Minimalist Monday - What's In A Name?

Yup, it's not Monday... but what's in a name? ;) Feels like Monday to me!

Minimalist... what does that mean?

My definition of minimalism is thoughtfully designing my life so that everything/everyone I interact with brings me joy. Does that mean I'm always happy? Hellz no! However, when something/someone is consistently adding anything other than joy to my life (stress, anger, frustration, depression, anxiety, stinky farts) I change my world so that I interact with that thing/person less and eventually remove it/them from my life completely.

Of course there are parts of my life that I don't truly love... and I've decided that removing them from my life would cause as much stress as keeping them. In those instances I've decided to change my perspective so at I can find a way to appreciate that part of my life. And that appreciation gives me joy.

It's always changing. I'm always reassessing, asking questions, and seeking answers that often yield new questions. All in the pursuit of equilibrium. It's kind of like limits in calculus... something I'm always reaching towards, and I can get infinitesimally close to, yet never meet. THIS realization used to cause me much stress... until I changed my perspective. 

Life is a journey... once you reach the destination, life is over. Enjoy the journey... all the bumps, twists and turns. Choose your road wisely... though you can only see it's beginning... be prepared to change course when things aren't right. If you can't find a crossroad, make your own! That's my new perspective.

Here are some minimalist inspired blog posts that have helped me find the road that brings me the most joy.

Zen Habits - The Elements Of Living Lightly

The Minimalists - Consumption Is Not The Problem 

Living Well Spending Less - Why I Took My Kids' Toys Away

The Life-Changing Magic Of Picking Up

Becoming Minimalist - Don't Just Declutter, De-Own

Why I'm Not Skinny Enough

Girls like me aren't supposed to have issues like this. I'm supposed to look at my size 10 jeans and think, "It's okay, I'm five foot nine, and it's mostly muscle..."

This is me, doing my favorite thing. A couple weeks ago, I started running again... 3 times a week. My friends are planning to participate in a race in January and I'm hoping to run with them. And yet, every time I finish my run I end up in the bathroom, naked and disappointed. I mean I just ran THREE MILES! The fat should melt off!...

sigh...

And then I'm ashamed that I am such an ass. I should not be complaining about my body. I should not have such a negative opinion about my body. I should just wake up and enjoy this body because one day I won't have it anymore.

should, should, should... so yeah, I beat myself up because I hate how I feel. I hate the way the world has programed me to feel. 

Some background.

This is me, five years ago. I weigh nearly 30 pounds less in this picture. I had just been through some difficult stuff that lasted for several years. I went to the doctor one day, convinced there was something horribly wrong with me, convinced I was probably dying. My doctor told me I was having panic attacks, some that lasted for days. (Thinking about this makes me nauseous... makes me want to lay down and hide... pushing publish, I hope will be liberating) They put me on lorazepam and scheduled me to see a psychiatrist. 

I couldn't handle the drug... the side effects were awful, so I stopped taking them. I needed a different way to cope.

As a vegetarian I often need to defend my diet and prove that I get enough protein... I started tracking everything I ate so I could post on days I ate 115 grams of all veggie protein and smile :) Of course, I also had the chance to see all of the 700 calorie days. I noticed that if I ate, I was more likely to have panic attacks. So I ate less. And when times got rough, I ate A LOT less. 

More background.

Me and my "date" for senior prom :) 

I grew up surrounded by women who struggled with their weight. Two memories always stick out when I reflect on my body image.

I remember a day at the beach with some of the women in my family and their friends. There was also a large woman in a bathing suit enjoying a day at the beach. I listened as the adults in my party remarked on the other woman's bathing suit choice:

"Does she even know what she looks like?"

"Ewww, I don't want to look at that!"

"This is just indecent."

Oh, and laughter... 

I was young. I couldn't really understand why the women I was with would say such things about another woman... one who looked much like them. It became one of many memories that I filed away to figure out later.

I was much younger for this other memory. I drew a picture at school of my mother and myself cuddling. Under the picture I wrote, "I like cuddling with my mom, she is squishy."

We used to laugh about this... I think I spelled "squishy" without vowels ;) 

But now it makes me want to cry.

As a kid, I knew my mom was perfect. Even the parts of her that she wanted to change, the parts of her that the world rejected. Though my mom was a full figured woman I saw nothing but love in her. I accepted every inch of her and found value in every part of her.

So, to hear my mother criticize her own body or talk negatively of the bodies of others confused me.

Over time that confusion slipped away and I accepted that this is how things are. We should not accept our bodies. If there is any fat on my body, then I am eating too much and not exercising enough. Fat makes me unattractive, unworthy and unlovable. And anyone else who doesn't feel this way should be ridiculed.

Well, that kind of thinking just caused more anxiety. I know it was wrong, but everything I look at screams that it is right! TV, commercials, my friends who beat themselves up over their weight, fitness programs promising to "fix" me... 

This is the thing.

I want to be done with not being skinny enough. And I know losing weight isn't the answer. In the running picture I weighed 134 pounds and wore size 4 pants. And I kept thinking about how cool it would be if I could get down to 130, or 128...

I want this to stop, but I don't think I can do it alone. 

I read this book called A Complaint Free World. Author Will Bowen writes about the hurtful power of complaining, sarcasm and criticism. And the healing powers of silence.

