Forgiveness. July 23, 2010

At some point in our lives we will get hurt. As much as we’d like to think we could hide behind our computer screens, cell phones, foolish pride, self-loathing, or fear, something/someone 100% real will hurt us.

I guess this is where forgiveness comes in. As kids, our first experience with it may be with a simple act of childhood nonsense, by a sibling or a friend. Then, a parent, teacher, or adult of some sort probably forces the forgiveness, and life goes on. But as we get older, it becomes a little more complicated.

The parents we once admired may let us down. Maybe we’re betrayed by a friend, partner, or a spouse. Or, maybe it’s something deep inside ourselves that we absolutely detest – an addiction, our appearance, or any source of guilt. I believe there’s a point where you have to forgive in order to move on.

Forgive the faults of a mother, father, or relative, who is ultimately only human. The former friend as he or she undoubtedly possessed something you liked once. And, of course, ourselves; because in the end, letting the joys in life pass you by will be far more depressing than cutting yourself some slack.

Why? Because this person or problem does not dictate your actions past the point of forgiveness. They may have a foothold in your past, but only you decide when your own hatred stops. Peel away the fingers of your clenched fist, one at a time. In my opinion, there is no “bigger person” when it comes to forgiveness. It makes no difference if my forgiveness is bigger, louder, or more confrontational than yours. It is a silent choice with a silent, personal benefit. Letting go will be more fulfilling than dwelling on who should have “stepped up.”

It may take years of trying – avoiding your image in a mirror, a certain song, picture, or memory, but I firmly believe that the more you try the easier it gets.

I say: Breathe it in. And let it go.

(This is not specifically directed at any fans, of any sport, in any city , most definitely not Cleveland.)

Leaving, loving, family July 20, 2010

On a recent trip to visit my boyfriend’s family, who live over 8 hours (driving distance) away, I had a hard time understanding why he took so long to leave. At every family member’s home we visited, I felt like we were overstaying our host’s hospitality, just a little bit. What I thought was maybe a half hour or so later into the evening than I considered appropriate, he sat still and continued chatting. On the morning of our departure it must have taken us 45 minutes just to get up off the couch to leave, and this was all before 6:30 a.m. Maybe its because this was not my family, but who knows.

I typically come and go as I please with my family. I see them fairly often so, I guess I get my “love fix” more than he does.

It wasn’t until I got into the car with him to leave that I got it (and a little teary eyed as well). This family, I met a week ago, who had been so openly loving, hospitable, and welcoming, made even me cry when I left. Blame it on lack of sleep or generally being a woman, whatever. What I believe happened was that I finally got it. I finally understood why it took him so long to leave – the woman we stayed with, his aunt, probably loves and shows her love more than anyone does for him, probably even me. She is openly happy, loving, warm, friendly, inviting, and laughs all the time. Beyond that, she and my boyfriend have grown from what seems like a loving aunt/nephew relationship to a strong, connected friendship – like a best friend you only manage to come across every once in a while, when you’re lucky.

There is a difference between being an openly loving person and being a good host. Openness, especially with showing love, comes easier to some than it does for others. A great host will make you feel at home physically. A host like this woman will make you feel at home in her heart, as part of her family.

Leaving a loving family is never easy. Especially when the alternative is dismal, cold, and often lonely. This week someone reminded me of a lesson in love and family – a true example of love – open, honest, and free – and an example of family – warm and welcoming.

Next time I’m home, I’ll stay a little later.

Pain is a state of mind (I think) July 15, 2010

Pain – What’s there to be passionate about? We all know pain, unfortunately. It’s a dark spot on your mind and heart. Many people grow passionate about what they’ve survived, and why shouldn’t they? A connection forms between people when they share their pain with another – to me that’s nothing but passion.

Here is my take on pain:

Everyone has an excuse for pain. There is no joy without sadness. No light without dark. What goes up must come down.  They say pain is temporarily, it makes you stronger, it’s part of life, and so on.

Pain is a state of mind.

You may not agree or even remotely believe that, but at least part of me believes it’s true.

People have countless ways of adjusting their state of mind to deal with their suffering, misfortune, or adversity.

Wear red, the color of power, to help you believe in and exhibit your own power. The strong color is a symbol of strength, control, and authority.  When left with feelings of powerlessness and insignificance we crave every ounce, every bit we can earn by tooth and nail in the struggle to regain our power and overcome our pain.

Tarot, horoscopes, even aromatherapy are ways to deal with pain. They address the pain of the unknown, mental strife, or physical hurt.

The last, my favorite, is ice. Sealing the name of a person, a problem, or an obstacle in the confines of a cold, hard, block of ice – in secret, with no harm to anything or anyone – is unusual, but as I’m told, fulfilling. The negativity and pain of whatever hurts, is stopped, sealed, stuck in a block of ice at the back of the freezer. It’s a symbolic act of freezing off that part of your mind. Whatever it is, its gone, locked away.

This all sounds kinda creepy, huh? I know. But as I said before, pain is a state of mind. And we control our minds.

