or the one so eagerly complimenting and seemingly hurt and confused by the allegations? Too often people minimize and doubt. I can't believe he pointed guns at you and dry fired them. Why didn't you tell us? It would have escalated him. I wanted away. I wanted to be safe again. I didn't want to face my friends and peers and see them weighing and deciding whether I was telling the truth. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted it gone. The past. What if I told you and you told him before I was gone? What if I told you and you told him now? He frequently expressed his desire to shoot am ex wife that left and broke the silence. He frequently warned me if I told he would nudge people to believe it was exaggeration. I blogged every few days as I dealt with heavy emotions and situations I could not write about, hinting that there were a thousand things I could not write. I could not express.
Coming from abuse, it takes me time and support to speak. I shut down. I have to evaluate and come to terms with emotions to release them. I am elusive, keeping even the closest friends at a distance like the barn cat that survives. Good friends know, when things get very bad I call, but still have trouble getting the words out. Ironic, being a storyteller and facing the challenge of breaking the silence to find my words broken into nonsense sounds and tears. Thinking of the awkward dance to keep my ex from breaking my fingers at my friend's house as I have another friend say "I don't know who to believe, I hear you but he compliments you- you should talk to him. Its a misunderstanding." Being on trial in life, no representation but the truth and the truth is no showman. The smooth charismatic defense for the Defendant is all Hollywood, that Law and Order Attorney you catch yourself believing even when he tells you it is raining on a sunny day.
Even though the truth is a tired public defender, I stick with it. The truth isn't good at consoling me when I face the anxiety and the emotions from the bad shit again and again as I reach the point where I can process and release it- or have it suddenly thrown back at me. Go ahead, someday you will tell people, you will use this against me and I will tell them you exaggerated. I will compliment you and the seed of disbelief will plant.

When you ask us what happened: it was humiliating, it was depressing, it was stressful- living with a bomb you are constantly trying to keep from exploding. Do not wake the dragon. When you ask us what happened: we have to think about it and how we felt again. When we see the abusers it is the same. I survived by hiding, by running, by isolating. I chose when I left to live. I choose to break the silence, not to allow the isolation but to do my best to avoid for my own safety and peace of mind.
I know it can be frustrating and difficult to deal with abuse survivors. We try to please you. We try to do our best to keep everyone calm and smiling. We are insecure at times. Sometimes we hide and cry because an injury from the past came back and haunted us. We have to fight not only our own demons but the ones abusers add through emotional abuse. Comparing us to others, acidic ridicule, belittling, controlling.
Today, I am in a safe place. I am communicating despite the anxiety that threatens. I am in a healthy relationship. I get up, work on goals and plans, enjoy the day. Little drama, mostly vehicular. Do I know if I will always be safe? No. Will I make choices to stay safe as best I can? Yes. Sometimes it is going to be hard. Very hard. The anxiety is strong and real.
When I face it now though, I am going to face it by communicating with my supports. When someone you care about has survived an abusive relationship, or is in one: give them a safe place, give them trust and consistency, give them time. In their own time the words will come. In their own time they will grasp the support when they feel they can. Give them numbers to hotlines, hotlines are anonymous- it is likely they will feel safe talking to a trained stranger before they feel comfortable unloading on you.
We see the change in your eyes when you see our broken places, and sometimes it hurts that you know we should have left, should have talked but could not. We don't want to be seen as broken, defective. Our abusers already made us feel that way.
We want to feel normal, strong. We want to really smile and just enjoy every normal moment as it comes.

Changing the Colors in Your World

I remember my childhood. Bright red tulips, a black well cap in the back lawn I sat on and cried. I remember being spanked because I picked that tulip one day. I carried it to the neighbor and tried to sell it to buy my mother a gift to make her happy. Red tulips became a symbol for anger. How dare I pick that precious flower! Accusations of doing it to destroy her pretty flower. I was too young to know irony when it fell around me in tears.