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit... I will be brief.

I think we should all read this book. I think it will help us all heal our inner wounds. Which might help us to stop wounding others. 

It's a cycle. And it is up to us if we want it to be a cycle of love or a cycle of hurt.

I love you all, thank you for your acceptance.

Errands With Children = ADVENTURE!

Disclaimer: I have never had my own children. Though I want to be a parent, my parenting knowledge is new and limited. I have only been taking care of tiny humans for about a year.

...

Today I had the opportunity to spend about two hours running errands with a couple of my friends' children. Before we start we need to get the elephant in the room out of the way. These were't just any kids... They are two of the sweetest and most charismatic kids in existence!

I've wanted to try an errand day for a while now. Twice a week I only have two kids to watch, and I liked the idea of getting things done during the day, so I could play more video games once the kids go home ;) I finally got up the courage to ask the kids' parents if I could do this, and after a quick car seat tutorial we were on our way!

We made four stops today: The post office in a plaza, the small animal hospital with it's own small parking lot, the HUGE grocery store, and the small pet shop with on-street parking. All of these venues provided their own unique hurdles as well as useful perks.

Actually, before we really get going I need to mention the true elephant in the room: privilege. White privilege has been making it's way around the Internet arousing much vibrant discourse of late. One thing I am often conscious of, as I walk around the neighborhood on my way to the park, playground or library with 2-6 children in tow, is my privilege. Most strangers we meet assume I'm the mother of all of the children I care for. As the strangers smile at me and say nice things to us, I wonder how my experience would differ if my skin were darker. Would the kind people in the park whisper something about welfare queens as we walked past each other? Could this thought be just the product of all the news I'm trying to avoid these days? Or is it evidence of my own private prejudice? Or is it me coming to grips with our self-imposed segregated reality? Regardless, I feel it is important to be conscious of these thoughts... and perhaps they will come to fruition in a future post.

Tangent inventoried.

Figuring how to safely remove two children under the age of two from a car is a challenge! In the small parking lots I felt a lot safer. There wasn't much traffic and I could put the slightly older kid in the unused front seat with a stern, "stay here" request while I unbuckled the smaller kid. It worked really well. The BIG lot at the HUGE grocery store caused me to be overcautious in an attempt to reduce my anxiety. I found three empty spots together and parked in the middle... and opened both front doors as to say, "Please don't
park in those other spots just yet." Until this experience I thought it was silly that some large parking lots have spots up front reserved for families with small children. It's not just about the kid's safety... but the parent's sanity! Double whammy here! Or maybe I'm just suffering from first-year-with-children syndrome. :)

None of those parking lots came close to how terrifying it was to park on the street and get a kid out of a carseat from behind the driver's seat. I just stood there waiting for the light down the road to turn red... then waited again as the remaining traffic passed. Then, it was a race!! I'm glad this was my last stop. I'm relieved that the child seat wasn't confusing this time. I'm also lucky this kid has a lot of experience pulling his arms out of the straps with ease. For the first time, I questioned my hatred of parking lots in the city.

Wearing a baby-carrying contraption kept the tiny-tiny human safe, which allowed me to focus most
of my attention on the free range tiny human. I'm glad I didn't take the stroller... I really didn't want to take-out/put-in an additional item that also had buttons and straps. However, inside the pet shop I understood why a stroller is useful. There is just so much AWESOME STUFF TO GRAB!

Navigating the insides of the shops was a challenge, but once I was done I had to get my new wares back to the car... and that, I thought, would be the real problem.

I was pleasantly surprised how wrong I was.

As I pushed my cart of groceries through the large grocery store parking lot, tiny toddler secured in the cart and tiny-tiny toddler attached to me, I debated the best position for the cart to rest while I unloaded the children and the bags. I held an internal dispute about stowing the humans or the products first. But, before I had time to come to a conclusion, an employee was close at had to load my items into the trunk, watch the cart while I loaded child number one, and take the cart back for me as I loaded child number two. @.@

THEN, at the pet store where I bought many cans of food and two large bags of cat litter the man delivering the shop's latest products was standing and waiting. I thought I was in his way, and when I offered to move he said, "oh, I'm just waiting here so I can carry your stuff to the car for you." @.@

Today I just couldn't help but think, the world must really like me! Then I realised.. I really like the world! Was the world just returning the favor, or is it all just about perspective?

Or Maybe We're On The Wrong Path

Do you feel stressed?
...overweight?
...depressed?
...unfulfilled?
...unattractive?
...under-appreciated?
...confused?
...lost?

That's GREAT! We have just what you NEED?
How about a relaxing meditation vacation?
Or this new fitness routine at this new gym?
Or a new anti-anxiety medication?
Or a stimulating career certification course?
Or a sale at THE fashion store?
Or this new method that well teach YOU how to win them over?
Or this new thing... don't worry what it is, but we promise you can't live without it!

Or... Or... Well, come on... just tell us your symptoms, and we will find some way to numb them so you can get back to "enjoying" life just the way we want you to.

It seems that no matter your distress, someone has the answer for you. And they are almost always selling that answer. But does the answer provide an effective solution, or does it just help us carry our burdens longer by distracting us from the root of the problem?

I've been thinking about this for a while. Every year we have more and more fitness centers opening, and yet the obesity rate is rising. More people are depressed even though anti-depression use has skyrocketed. Even industry based mindfulness training meant to treat stress is perhaps a misguided effort.