If only it was that easy to control our pain!

Touch. July 1, 2010

Touch is by far one of the most important senses. Never seeing a person again, or hearing their voice, even smelling their cologne, or their signature dish again, all seem daunting; but what if you could never have your mother’s hug again, never cuddle in bed with the one you love, never even embrace a friend or family member? Sight, hearing, and smell are the first to be defended when the question of ‘if you had to give up one sense, what would it be?’ comes up. But how could I even tell you this without touch the keyboard?

Think about what it would be like to never be touched. By anyone. Not the extremity of being ‘bubble boy’ or locked in a germ-free room for the rest of your existence; think, living in a nursing home, a stuffy dorm, or even living alone in a new city, by yourself. Who would touch you? You could literally go days without it.

Whenever I’d visit someone in a home, no matter how difficult, my mother would remind me to hold the person’s hand as I said goodbye, hug, or kiss them, even if I hesitated.

Because if I didn’t, who else would?

Just yesterday, my amazing boyfriend [who has been wondering when he'll get mentioned in this blog! ] told me that he’d read a study that argued if couples held both hands together while they argued, they’d have more compassion in their words, and likely, a more positive argument.  He also recently tested me on hugging. He read if a couple hugs for a longer-than-normal-time it builds trust. So hold on a little longer – it’ll feel uncomfortable in public, but its totally worth it.

There’s a comfort that develops among humans, and sometimes animals, through touch. I believe it does build trust, compassion, and love. A touch is a connection. A mother to a child. A friend to a friend in need. The lover to his love.

I believe that a touch can be passionate. It can also be compassionate. It could be just what we need to survive in a world isolated by technology, hatred, crime, and distance.

Growing Up: Part 2 June 28, 2010

Growing up part 2

There are days when I do nothing right. Nothing. I could bat a thousand one day and be hiding with the blinds drawn, under the covers, the very next. But I still wouldn’t go back to middle school, or even high school.

Hell, I felt older then than I do now.  

Today I wrote a letter to my father. Reintroducing a person he forgot. But, I guess forgot isn’t quite fair. A person he lost track of. Me.

At some point in a child’s life, roles switch. The ones who cut up our roast beef, who helped us down those daunting stairs, and who kept track of our routines might simply start to lose track.

Be gentle and don’t be afraid. There were countless times when you fell down the steps and scraped your knee, your hands, and maybe even your head – and I’m sure they didn’t look at you differently for it.  They comforted you. Because growing up, or growing old, well it ain’t easy.

They can be the person they once were, to you, if you let them. Listen to their life’s stories, the ones that remain, again and again when you have to. Because one day, things will quiet down, and you’ll think back to when Mr. Savulak spoke about ‘dafferent’ people, or when he jumped off the edge of his ship during a World War just to retrieve a basketball, or when Daddy used to let his favorite girl help close-up his pool hall for the night.

Anger, fear, denial, resentment, pain, and sadness – they’ll all be your demons.

But, as they say, “Grow up.” Be an adult; it’s your turn. 

Try to let love guide your actions and the demons will seem miniscule.

Dear Dad,

Hello! This is Anne, your youngest daughter. I am 22 years old…

Growing Up: Part 1 June 25, 2010

Growing up

Remember when you couldn’t wait another day to have your driver’s license? Just to have that feeling of freedom, the open road stretching before you, and heaven forbid you let that cellular leash tie you down! We couldn’t wait to grow up. To be free of curfews, parents, rules – eat, sleep, and clean when and where you want to, make your own calls, all your own choices.

When does that passion stop? That fervency to excel further and further into ‘freedom’. Is it at the first 24-pack of ramen noodles or the second? Is it when you get hurt bad? Hurt to your core, your heart, or your pride. Whether it be the first big hurt or the 25^th, the impact doesn’t seem to change.  Maybe it’s a man, or a woman, or a bounced check, a bad credit report, a lost friend or lover, a crappy boss, or an EPIC (even though I hate that word) Failure, with a capital F.

Becoming an adult is an unending and often uphill battle. There’s your own wants and desires, the responsibility to a family that you were once threaded so tightly in (one that you may or may not still be wound so securely to now) and of course, the family you may start. There’s money. There’s right and wrong. There’s the end of the day and the last dollar to spend. There’s that thing called Responsibility (with a capital R). It’s your tradeoff to  ‘freedom.’

So what was all that rush for anyway?

We’re ‘growing up’ forever.  And in yesteryear we called this ‘freedom?’ Funny how that view may change when that ‘R’ word rolls around.

They say life has phases. A time for everything, and everything in due time. Do you believe it? Or do you still hang on to that passion for life, for freedom? For an open door to an endless road. That graduation night, first-day-of-the-rest-of-your-life feeling you once had?

I hope you live passionately on this ride.

Because, you don’t have to worry, ‘R’ will be there when you get back.

Growing Up: Parts 1 and 2

Sometimes, we start in one place with one goal, and end in another place with a completely different result.

That’s how my ‘Growing Up’ blog went – fittingly.