Desolation deeper and darker than the well. My mother screaming at no one in the house while I held my only friend, a small struggling confused barn cat seeking solace and love from that little fluffy kitten who really wanted to run off and practice hunting mice. Shuffling between three of my great grandmothers, who did their utmost to buffer me from life at home.
I remember fear. I never knew what would set my mother off. I remember trying so hard to be worth loving. I remember my great grandmother Alice telling me that she loved me and that what was happening at home wasn't my fault.
For many years I struggled with emotional wounds and scars. Sometimes hurting others to try to get approval or out of frustration as I watched my mother lavish love I could not earn on my brother. I remember the one time she was loving and gentle. I had been playing at a neighbor's house. I was about four years old. I made a slide out of a large cardboard box my neighbor and I wrestled onto a chair. I fell off and got hurt. I was bleeding profusely. The neighbor almost took me to the hospital. My mother took me home instead fearing that it would trigger a neglect or abuse investigation, because that's the priority. She held me, rocking me in a chair until the bleeding stopped. I remember the two times my Father held me I was three and then six. Both times were to remove stitches from my face, cheaper than going back to the hospital. Priorities.
My best friends in childhood were books and barn cats. I spent most of my time alone in my head wandering the brighter worlds created by authors, wishing the characters were real. Wishing for friends as my intelligence and slight autistic characteristics isolated me from cruel teasing classmates.
I started working the summer before seventh grade. I worked at a kennel and babysat. I spent hours working a hose to spray dog turds off the outdoor runs, grooming poodles and teaching them to walk on leads. I earned the money to pay for what I wanted rather than get hassled over wanting clothes that weren't always hand me downs or ugly clearance rack leftovers, books, toys, candy.
As I got older I grew into treating others the way I wished I had been treated. A neighbor girl and I were playing. She accidentally dropped and broke a toy I loved. She cried. She tightened up waiting for the storm and fury. I closed my eyes and thought of Alice. Alice with her soft hands, sweet heart and garden full of flowers you could tend and pick and share with smiles. I looked at the younger girl and took her hand. "It was an accident. It isn't worth as much as your friendship is to me." We both cried. It was how I realized she also came from a world with dark places in it. We picked up the pieces and as we did, we colored each other's worlds brighter.
In college, my friend Nathan was always there. Listening. Caring. Fearing he could end up breaking down with schizophrenia like his mother. He could only be a friend in my heart because I was afraid my dark places could hurt him. My past comes out in bursts like little rainstorms. Gentler as years pass, body trembling from emotions I can't always express. Nathan, Francine, and Mary brought their bright hearts full of colors. Their humor, their resiliency, their humanity were the paintbrushes they used on my heart. We did silly things. We walked St. Bonaventure every friday night around midnight as I worked on climbing every tree I could on campus. They and others joined me on this eccentric quest. They begged me not to prank campus security by swinging in the trees by the roads toward the vehicles going by so I did it more. Thankfully, none of the guards had heart attacks when they saw someone apparently flying out of a tree toward their vans only to vanish as I swung back out of the roads and dropped into the woods to melt away into the night. I was a ghost story.
Each year my life expands. The connections with other people grow. The stark colors get tempered with shades and blending. I communicate more, letting others help me see and let go of dangerous fragments still stuck in places my scarred heart cannot always see. I think of Nathan finding me sitting catatonic outside the Science building after my first real love after several intense secret dates told me he could never love me because I was an Atheist. I don't remember walking to my room. Nathan quietly looked out for me, always on alert and always there when the darkness rose. He would just sit with me. The lone soldier without a gun, manning the wall alone. Eventually my words would come back. He would reassure me that everyone wrestles with something. He would nudge my humor until it rose up and became the tool we both used to fight the darkness.
He taught me that I had strength, that the years of fighting myself alone had given me tremendous power. I realized I could use it to help him, and my other friends. My inner demons were relentless and harsh; I could step into other people's hearts and face theirs without breaking a sweat or shedding a tear. I could step between the boogeymen and the people who were teaching me what healthy was. I could keep them safe at cost.
It cost because it pressed on wounds, emotions flowing without healing.
It took years to learn to let go of the armor. To let go of the weapons. To be the gardener nurturing my heart and the hearts around me, discarding dangerous creatures lurking in the garden rather than wrestling with them or trying to bring out the best in them. Put a bow on a copperhead and you still have a dangerous snake.
Regardless of how much you love, you cannot heal everyone. Each of us has choices. We decide what is or isn't in your world. We color them with perspective and emotion. We determine our focus and attitude. Reaching out to healthy friends for perspective is the first step. As the holiday approaches, on the darkest day of the year, my thoughts are of you. I appreciate each of you and how you change the colors in my world bringing vibrance and light with your presence.

Wherever you are today in your world, I offer you my paintbrush. It's a little tattered and beat up. It has been used as a sword more than once. The colors on it are bright. Your world should be full of laughter, appreciation and beauty. So, let's get painting!

Don't Flinch

Things happen. Society churns like a choppy sea. People buy into hype. This will never work. People will react negatively. There are a million negative self talk scripts that become words and actions. People get discouraged and change course because they perceive an insurmountable challenge.
Don't flinch. Don't buy in. Don't feed hype. I challenge you to defy it! In the face if disbelief dance, smile, shine and perform your finest as if there was no one watching even when hundreds are. Suddenly clown masks and clowns are feared? 
Your actions can change the tide. One person trying. One person becomes two. Two become five. Five become hundreds. Try it. My boss decided this week no more feeding hype. All masks are allowed in our Halloween event. All characters welcome. Family friendly behavior expected. To herald this shift back to normal operations from no scary or clown masks, various members of management decided to dress as everyday clowns seeking work. I decided to be the obligatory Hobo Clown. I was chargined that it took two minutes and minimal changes to my everyday clothes to transform. I grabbed two props: a rubber knife and a small box.
I greeted patrons coming in with a tragic face and my sign. They were shocked. They were surprised. Initially intrepid, my antics quickly reminded them what REAL clowns are. The smiles appeared like snowflakes in a blizzard.  They were amused. Delighted. They were caring, and they were protective. Some whispered "Are you allowed to be here, be careful, don't let anyone hurt you, I wish I brought a pie- just made some today..."
Thumbs ups, nods, and gratitude. Gratitude you ask? Gratitude for restoring their faith in what Clowns are.
I pulled my rubber knife and stabbed myself dramatically when I got fearful looks. The fear instantly vanished at the absurdity they faced. Clowns walk the razor edge, ridiculing our fears and reminding us to laugh when we want to cry or scream. They stand in the fire and dance daring the Universe "Is this all you got, cause I got a prop and I'm not afraid to use it!"
Last night I danced that dance. Last night I waddled, overreacted, made goofy faces, silly noises and helped the patrons who walked into our event remember to laugh and restored their faith in Clowns.
Feeding hype, feeding fear by curling in a ball or recoiling does not make it stop. Being strong, bold, defiant and performing with integrity does. In the face of hate, prejudice, and stigma- the best we can do is continue to shine. Uphold and demonstrate what it is to be human, to heal, care and connect with each other- despite the rampant hate mongering and fear based hype the media pumps at us. Real Clowns DO that. 
You will find that daunting mountain is nothing when the wind catches your wings and carries you beyond it. Let it. Soar.