Recently one of my new friends posted this question online:
"Dear Feelings, WHERE'S THE "OFF" BUTTON TO THESE THINGS."

Nearly half of the comments suggested some sort of distraction, from sports to coffee. Concerned not only for my friend's longterm well being, but also wanting to give a nugget of advice to others watching her status, I gave this answer:
"The off button is there... but it's dangerous to use... instead, turn up the volume, allow yourself to feel and know you are loved and everything is okay.  hugs."

This comes from my new favorite book, Daring Greatly. The author, Brene Brown, discusses the dangers of numbing ourselves and gives alternative solutions. Basically, the problem is when you are in pain, or sad, or angry you can't just numb those injured emotions. If you numb one, you numb them all. Numbing sadness numbs joy as well.

I wanted my friend to know that her emotions are valid. Though they may hurt, fighting them or hiding them will only injure or mask her beauty from our world. I also wanted her to know that she doesn't have to face that struggle alone, that she has many people who love her and that we are always there for her.

And I guess I am writing this because I want you to know that you too are not alone. Though I am afraid some of you may feel like you are. I am here for you, just as you are here for me. I sincerely believe that our connections bring us strength. They can give us the strength to go out and be ourselves.

I was a teacher at a school that forced children to sit still and be quiet for 10 hours a day as we drilled the students on skills that would raise their test scores. I felt stifled, then saddened, then crushed. I didn't have the courage to quit my job and fortunately at the end of the year they let me go because, "This place isn't the right fit for you."

While I worked there I was depressed and suffered from massive anxiety attacks that occurred with frightening frequency. Once I mourned the loss of my job I felt peace. I didn't need medication or new training ... I was pushing my non-square self into that school's square shaped ideology and I'm happy that I refused to conform for as long as I did.

I think if things feel wrong, they probably are. That chances are, it's not you... but the place you've put yourself that is causing you strife. This belief of mine exposes my faith in humanity, and I am happy to share that with you.

So, next time you feel wrong... maybe you just need a different path. :)

Why I Write: Walking the Path to Me

"It's okay, I'll be strong for you." Said my wonderful girlfriend to me earlier this week (and many times throughout our relationship) as I sat, crying in a ball on the kitchen floor earlier this week. Those who know me will wonder, "Jeez... what happened... what did I miss?" The answer is simple... Nothing.

Nothing happened. Nothing terrible. No one died. No one was horrible to me. No one left me. I still have my job, my house, my family, my friends, all my cool things... I still have everything... Except my sense of self.

I've been in love with David Sedaris since I discovered his book, Holidays on Ice over ten years ago. I loved how he told stories about life that were honest, funny and complex. From there I became a fan of This American Life... and listening to people tell their stories and witnessing as the narrators come to grips with their experiences had a powerful effect on me. Initially, it made me jealous. I wanted to be that honest. I wanted to stop hiding. I wanted to be me and just be okay with that. I wanted to like me... but I didn't even know who I was.

I like to write. I love reading the journals I wrote as a teenager. It gives me the chance to take a step back and appreciate the journey.

Writing a blog offers the same benefits as journaling with the added perk of practicing being me in front of an audience.

I dance in my living room, sing loud when I'm alone, and have lively, opinionated conversations with myself when I'm the only one in my truck. But, put me in a room with other people and I can't stop wondering what you all think of every little thing I do... How vain... I know. I know you are not even remotely interested in 99.9% of what I do, but to convince myself otherwise feels like a lie.

My therapist calls this characteristic of mine social anxiety disorder. I hate that phrase. I hate the term disorder. It makes me feel broken... And yet, I need a way to except my damaged self image. The Japanese tradition of kintsugi is the art of fixing a broken pot by using gold to hold the pieces together so the pot becomes more beautiful and lets people embrace it's traumatic history. This speaks to me. The gold that holds me together are the wonderful people in my life... and sometimes, I even make my own gold.

So, I'm starting to think maybe I just won't call it a disorder... Perhaps I'm just still learning how to use my fingers and toes with confidence. We all have different paths, and some are longer and twistier than others (that's what she said!;)

Lately I've been reading this awesome book called Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way we Live, Love, Parent and Lead. I've only read a third of the book and have already broken down crying at least three times. This book is bringing me face to face with things that I brush under the rug and stow away in the dark corners of my psyche. I just need to share some of the quotes.

"It's crazy how much energy we spend trying to avoid these hard topics when they're really the only ones that can set us free."

Wow... that one hit me hard... I can't even begin to tell you how much my mental health and life in general improved when I finally told my current girlfriend (a.k.a. fiancée) that I like her. And with every other person we told, life became easier.

"We can't let ourselves be seen if we are terrified by what people may think."

My problem in a nutshell. Yet rather than come to terms with that, and learn to move past it... I just tell myself that I'm broken... that there is something wrong with me. I beat myself up... I become ashamed of myself.

"Yes, shame is tough to talk about. But the conversation isn't nearly as dangerous as what we're creating with our silence! We all experience shame. We're all afraid to talk about it. And, the less we talk about it, the more we have it."

And THIS is why I feel I must write this blog. Talking about my feelings and being vulnerable enough to connect with you is hard... I need to practice. I need to spend a couple of days a week, crafting a thoughtful entry, and then practice the courage to push the publish button.