Pay Attention to the Fine Print

Excited, he opened the package of theatrical lenses. Pulled out the contacts. The petite folded instructions and warning fell like a discarded dirty napkin on the counter. "So I can just use water to put these in?"
I stared at the fine print trying hard not to be noticed on the counter.
Thirty years of wearing prescription lenses kicked in.
First. You wash your hands. He opened his mouth. My eyebrows went up. The edge of a razor sharp scowl threatened. He scooted. "With soap." He nodded.
He came back and presented hands. His mother never saw hands that clean.
Second. Never water. Saline is not water. Verbally reviewed the fine print. His eyes glazed. Paraphrased. Showed him the bottle of solution I carry and shared because lenses are daily for me.
Taught him how to put them in. Let him know about eye irritation and when you had best take them out. From experience.

Thought about the encounter.
How frequently people offer us the fine print we need to move forward but we glaze or hear the tone instead of the message or a defense mechanism dismisses it.
Fine print should be block capital large print, neon flashing red. Not quiet and tucked on the back page where the lawyer or the car dealer or the loan officer winked as they showed it to you dismissively. That's there for someone else or you know, legal purposes, har har wink wink.
Sadly, those little words could save us a lot of hurt. They could, prevent injury, frustration, misunderstanding. They are there as a shield and a ladder- but go ahead and recklessly race into and up the side of that precarious brick wall without checking to see if the mortar is good. Perhaps the seventh or eighth time look for someone to blame.
The little words in fine print softly say "I tried to tell you." Sadly say, "Will you listen now?"  How many nudges and repeated suggestions do you need from good friends and well meaning strangers? Out of curiosity, have you ever read the fine print on household chemicals?
The next time you step into a mire or an unfamiliar situation check: do you look for fine print or a knowledgeable source or do you wing it- or worse yet turn to the person next to you who also has no experience or clue?

Living in a Country of Glass Houses

Several beautiful friends have written elegant Facebook posts to raise awareness and empower the greater community facing derision and furtive attacks from folks who feel the Slingshot of Judgment will somehow sanctimoniously get them some sort of reward. I remind myself often that you cannot make someone who chooses to be blind and deaf to reality change. You can offer perspective and hope that it hits a chord.
So today, I write this ballad.
Years ago I volunteered on the county's mental health crisis hotline. I was the lone professional stooping down to offer my free time at first. I took a call from a girl who knew she was a girl except there was a piece that did not belong. She thought she was broken, that something was wrong with her. She had tried cutting it off. My heart broke for her. I gently explained transgender. I was the first person to tell her the only wrong thing was her body goofing up its sexually expressed genes. She became less distraught as we talked, realizing that she wasn't a freak or alone. That she could have support and go through medical treatment to get the piece that didn't belong removed, that she was one of many that deal with transgender reality. When I went to the monthly meeting for volunteers it was eye opening. They had stood by outdated value systems until I went over that call. Regardless of their backgrounds or beliefs- every volunteer understood where that caller was coming from, none of them wanted any human being to feel so outcast or alone. They all listened. Transgender was new to them. After that call, that tiny county changed how it handled calls. I never knew anything about her except her voice. I hope she's smiling and that her world isn't a dark one anymore- it never should have been.
Going back further, back to when I was six. I was rambunctious. I was a small child. I loved swinging wildly on my great grandmother's macrame plant holders. I collided with the corner of a wooden table. I was in the emergency room, they had just done stitches. A teenage neighbor, a strong girl, she was there too. I had just been released from restraints. I was still in fight and panic mode. She calmed me down. She was a role model in a life full of screwed up ones. She looked sad. I saw she had just gotten stitches too. On her wrists. I asked what happened. Her mother cut in and said she broke a glass washing dishes and it sliced both wrists. Odd that the cuts were neat. Odd that the girl had an expression that shouted the words were a lie. I understood. My mom made up shit all the time. CPS was the boogeyman she would terrorize me with.  People acted like there was something wrong with the girl. The same people who begged for lies and platitudes. The ones who chose to see the two mothers as shining stars rather than scrutinizing the abandonment and emotional abuse beneath. Our struggles were different but we sat there islands that for a moment were not alone.
Years later, I heard she went to Canada and married her girlfriend. Last time I saw her she had smile lines. I hope she is still smiling.
Working in mental health I walked through the hearts and minds of those broken and struggling to find a reason, struggling for balance.
The refrain is the words of Little Billy, whose parents sexually, emotionally, and physically abused him. "I just want to help people. I want to be worth something. I want to save them. I want them to look at me and see a hero when they needed one." The hero he never had but imagined and wished for. I understand why Baum wrote Wizard of Oz. Billy was my Dorothy. His fractures could never fully heal due to limited IQ. It did not stop him from trying. He never quite understood how he was a hero to some of us on staff. He could never defeat his demons, born with both hands tied genetically behind his back. If he is still alive, he is still trying.
If only we all had his fortitude.
People shout judgements at each other. Slap labels and toss derogatory jokes like grenades with the surprised "why are you offended" reaction when you call them on it. Why aren't we teaching tolerance, empowerment, and cooperative team building? Empathy is in a drought, hate is the scent on the wind.
Who pays the price?
Unfortunately, the stones get thrown wily nily based on Memes and attention seeking headline teasers. Shots of venom to cloud the judgement; first round is always free. You pay the price in integrity.
Today, take a moment. Let go of stones. If you are going to pick up a stone instead of throwing it, try rock sculpture or perhaps putting it gently back down in respect for the millions who struggled with their personal demons and lost. The suicides. The victims of hate crimes. The victims of senseless violent crimes. Those who fought against diseases and were defeated.
For them, reach out and be open to caring for the amazing people fighting battles in their heads you have no right to judge. They are the stars that shine in my sky that inspire me to connect and keep reaching.