Of course, I could just stand up and say, "This is who I am! If you don't like it, that's your problem!" Which kinda defined my adolescence... Talk about psychological projection! I didn't like me. And I tried to blame my self hate on everyone around me. I struggled struggle with anger... you should see my teenage current journals!

Throughout my life bits of myself have cracked... but I'm putting the pieces together and filling the cracks with kindness and acceptance. Now I practice saying, "I love the person I am, and have always been. My self worth does not wait for anyone's approval."

 

If I Hit Your Child, Would He Respect Me Too?

This post has been living in my head for a while. It's really hard to write... but I also think it is very important to write it.

I was spanked when I was a child.

My parents never left physical marks. They never hit me in anger. And there was always a great deal of warning before I was hit.

Some parents beat their children. My parents did not, and would have never beat me or my sister.

I guess that makes us lucky...

...

Recently, I saw a meme on the Internet that reads:

This has caused me to think a lot about why I respect people. Was it due to the fact that my parents hit me? Was it something else? Was it some combination of the two?

Let me reflect on how I felt when I was spanked. My mother would give many warnings before we were spanked... to the extent that I never really knew when the threat was real. So I didn't really take her seriously until she told me to go get the paddle. My mom was smart. She knew that by the time she had decided to spank us she would be angry! In the time it took me to cry my way to where the paddle was kept and back she would be calm enough to hit me without hurting me too much.

When she warned me, I felt silly... it was just part of the game.

When she asked me to get the paddle, I felt afraid... The game was over.

When she hit me, I felt sad and hurt... I had lost.

When it was over, I felt ashamed... Everything was my fault.

I would tell myself, "It wasn't that bad... I can take it... I'm tough." The woman I love most in the world just hit me... for my own good... and I was trying to convince myself I was strong enough to take it.

Let me be clear. I never once thought, "Well, I guess I won't do that anymore." Which would be obvious to if you knew how many parent-teacher conferences my parents had to attend due to my unruly behavior. I never once considered whether or not I should do something based on if I thought I would be spanked. I always thought I could get away with it.

When I was seven my grandmother died and right around that time I started walking to school. Eventually, I was walking unsupervised with my sister and a friend... and we used to swear like sailors! At one point it occurred to me that my grandmother was watching me from above, and how disappointed she was to hear what I was saying... I rarely cursed again until after college.

I don't think my grandmother ever spanked me... But I know I didn't want to disappoint her.

Currently, I care for children between the ages of zero and five in my home. I provide them with a caring, safe, structured home away from home while their parents work. Even if New York state would allow it, I am ethically opposed to striking children for any reason. And yet, I don't spend ten hours of my day coping with uncontrollable children. We play, learn, eat, sleep and clean up in relative peace.

However, It was not always this way.

When I started my daycare business nearly a year ago I had no idea what I was doing. There were tantrums and defiance... even throwing and hitting! And I just didn't know what to do. I tried so many different things. But I was starting to think I had made a huge mistake in my career choice.

So, I did what I do. I went to the library.

Two books stick out in my memory. Have a New Kid by Friday and Parent Effectiveness Training.

In my opinion, a self-help book is intended to change the reader... at least that is what the name implies. And of course, the only person I have any control over changing is myself.  Just by looking at the titles I should have known one would help, while the other would be a disaster.

Have a New Kid by Friday wants you to change your children. It is a book on authoritative parenting. They even suggest spanking... You would think that would have finally convinced me to put the book down... But I was desperate. I needed to make this new job work. So I tried all the non-spanking suggestions. What a disaster! I was upset. The kids I was watching were upset... even a friend who I suggested this book to was upset because it backfired with her child as well.

On my Christmas vacation I found Parent Effectiveness Training. I was reading the book during a week without children, and I didn't believe anything they suggested would work. To my surprise, EVERY SINGLE SUGGESTION HELPED! PET teaches parents how to model good communication so that their children can express themselves effectively. And, lo and behold, when people can express themselves to someone who's main goal is to understand them, conflicts float away.

I'm not saying everything is perfect. I still have rough moments and terrible days. But the overall change is remarkable.

I've suggested this book to so many people. In fact, I want the author to write a new book called, People Effectiveness Training that focuses on teaching people how to interact successfully with everyone in their life. I think we all need a little of that.... At least I know I do :)

The thing I remember helping me the most, when I was a kid, was the numerous times my dad sat up with me at night, talking for HOURS about something that was distressing me. He was there to answer my questions, share his experiences and let me know that my feelings are valid. Those talks made me who I am today, those talks taught me the importance of respecting another person... Because those talks showed me that my dad respected me.

One more point. A point of shame as a matter of fact. Sometimes... and it isn't easy to admit this... sometimes, I want to hit a child. This week I was walking into a store as a mother was walking out with a screaming child. The child was being rude and disrespectful and my very first thought was, "That child needs a spanking!" Immediately I felt horrible. I remember how much I hated being hit... and yet, my gut reaction is still sometimes to inflict physical pain. This scares me because I know my parents did not hit me as often as I'm sure they thought they should... and even that taught me, in some small way, that violence is a solution.

So, in conclusion, I believe there is no need to hit a child. I can change the environment, I can strengthen my communication skills, I can get stress relief training, I can reach out for help, I can smile more.