Finding Your Yellow Rose

There will always be days and events that are hard to weather through. My grandfather always felt when you had a rough time you look for yellow roses and give them away. I will likely do that monday.
My birthday has always been rough. I found my dog lying peacefully on the front porch dead on my sixth birthday. I sat and spent about an hour petting him one last time before anyone else got up. He was unintentionally poisoned.
I was eleven when I came home to a cake mix on the table and a pack of number two pencils with a notebook for school. My birthday was the day I knew my marriage had been a terrible mistake. It was the day two years ago that I lost my best friend and companion, Rumor.
As a child, my friends were animals. My emotional support came from three great grandmothers, a number of barn cats and a few dogs that never lasted long.
Each year my heart sinks and dread rises as the day gets closer. This year I have been fighting it instead of letting sorrow rule my heart. This year I am taking more walks, taking vitamins, focusing on finding the positives and on getting done things I know I need to work on.
Turning it around: this year I turn forty. I am performing on stages and in lanes. Both of my shows are going well. I have a wonderful, considerate significant other. I have many friends I care about spread across the country. I have been to many beautiful places. I have stretched and done things I never thought I would get to do. I value myself. Forward is a beautiful direction to go.

Seeing the Forest and the Trees

Seeing the forest or seeing the trees, can you do both consciously?
It seems like a trite little phrase until you live it. Standing on stage working through material, watching and gauging audience response with mental analyses and adjustments whirling at thought speed it is the trees and not the forest you see. You look out and notice someone looking at their phone instead of watching. Why, you wonder. You see a few people join the crowd or leave. Why, you wonder. What can I change to draw more? I want to see their smiles, faces rapt at the stories or antics.
Then you have a moment where you talk to the proverbial tree. Then that one says they only came to catch Pokemon, they are in your audience inattentive and brazen about it. Not everyone comes to a show to be entertained. Not every audience member is there for the same reason. Some just want a place to sit, others may visit briefly to get a taste of multiple shows rather than just picking one.
When you look at the trees, it may help find areas to work on but it may also be setting you up for a bad head game. If you try to put a reason on another person's choice you may not pick wisely. You cannot assume someone is leaving your show or interaction because they are avoiding tipping or are not entertained. You may not be the right fit for them or they may just have wanted a sample- they may have a dozen reasons to leave that have nothing to do with you.
Look at the forest instead.  The crowd that stays or returns. Why? A friend of mine, Geoff Marsh, asks candidly of patrons. It is a hard set of questions: did you see my show, did you like my show, feedback on my show. Not fishing for compliments but open mindedly tuning in to be able to enhance his performance. He is a top notch entertainer because he sees the forest and the trees.
I am asking those questions now too. I am learning to step back out of my head trip of negative self defeating conjecture and into analysis and problem solving.
When I ask for feedback, I am asking so I can improve perspective and keep growing. Whatever your challenges and goals, are you taking time to see the forest and the trees?

What can you change in your perspective to move forward in the positive direction you seek to grow in?

What Do You Want & The Challenge Of Asking

What would you like? Scary question. Hard question to answer. What do you want?
I used to have a hard time answering these questions. Christmas was a special hell. My mother insisted we make lists. She then made sure to use the list as a mind game: you got maybe one thing from the list and the rest was stuff you couldn't give away and was somehow the opposite of what you figured out you wanted. You wanted a bathing suit? Here's a neon orange jumpsuit. Same thing right? You got in trouble if you cried or looked upset. My brother and I learned to act to deal with Christmas. We learned to be relieved that dad never got us anything. Nothing was better than shit you didn't want. My mother never noticed we gave it away, first to other kids and eventually to thrift stores. Make a list. What do you want? These questions became a Pavlovian trigger. I worked my way around that trigger; finding ways to get what I wanted through work rather than asking. I still struggle with asking, I try to just soldier through with the resources at hand.