I believe there is no reason to hit a child... unless if you want to.

P.S.

I'd love to see comments, so I know what you are thinking as you read this. :)

The Accumulative Effect of Repressed Loss

I'm selling my truck. Ruby is a 2003 Dodge Dakota I named after Ruby Rhod from the film The Fifth Element. They are both loud, black, sexy and have a stick they aren't afraid to use ;)

Last night a friend contacted me with news that her sister is interested in buying Ruby! I was excited, and then, slowly, sadness overcame me. And had no idea what was wrong with me. I wasn't connecting this sadness to my truck. I don't even drive my truck anymore! I put gas in him two months ago and still have 3/4 of a tank. 

When my girlfriend came home, I went through the normal motions of telling her about my day. When I mentioned I had an interested buyer, the tears just started rolling. I was surprised, and even more surprised as I continued to talk about every loss that was still hurting me.

About a year and a half ago my girlfriend and I took some classes to become foster parents in the hopes of finding a child to adopt. One of the things we discussed at length in the class was that children in foster care are coping with massive losses. They have lost their families, their friends, their school, their neighborhood and often most (if not all) of their belongings. Then they get moved from home to home, compounding the effect of all previous losses. These kids just don't get the time to fully deal with their losses. At the time I thought I understood this phenomenon.

Last night I was mad at myself for being so over sensitive. Why am I crying over a truck? Yeah, it's the first vehicle I ever bought all on my own. Yeah, it symbolizes independence. Yeah, it's useful (in the rare moments I (or my friends) actually need a truck.) But it's still just a thing... A thing that will bring us a great deal of financial security if we don't own it any more. So I should be happy...

And then I jumped in the deep end.

I thought about my best friend's wedding that I'm not invited to because I became too distant (I am sure I did other things that contributed to the dissolution of our close friendship... but my "gift" of oblivion has dwarfed those happenings.) And then I thought about my own wedding, and how my HUGE family means that many of my chosen family, my friends, won't be in attendance because we just can't afford that... And I just don't want to make someone feel what I am feeling.

I thought about Xander, our kitty that we put asleep a year ago, after trying so hard to save him, we still had to let him go. And then I looked to the three cats we have left, and I know their time will come... as will mine. And when I go, someone will cry, they will feel loss and hurt.

I thought about the fight with my family where I lost my mind because they didn't share my opinions about the importance of helping the refugee children at our southern boarders. And I thought about how uncomfortable I feel being around them now, but that I can't come out and say that, because it will hurt them... I don't want them to hurt the way I hurt. I don't want them to feel the loss of comfort I feel.

I thought about all of the foster children... Children who lost their families, their moms, their beds, their homes. And I thought about the foster child we almost had... And how she now has another loss to add to her list. And I to mine. And every day we don't look again is another day a child needs to wait in limbo, needs to feel unloved... And can't take the time to heal yet... But to look again is scary! I don't want to hurt someone else, I don't want to feel that pain again, and I don't want to see my girlfriend cry because we have to do what is right for all involved... There is just too much pain.

I can never understand what children in foster care are feeling. Even with all the accumulative loss I cried over last night... A comparison is not justifiable. But knowing what just a tiny fraction of that loss feels like, makes it much more real... brings me to the edge of understanding.

When I feel loss I go to bad places. When I get to bad places I remember that I don't want to be there anymore. Sometimes I pull myself out, sometimes I wait for help.

I'm lucky. I have help. I have wonderful friends, who I know will forgive me if I can't afford to have them at my wedding. I have a loving family who, even though we may never understand each other, is always there when I need to call. 

Not everyone is this lucky.

<3

Greed vs. Altruism

I've been thinking a lot about greed lately. About people who have so much yet refuse to help those who have so little.

Honestly, I'm not even talking about the super, ultra rich. Most of my life I have made the kind of salary that affords me an almost-middle class life, so I don't have the knowledge base to begin to understand the ultra rich and why they do what they do.

I'm talking about you and me. Normal, everyday people. Many of us are just doing what we can to pay the bills and keep a roof over our heads. We often feel we can't share what we have... that without the little extra in our pocketbook we will suffer some horrible fate.

I think our greed comes from the "what ifs."

What if I lose my job?
What if I lose my house/car?
What if we break up?
What if my kid gets sick?
What if I get sick?
What if social security runs out?
What if my rent goes up?
What if I have to go back to school?
What if....

According to Maslow's hierarchy of needs safety is a basic human need. A need so basic that growth can falter if it isn't present. I have food, and I'm healthy... and right now I feel safe... but we humans have the gift a precognition (whether our prognostications are accurate or not is another debate entirely.) Perhaps that is where all of our, "What if?" quandaries come from.

And these types of worries makes me wonder, why do our personal prophecies envision such a bleak future?

Because we don't feel safe.

Well, why don't we feel safe?

Sigh. It's so easy to point fingers now. To blame government, criminals, international discord, history, human nature, religion, war, anger, hate...

But it seems the most important finger is pointed right back at us.

If I won't share to help someone... then why would someone else share to help me? The cycle of fear continues. Fear of the unknown. Fear that kindness will not come my way. Fear that if I can't make it on my own... then I won't make it... I'll fail... and I can't FAIL! Therefore, I can't help.

Why is the finger pointed at us the most important finger? Because it is the only finger you can do anything about. AND, once we change ourselves, everything else will change too.

(Although this may not be a true Gandhi... it fits him well. And gives me hope and direction.)

I wrote this post due to a fight with my family over our differing views about helping the refugee children at the Mexico boarder. I believe that we all can and should help. Even small donations are better than none. And even a few hours of volunteer work are better than none.

Unfortunately, some of my family members felt that helping these kids would only bring hardships upon us. However, I'm with Gandhi and believe that, "A nation's greatness is measured by how it treats its weakest members." And, in this global society, we are all one nation, one people... we all depend on each other. We are are all stronger together.

Together we can do anything. 

I have faith in us. 

I have faith that my family is just on a longer path to compassionate living than others. 

I have faith that I will learn how to discuss sensitive issues without anger.

I have faith that our future is bright... 

What if we work together, and it all works out?

:)

Taming the seven year old clutter-bug

 Birthdays, holidays, family vacations and just-because... there are so many reasons to give a child gifts. They come home from school everyday with projects, work and "art." And if you've ever had the chance to go on a walk with a child, you know they come home with leaves, stones, sticks, flowers and all sorts of random "junk."

But who dertermines what is and is not junk?

When I was a kid I kept many collections, most notable was my collection of unsharpened pencils. I thought they were pretty. And, most importantly, they were MINE. I was a total pack rat as a kid, and I hated the idea of parting with anything of mine... even old toothbrushes and sneakers with more holes than I could count!

This aspect of my personality made my mom a little crazy. My mom keeps a very neat, uncluttered home... and then there was my room! My hoarding behavior continued until after college when I sold almost everything I owned and moved to South Korea. Living for two years with 2.5 suitcases of stuff was wonderful! Since returning to the USA I have regressed a bit into my hoarder state... but I'm working on fixing that, and in my spare time I try to help others too!

Recently I had the opportunity to help the seven year old daughter of a dear friend merge her playroom and bedroom into one big girl room. And mommy gets to have a crafting room now in the kid's old bedroom!

Here are some pictures of the progress:

This is the playroom when we started. I didn't take a photo of K's bedroom... but it kinda looked like this, just with a bed in the middle. So... As you can see, this kid has many people who love her and and have the means to give her lots of great things... Unfortunately it's too much stuff for this seven year old to care for.

So, we started by emptying the playroom, since this will be K's new room.

First third emptied.

Feeling nearly done, but knowing we aren't!

Oh my gods! Empty! (Ish... there were some things she knew she wanted to keep in there... and some furniture I knew we would need... so we kept it.)

We put all of the stuff in the hallway... It looked crazy! Then we started to move her furniture from her old bedroom to the new one.

Done!?... Not nearly!

But it was lunch time on day one... so it was time for a break!

After lunch we put all the playroom stuff into the old bedroom and organized the stuff in her new room. We also looked through her old bedroom for things she knew she wanted in her new room. 

Day two was all about dealing with the piles of stuff in her old room. These are mostly toys that K doesn't play with very often... things from her past, sentimental things, things her parents are sentimental about, and lots and lots of cardboard!

That's a lot of stuff! K and I made a deal... She could keep anything she wants, as long as it has a place in her new room on a shelf or in a drawer. And piling stuff on stuff is not okay. So she knew she couldn't keep this stuff, but dealing with this much stuff is hard... especially for a sentimental seven year old. So, we went to Home Depot and made a compromise.

At 69 cents a box (and a bit more for the big ones) this was a cost effective solution. The plan was, to pack up everything that didn't fit in her new room, and the we can deal with the boxes in one of two ways:

1. Take a box down every couple of days and go through it, and totally deal with everything in it... garbage, donate or keep... But if she wants to keep something, then something else in her room has to go to make space.

2. After 2-3 months of not feeling a need for anything in those boxes mom and I will put them in our vehicles and donate them all.

So we started packing!

She's a hard worker!

Almost lunchtime on day 2.

Lunchtime! Took K out to the restaurant of her choice to thank her for all her hard work! When we came back we went through the HUGE pile of artwork/schoolwork/random papers we found while packing. We tossed most of it.

Two days and ten bags of garbage later we had reclaimed two rooms! :)

I will probably post again when we deal with the boxes... I'm interested to see what becomes of them!

Making the best out of the worst part of roller derby!

Since June 2009 I have been a member of Roc City Roller Derby. I am Farrah Daze Rage... Number 49.

I love roller derby. When I moved to Rochester in April 2009 I was a broken person. I had just ended a very long, unhealthy relationship. I only knew about one or two people in Rochester that I wasn't related to, and jet lag was kicking my ass.

Social networking rekindled some old relationships. One was with a friend I had known since middle school. She was posting all this interesting stuff about roller derby, so I texted her and asked about it. She invited me to check out a practice and said, "Get ready to spend some money on gear, cause you're gonna love this!"

Thanks Kaite. I really do love it! :)

Over the past five years I've had an insane amount of fun, met and bonded with some of the most marvelous people the world has ever known, learned lots of new things and experienced lots of pain.

Derby is a full contact sport... and we don't pull punches. Most of my friends have broken a bone (or two), torn ligaments, sprained joints and been bruised so badly it looks like someone glued a piece of Starry Night onto their thigh! Oh, and then there are the concussions...