A lifetime of adapting and surviving do not lend themselves to frivolity. I started working after sixth grade. I bought my clothes, snacks, books, and anything else I wanted. Ask someone and deal with a guilt trip or just work and have my own choice. Whining or not being responsible with household chores including cooking and cleaning? There was a barn I could live in or face the threat of paying rent to my parents.
I participated in all school activities, worked, and did household chores. I was a social outcast in school: too smart and outspoken to be cool. One day I stopped home to switch out of my soccer uniform to go to work. I was in tenth grade. I was screamed at so often that I do not register the words or sounds. I walked out of my room into my.mother having a screaming fit. I realized it as one of my cleats bounced hard off the wall next to my head. The cleats I had taken off in the mudroom properly. I had done nothing to trigger this. The screaming was shrill. I was exhausted. No tv shows, no fiction depicts this as healthy family reality. Anger welled up. I was next to the ironing board. The iron was sitting there.
I breathed. I quieted my heart and trembling thoughts which were still trying to figure out what I could have done wrong. Stumble. Forgot. Existing was my poor choice. The defiant egg and sperm that joined to create me were not wanted. They didn't care. They multiplied and the many cells of me were standing there facing a sad reality.
I looked at her. She paused to breathe and shriek again. I spoke. I stood.
I picked up the iron. "You will never speak to me in that tone of voice again. You will never raise your voice where I can hear it. My sister will never have to grow up with you being like this because it stops now. I work. I ask you for nothing. I buy what I want. I put up with your petty commands and clean and cook. I do not party. I do not get knocked up. (She opened her mouth and puffed up with a scowl and flushed face). I brandished the iron. There was fifteen feet between us maybe ten. My voice lowered. "I pitch softball. Problem is, when I loathe the batter I hit them in the head every time. Hard. If you came to games you would have seen helmets flipping off heads. You want to try me, go ahead. Scream one more time. I will pitch this fucking iron so fucking hard. See, its your head I have been aiming at. Make my day, otherwise turn around, walk away and pretend from this moment forward that you are normal." I stood. Iron in hand. Muscles tensed. Ready for the pitch. She could see it. She never raised her voice around me again.
That's the one time in life I can think of something I really wanted: to never hear a shrill screaming woman berating me over imagined slights again.

Fast forward to now. What do you want? Love. Kindness. Time to appreciate beauty in the world. Challenges that keep me thinking and growing. Arkham Horror, the board game. A new ebook reader. A wireless microphone set up. Pots and pans. Flooring for our carport tent. A small fridge. Eventually a generator. Finally. I feel comfortable answering the question of what I want. Now to work on asking. It is amazing to be at a point in my life where I feel I can start asking. I look forward to the moment where the fear of being burdensome in asking is a faded afterthought I can leave in a garbage can somewhere.

It Doesn't Have To Be Hard

I storytell while patrons at events paint on me. I have spent ten years in the streets entertaining with the goal of transitioning onto stage.
I have talked to many other entertainers and entertainment directors. We've paced around the problem of "how to go from small and intensely focused to large and inclusive of a big audience."
I mentally beat my head on the figurative wall. I kicked that wall. I punched that wall. It didn't move or change. I sat against it full of melancholy. I walked away, focusing on other challenges and hoping the wall would fall on its own.

After years of introspection and frustration I returned to the problem. Stage times on a 360 degree stage loomed ahead. I decided to start where I was, then problem solve necessary changes. Not approaching the wall from an entertainment standpoint, just as another challenge to surmount.

The past few years have been full of challenges from survival, paying bills, wrestling with inner demons, developing other skills to weave a metaphorical safety net for myself. Walls may be insurmountable, challenges are something to overcome.

It Doesn't Have to be Hard. Friends asked good questions about how to engage the whole audience, to shift from a large group painting to an individual. This one detail was the springboard. The show shifted and the wall was gone as it had only existed in my head.

Major changes come with perception shifts. Life doesn't have to be approached as if it is a punishment or purgatory. You choose how you live it, perceive it and you can choose to change it.

Are you choosing to make it more difficult or unpleasant than it needs to be? Do you excuse unhealthy behaviors in those around you while they distract you from attending to your own needs?
Why choose to keep choosing to allow someone to hurt you, especially when the hurt has minimal impact on them: except perhaps the gratitude that you allow your time, energy, and focus on being devoted to their misery rather than on taking care of yourself?

It doesn't have to be hard. My friend Coop said these words to me this weekend as we talked about recent changes in my life. A lot of my blogs this spring have dealt with emotional issues; as I walked around rather than addressed the crucial issue of attending to my own needs and wants. I had to let go of the perception I was responsible for someone else. Each of us IS responsible for ourselves.

In any relationship, whether it is with yourself or someone who brings a light into your eyes, it doesn't have to be hard
It is not a battle. It should not feel like a Herculean Task.
It should be easy, communication should be a two way street, responsibilities and challenges shared. Instead of judgement and criticism, problem solving and empathy.
Years ago another friend, Cale taught me expectations and cautions to watch for in healthy and unhealthy relationships. I look up to my friends, when they teach me something important I do my best to honor the lesson. This spring I watched red flag after red flag go up, unhealthy were the signs on my emotional relationship roadmap. I tried to address issues but found somehow doing so was the subtle song heralding a parting of ways. I did not realize how gone I was until I was gone. Suddenly the tension, pressure, negativity, and constant sound in my head stopped. It was like stepping out of a hurricane into a peaceful forest clearing. The air was clear, my shoulders loose, and my smile came back.