Two weeks ago I tripped over a teammate at practice and injured my shoulder. What does a derby girl do when she's injured? Well, I can tell you what this one does!

NSOing and volunteering.

NSO stands for Non Skating Official. They are the people who make roller derby legit (along with the refs.) Without them we wouldn't be able to track scores, penalties or really do much at all during a game. We even need someone to watch the clock... I mean, it's kinda hard to keep an eye on the game clock while you are running for your life! :)

I had the opportunity to help out at a tournament as an NSO in the first week of my injury. I was the penalty box manager. I made a few mistakes... and that's a GREAT thing. I learned so much... and not just about managing the penalty box. I learned how hard all the NSOs work, and how serious they take their job. They often refer to themselves as "team no fun"... but I had a lot of fun... I think they call themselves that because they need to look, act, and be very serious about their position. Us skaters are serious most of the time... but we also screw around on the track a lot... especially during looooooooong time outs! ;) But the NSOs are always serious... it was not an easy task for me :)

One of my favorite parts the big NSO meeting that happens before the game. I always wanted to know what they talked about! It's funny... they do pretty much the same thing we skaters do before a game. They talk about important things to remember, they remind each other that mistakes happen and how important it is to move on  rather than dwell (skaters call that jamnesia) and most importantly, they remind each other that they can do this... that they will do a great job. They support each other like any great team should :) And I felt very fortunate to be a part of that team.

During the second week of my injury I was supposed to play a game. I was looking forward to it, my team was filled with great skaters, and the opponent was worthy! It was going to be a great, competitive game.

I watched my team lose from about 500 feet away as I ran the merch booth. Selling our t-shirts and stickers and buttons to make money and promote our league. Win or lose, I would have wished to be out there skating with my team. Though I am glad I could still help my league in some way... it hurts to sit and watch.

Many of my teammates are hurt much worse than I am right now. I have teammates with broken bones, badly sprained knees and ankles, concussions and so on... Sometimes a skater gets hurt so badly, she can't skate anymore... ever! Some of them leave... but others make the best of the worst situation... they stick around and NSO and volunteer!

I'm going back to practice tonight. I still have a brace on my shoulder... I don't think I'll do much hitting... but I miss my team and I miss my skates. I miss the way it feels to race around the track, to spin around an opponent, to pop back up from the floor and try again... I miss it all so much.

Please don't give me presents anymore.

There are so many ways to start this post and so many different reasons for this decision.

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. I'm pretty sure she is 58 now. A few days ago my sister messaged me, and asked me what I was getting my mom for her birthday... @.@ I had completely forgotten! Now, forgetting a birthday that happens the day before a national holiday seems impossible... especially when it's your own mother's birthday... But, yeah, I forgot... If it weren't for my sister's prodding... Well... let's not think about that.

But what will I get my mom?

I don't like stuff... meaningless, cheap, mass produced, ubiquitous sweatshop stuff. Years ago I began to swear off shopping at Walmart or buying things with the made in China label and recently started to avoid plastic... But maintaining a myriad of self imposed restrictions, in an increasingly elaborate global economy is hard.

And it's even harder when I'm not the one making the decision to buy the stuff. 

My family and friends have always tried to comply with what ever my most concerning restrictions were... But even then... I have received many lovely gifts... that I just don't want. 

...

"You're giving that away? But I gave it to/made it for/found it JUST FOR YOU!"

I want to downsize, I want less stuff in my life. In order to do that I need to get rid of things. I've found that many of my things have strings attached. Attached to people, memories, places, achievements, failures, and even to other things that are long gone. If you can't tell, I'm a fairly sentimental person. :)

There are things I feel like I just can't get rid of... because I fear someone will ask, "Hey, where's that thing I gave you that time?"... And I will have to tell them I sold it, or gave it to Goodwill. Then I have to see them hurt, as the string that connected us, via that thing, is severed.

I don't want to do that any more. So, please don't give me any more gifts.

Last year I told my family that I didn't want things for Christmas. I got some great gift certificates (some I still need to redeem) but I also still got stuff. It's a hard change to make. I think if I stop giving things, then, perhaps I will stop receiving them as well.

...

As I look around my home... around my life... I see how very full it is. Full of wonderful things, people, happenings, thoughts, actions and memories. What more could I ask for? More importantly... what more could I ask for that I cannot procure on my own. My girlfriend and I are both employed and live within our means... we can buy anything we need, and pretty much anything we want. We are very fortunate.

But what I cannot buy is time.

No one can.

So, in closing... If you feel some strong urge to buy me a gift, please don't. But please do spend some time with me. This blog is new... so if you are reading it, you are probably quite dear to me... I would cherish even a short moment together :)

And if all else fails... you could always buy me cookies ;p

On Cats... And How They Ruin/Enrich Our Lives

When I was a young girl my parents had a cantankerous siamese cat. His name was Ti and he hated me. I'm sure he felt justified with every hiss, scratch, bite and glaring look... But I didn't understand... I was little, and wanted to hug the cute out of everything small and furry.

Ti's behavior caused an early fear of cats in me. Fortunately, many of my friends had wonderful loving kitties (I'm looking at you Superman and Nitwit) and by the time I graduated from college, I was ready to possess my own tiny, furry orphans.

Leeloo and Chance... Sister and Brother... One loud and demanding, the other quiet and observant... Both wonderful and loving. They were strays, 10 months old (ish) and emaciated. But they were cute and furry... so I was SOLD! Into my life they tumbled.

Having never owned cats, I had no idea what I was doing. However, after recently earning a degree in physics, I concluded that I was capable of figuring them out... without bothering with books or any of that learning-the-easy-way crap. Once I learned to keep the toilet paper, cords, food and glasses of pigmented beverages out of the way, I thought I was doing alright.

And then it all started to fall apart.

Chance "decided" (a word chosen from my erroneous perspective) to start urinating on piles of my laundry, then on the carpet, then on my couch, then... finally... on my bed... while I was laying in it!

I was furious.

People counseled me to get rid of him... but he is just too damn cute!

Finally I saw him attempt to use the litter box. Nothing came out and he growled as he jumped out. One phone call to the vet later I was panicked and felt horribly guilty. His urethra was fully blocked! After a quick procedure and much yowling on Chance's part, the blockage was cleared, meds were given and we were sent home.

To make a long story short, Chance continued to urinate on everything but his litter. After months of retraining I now have a cat who waits till I get home, or comes to get me when he needs to use the box, because he wants his treat after doing the deed. Which is great. Except when we aren't home.

After a lovely weekend away in roller derby heaven we returned to a guest bed saturated in cat urine.

This is the second time this has happened.

This is also the bed we are hoping our future child will sleep in.

...

I fell apart. The weekend was a lovely escape. A distraction from my emotions. And now it was all back... I could pretend I was doing better, but really I was just running from the hurt.

I'm better now. I know Chance doesn't hate the idea of us adopting... I know he has issues with change, and he will adapt. I know he thinks piles of unused bedding are a good alternative to the litter box. I know it was just a coincidence that all this happened in the same week. I know this...

But I still feel rotten.

Rotten. Scared. Denied. Heartbroken. Lonely. Confused.

And I know I am coming to terms with it all. And I know it may (probably will) happen again. I know I'll be stronger the next time. I just hope "stronger" doesn't become "apathetic."

Now I (kinda) get it

I've never liked it when people say, "I understand what you're going through."

 Probably because when I am going through it, I am utterly convinced that no person in the history of history has ever felt what I was feeling. But, when we take a step back, and make things less personal than they need to be... it seems that most everything that happens, has indeed happened to someone else, in some similar form, at some previous time.

 For the past year my girlfriend and I have been taking steps to prepare ourselves to become adoptive parents. Neither of us wants a baby, so we are looking for a kid. Someone who likes legos, playing outside, being silly and is potty trained. We probably should be more specific than that, but we really aren't. We don't have an exact age, or even much or a range nailed down. The child's gender is of little interest to us, and we are open to all races.

This process has been interesting... that's a strange word for it, but I really don't know what else to say... I've never done anything like this. So, naturally, I look to the Internet for information. Trying to find a blog to read has been somewhat challenging. It seems that the main reason people look to adopt an older child is because they are called, by a god, to help that child. Since neither my girlfriend or myself are god(s) fearing or god(s) loving people I find it difficult to connect with the message in those blogs. And since one of my friends has told me, more than once, that if I wrote a blog, she would read it... I decided to start my own blog, about my (our) journey... Not just about adoption... but that seems to be where it will start.

Over the past month we made a connection with a fifteen year old girl. We met up a couple of times, went out to a nature festival, ate cupcakes, enjoyed fine asian dining, watched some movies and chatted a bit on the long rides to bring her back to her current "home." Putting quotes there feels insensitive... because at this moment in time, the place in which she resides is her home... but it seems almost cold to call that a home. We are lucky our residences for displaced children are unlike the orphanages of the past (or of the present in other countries), even still, a bunch of dreary buildings, a family paid to watch over you and mass produced lunches just doesn't feel like the kind of home I'd want my child to live in for any length of time.

Going into details is not something I'm going to do here. Not just because I cannot, but because I won't. Yesterday our placement with this sweet young girl officially fell through. On our end there was much crying over the past two days, and I assume there will be more tears, especially as we continue to find evidence of her weekend stay with us around our home.

It seems like ALL of my friends are pregnant right now :) This is a wonderful thing... I get to feel super tiny humans kicking around inside my friends' abdomens! One thing that has always perplexed me is why families wait until after the 3rd trimester to tell anyone they are expecting. I know the rate for miscarriage is between 10 and 25% in the first trimester, and that is the reason my friends give for holding their tongue. Having never been pregnant, it is difficult for me to truly appreciate their decision... but I always thought, that even if you miscarry, and everyone knows you were pregnant, then you would have this big awesome group of people to lean on.

It's crazy how many kids there are waiting for a home. And I (we) can't help them all... and for each one it will be a different reason. I know what we are feeling now is different from what a family feels when a miscarriage happens. But I'm starting to understand why people might keep their little treasure a secret. We're so lucky to have such wonderful people in our lives. Since letting my facebook world know the sad news yesterday, I have received some very heartfelt texts and warm, wonderful hugs.

Dear friends, Thank you for not letting us suffer this situation alone. We are fortunate to have you, and glad we had the courage to share our news with you. Your strength and love is helping our sadness to grow into acceptance. Thank you.

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