I was asked "Do you have to keep making these choices- or can you choose to make healthier ones?"

It was the best question. I encourage you, look at your life: where you feel most stressed and frustrated would you take a moment and ask this question of yourself?
Remember, it does not have to be hard. It can be full of gentle, sweet, accepting kindness. No excuses, why not choose to heal and grow? It is as easy as letting go of what was never really yours to carry.

It Comes Down To You

    Life goes on like a river over rocks in a small stream. Moments pass like water.
Over time you have to look at that river within you, when you hear the concern in friends voices and see it in their expressions.
    I spend so much time in that river shifting rocks to clear the water, sometimes I get distracted by the muddy water whirling away across the patches of algae. I know inside I'm healing and growing. I am becoming more aware of myself and what I need and want. I have learned that I truly have value. We all have value. Sometimes it can be easy to see our value from a warped perspective that makes something amazing look as unappealing as flotsam.
    Then we shift a rock, a big one. We do this with the love of our friends. The rock groans and the waters darken. In the murk when all seems clouded, clarity hits like a branch riding the water. You see yourself as others see you. You hear finally, how they perceive you. The flotsam becomes gold without magic or sleight of hand, because it always was gold underneath.
    I reached a point where I had to reevaluate where I was and where I was going, how I saw myself. I had to accept and let go of perceived responsibility over another person's well-being. We are each responsible for ourselves. We are responsible for being honest with ourselves and attending to our own needs before anyone else's needs or wants.
    In relationships, we build boats, bridges, and shape new paths for the water to travel. Even with love, you have to look at reality: how you treat each other, the words you use, the connection strength and whether it is healthy for all involved.
When you love someone you have to respect their choices, you have to allow them to express their feelings without criticism. Communication is important or you build your ship to wreck in rough waters. There is a give and a receive.
This is all especially true of the relationship we have with ourselves.
    Do you choose to ignore your needs? Do you justify and rationalize unhealthy patterns? The best option is to attend to yourself so you can effectively be there for others and enjoy the scenery around you.Are you feeling self destructive, self defeating, negative or passive? Why? What do you need to choose to change to release this barrier?

    Negative is not the same as depressed. Depression is an emotional and cognitive state say a block in the flow or ice on the water while negativity is an acid poured into your river that may damage the fragile ecosystem and leave you staring at scarred muddy banks and rust colored water. That IS depressing. 

    When you become aware of blocks you've chosen to allow you can release them.
Need versus want. Address needs and you may find the wants are addressed in tandem. Skip the needs and go for the wants and come up empty handed, covered in mud feeling worse.

    Several years ago I had to step back. To say I want to be the Painted Lady, she is an important part of me but I need my needs met to live. I communicated. Several events I had been at for years loyally, out of want, bluntly communicated in a manner that attempted to make me feel invalid. It knocked me back emotionally. I am resilient. I followed my river. I grew. Other events were supportive and the healing took me around the country.

I'm back. 

    I put my badge on my painted hat "Scarborough Faire 2016." I was excited and wondering what it would feel like the next morning. The cannon roared and the season began. Patrons and crafters, teary eyed, found me. Their love radiated, their faces and eyes broadcast how much they value this character I become. Part of me had been critical of the fact I work with words and not physical props. It is tremendously difficult to reach a level of high regard with words, far easier to comprehend the skill of sleight of hand immediately than it is to see the effect of subtle words in a fantastic story upon the heart. Until you go away and come back. 

    It rained. It was cold. I was caught up in the sudden flood of water and love into my river. What had been a trickle for several years straightened out and returned to what it should have always been. I had to be brave enough to open my heart. My heart goes out to the patrons at the events I have gone from, that perhaps one day in another venue or as a handwriting analyst I will find my way back to offer them up the unconditional nurturing that is a part of who I am. I hope we get our moment to reconnect and I hope you know I love and miss you. I hope you are still laughing and living!

    My mentor looked at me recently, she had observed my interactions with patrons, peers and friends for several months. She told me that I lead from behind and that I use my strength to bring those I touch with me as I rise. That I take time to offer tools and support that the people I meet need so they may choose to go higher and farther.

    She is right. It is humbling and empowering. I have to take care of me, because folks, hold on tight. I promise, even when it is hard; if you listen, if you choose, we all rise together. Instead of being a lone climber on a stark mountain we become part of a team with a safety net, able to appreciate views and have needs met rather than living in negativity and fear of falling.

    Who is in your net? Is your safety net strong or is it unreliable, is it frayed?
It is your choice. Choose well. Choose how how perceive yourself and choose how you would prefer to be treated. Life is change. No river flows stuck in one place.

How important are the little things?

Years ago I did as society hinted I should. I married right after college. I did my own divorce shortly after that. The details were all wrong. He did not know my favorite color, my favorite movies, music, or even my goals and dreams. Details. After I left a detail stood out.

For half a year the only change in the shampoo and soap came when I showered. I wondered at how they never changed yet he didn't reek like someone who has skipped using soap would. My brother told me the night I left, he already had a replacement woman over for the night. I was relieved. Perhaps he'd take the time to learn her details. I knew his. They didn't match mine.

Details like body language and general appearance come together to shape how others perceive us.

Have you ever wondered why others treat you in certain ways?

Change your expression. Change your posture. Change your clothes. Change your jewelry. Change shoes. What doesn't change? How mindful are you of you?
Have you tried shifting one habit, one telling detail?

One little change can be the difference between fear or excitement of facing a new challenge.

Our beliefs and assumptions are invisible constructs within us, beautiful and sometimes terrible. Do you know what unspoken rules you've shaped yourself with? They stretch and bend across the page unrecognized in your handwriting, body language and in the words you use. My lessons on handwriting analysis with Ruth Ballard's incredible knowledge and experience has opened new realms of awareness. Analyzing, analyzing and delving into new levels of scientific comprehension of humanity! Humbling, reality shifting, empowering details finally communicate across the barrier of consciousness.

Little things are the difference between appearing inept or masterful; appearing flustered or calm, and they often determine how others respond to us.

What do the little things say about you?

Immersed In Sunset

I am on a plane, headed west. The sun started setting as we climbed above the clouds. Listening to relaxing sounds I watched the warm peach, pink and gold tones fill my window. Soothed, my eyes closed. A half an hour later, I was surprised to notice the clouds colors were just as strong. I began to watch, taking breaks to let emotions go, to see them glide like little weeks through the window next to me and into that breathtakingly vast beauty. I thought of friends, letting go of all the frustrations from what I can't change in their lives. I took time to think of their gifts: shared memories, moments, and wisdom. Time passed slowly as it does in the sky.

In my meditation I stood on the wing of the plane, watching the dark little birds gracefully vanish from my heart into the light. I felt the coolness of the rose and gold tinted clouds. The wind went through me, cooling and refreshing.

I did not look back. I looked forward. I remembered how far I have come. The scars I have earned are badges of bravery, foolishness, pride and fear. I acknowledged them. I let them go as well, unravelling like a ribbon back into the darkness, eventually tumbling away.

The sunset lasted over two full hours. Golden, pink, vibrant and full of beauty. I was amazed how few looked out and saw. Most people were wrapped up in phones, laptops, tablets or books. It was like being alone on an island in the sky.

I shed silent tears when emotions came strong. I let them be, just be. Like letting an agitated cat run until it tires and you can calm it. I focused on them. The positive, the negative I just felt for a while. They grew faint, and after I acknowledged them and heeded their communication I shared memories with them that gave them reason to calm. Like a child in a fairy tale singing a feisty Dragon to sleep. Quietly, discretely I tended my heart. The plane was full of people, focused on their worlds while I appreciated the gift sunset was and worked on my inner world.

They say mastering your mind is the hardest task. I disagree. I think for some handling the heart and irrational feelings is far more challenging. Others struggle with being in tune with their spirit, discomforted by the enigmatic, powerful aspect that motivates us to see beyond our own existence: to be aware and consider the wellbeing of others as well as our environment and our connection to it.

Two and a half hours, periwinkle has joined the sunset circle, confident yet shyly hiding the terrain below. Music, binaural tones, nature calls blended together with the sunset colors. My last focus: on everyone below. To be grateful for you, for how far you have come with the burdens you have chosen to carry, to send out the hope and prayer that you have what you need, that you have laughter, friendship and health. I sent up prayers that whatever you all believe, that you all treat each other as human and worthy of respect and compassion.

The next time you are caught enraptured by an incredible moment, I entreat you to live it fully. Appreciate it. Let what is retune you, and return you to yourself.

The pink is almost gone, sky mostly blue grey now. Three hour sunset. What a sight! The plane is slowly descending, shortly we will be on the ground. I will be able to curl up at home tonight, content with my significant other. I will be able to hear my cat do his squeaky purr and wrestle with him. I will hear Gracie make her little night noises. I will hear the coyotes at night, the quail, doves, and myriad of other birds that come to visit Bruce and eat the seeds he offers them in the morning. Tomorrow I will see and hear friends. I live in today, not yesterday. I'm excited about tomorrow but today- today is always when I am! What are you looking forward to? What makes you smile now? Do you have goals or accomplishments to energize you?

Unexpectedly, I found the second I missed New Years. That second was a sunset that lingered for three hours.  Happy New Years everyone! May your year from here forward be full of unexpectedly amazing moments. May you appreciate and share each one.

Follow The Money

Strife shakes the ground, beliefs create barriers to understanding. Violence rocks our world. Excuses and blame pile up. This group, that group, because- because- because... Because of the wonderful things it does.

Money.

Set aside Saints, Sinners, Prophets, Saviors, even Gods. We'll get back to them.

Money. Greed. Profit motivates war. Profit motivates underpaying workers, choosing substandard materials and shoddy workmanship.

Greed and money motivates advertisers and politicians. Corporations overshadow society. Shaping our rituals and manipulating our emotions into sales. Diamonds are? Stones. Hard rocks used to cut rocks that aren't as hard. You are aware that the diamond industry wanted higher sales, so they invested in Hollywood. Marilyn Monroe sang the advertising into our hearts. A new ritual was created, diamond engagement rings. It's a gimmick. Did you fall for it?
Lithium? Powers your electronics. Where is lithium found? Afghanistan.
Middle east? Oil. If I wanted to incite you to violence oil wouldn't do it, but slashing at your religion or culture that's different.

Before you start foaming at the mouth, rising to a media sound bite or meme catch phrase pause.

Follow the money. Drop the feelings. Facts only.

Everything changes.

We each have the power to vote. We vote everyday with our spending.

Media argues and pushes topics at us, while filtering out topics that might negatively impact sales for the highest bidders. Others buy our information, that we freely shared, bored and lonely and curious on Facebook. The ads become tailored to you. You're stalked by virtual profit hunters, political manipulators.

They'll use what you've given them against you. Your interests, insecurities, deep seated fears are the weapons they use. They let you pick your poison, even earn you of the risks. They let you pick what you sentence yourself to. Twenty years in this cubicle or that production line. Sign yourself into indentured servitude with loans.

Educate yourself. Find your own freedom, follow your passion and face down fear. Shit happens, pain too, deal and go on.

Follow the money. Be aware the more alarmist the news gets, or the more superficial that there's a reason it's being shoveled out the way it is.

What are you missing? Why do you hate who you hate? Life is too short to waste being poisoned by spite and rhetoric.

Remember, the choice really is yours. If you choose to have it.

What is Freedom in a Country made of Ad Campaigns?

The Fourth of July started with a beautiful sunrise, cornflower blue sky and wild strawberries ripening in the lawn. A baby rabbit runs out to sneak a taste of succulent grass then races away as the puppy chases it.

You can't put a price tag on it.

Today is a celebration of freedom. The freedom to express beliefs and opinions. People in other countries do not necessarily have that. We have the choice to be active in shaping politics, communities and in the directions we walk in life. Some choose to tune out, to follow money and things, pursuing the pabulum claimed to be news of celebrities instead of actual news. Money's tight right now and I have traveling to do this week. I found a bright pink printed $20,000 bill from a game in the dirt. I thought about how little separates it from real money and how worthless money is when you stare at a sunset or watch a meteor shower.

I think about how we seem to need to buy things, always buy things to demonstrate what we stand for or to feel better or to chase away boredom. It's a hollow pursuit.

I spent a week helping friends move. Vast collections of things, family members deciding what to take and what to yard sale or donate. The mindset of having four or five in different color schemes as necessity makes me cringe, knowing one day that frivolous impulse will result in another overfilled landfill blemish.

What do we do when someone is sad? We feed them, pour them drinks, or buy them something. No wonder so many people feel depressed, disconnected and lost. What happened to listening and being there? Why have we forgotten the true value of real emotional support?

What do we do to celebrate? We eat, drink, and buy more things. What happened to just enjoying the moment? When did the value of a compliment get reduced to clearance prices?

When was the last time you spent the day with someone, just enjoying the time rather than shopping, buying things you don't need? When was the last time you actually talked and put the internet down for a while?

Here's an idea. Empty your pockets. Leave your wallet at home. Go to a shopping center and walk through it, notice how the ads and packaging are all designed to target specific interest groups, how they seem to buddy up or present products as if they are the penultimate thing you never knew you had to have. Study the vast, oversupply of things encouraging shallow, narcissistic egocentrism.

Now picture it all in a landfill. Think of how soon it'll break or the fad will end and the items will be discarded- the cheap possession high long faded and lost with a crumpled receipt on the floor.

Walk the aisles visualizing that.

Now, think of someone you love. What is the most valued memory you have? I think of my great grandmother Alice, sitting and having tea with me. I remember touching the lines on her hands and asking her if I had to have lines like hers when I got old. Her wrinkled perfect smile, the violets we tended in her garden. My grandfather rolling his glass eye to mess with people. The ridiculous and obnoxious antics he did to amuse himself. My other grandfather singing ditties and bouncing the youngest grandchildren on his lap to calm them when they were distressed.

I cannot find these things on a shelf, no sales flyer offers them, and no matter what I buy it is not these moments.

I hope that on Independence Day you choose to liberate yourself from materialism.

Merrill, a friend, always said "that which we enslave, enslaves us." He is correct. Things do not lead to happiness. Living, connecting, caring and accepting that maybe the world isn't less of a priority than self interest. Our society reminds me of undergraduate biology lab. A Petri dish with only so much nutrient in it, yet bacteria will consume it all until they have nothing left. They die. Emptyness around them and within them. I'm humbled that instead of rising above the limited self focused drive of a single cell organism, we instead demonstrate ourselves as fancier, more complicated, self destructive organisms with the same short sighted selfish choices of single cell organisms. I'd like to see us choose more wisely. 

We toxify our world and justify our destruction through rationalization or allow ourselves to tune out by looking away from the damage we do. Time has come to accept responsibility. Freedom has a price. Striving to reach beyond the limitations of our own self absorbed psyches, to evolve, we have to let go of the things we do not need. Our ancestors let go of the tree branches. They stood, uncomfortable at first; they struggled and made tools. It had to be rough, some chose not to stand, some went extinct. That's change. 

Today as you watch fireworks, think of the choices you have. How you spend your time, how you care and interact with others, how active and aware you are of the lives of the folks around you. Do you know your neighbors?

We can choose to enhance each others lives through relearning healthy social support behaviors. Eye contact, putting down the smartphone and conversing with the living beings around you, giving a hand, an ear- who isn't worth a little effort? Maybe if we stop trying to feed and pay off the emptiness within ourselves we can finally connect enough to heal. 

Independence Day, so I hope you choose to use that freedom wisely.