i failed. i failed miserably. yes, i did soo much. too much. and in what frame of mind did I do it? survival. suck it up and power through. say yes, and say it quick before your common sense kicks in.
Today, as I sit here and hurt and wonder what on Earth was worth this much damage, I feel nothing close to pride, strength and resilience, i feel...blah.
I was watching oprah today. yep, i turned the tv on occasionally again, but I've really enjoyed her lifeclass tour - it's like a therapy session from my bed, and today was a doozie. She had that Iyanlah on, and my oh my - that woman has been blessed with some serious clarity and she has the cohones to tell it like it is. She was talking about the whole giving more than you have to give of yourself...thing. She was talking about keeping your cup full for YOU, not anyone else, and what is overflowing, that (and only that) can you give to others. When you are giving and giving and giving away chunks of you that you don't have to give then you are making those that you are giving to thieves.
Be as good to yourself as you want to be to God.
deep. but true. more later.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Getting ahead of myself.
So this week I've announced all of these grand plans..yeah! I feel good about them, I really do - I just need am nearly half dead after getting all of these balls rolling. Yep. Did it again. I have no clue how to do anything in moderation.
As I was driving to my shoot tonight, hurting, dizzy, wandering if I would be able to walk more than a few steps, I realized that here I was again, pretending to be healthy, pretending to be perfect. pretending to be wonderwoman.
It is a pattern that is so easy to fall into, especially with those who knew the old me. People just expect her and get so excited when they see her back a little bit. Yeah! We've missed her so much! (me too, kids). And then comes the expecting of me to..... And then comes the complying on my part to... Just pretend you're not sick, it's easier that way. Easier for everyone but me. Easier for others not to have to worry. Easier for others not to be inconvenienced. So much harder for me. Just too hard, in fact.
I had a counselor once tell me that people close to me will see my photography business as my salvation, a cure, almost. You can pick your own hours, you don't need to be at a desk at 8 am, etc, etc, and etc. Yes, that is all true, but honey, mama works full-time and then some. I assure you, I pull my 40 hours, at least. After telling one friend last week that I was moving to Austin and going to really try and make it on my own she said, 'See! This is what we've been telling you to do for years!' Maybe I shouldn't have but I interpreted, 'See! You're finally sucking it up and just working anyway We've been telling you this is the only way!'
I'm trying to make it very clear that this is a goal I've set, and it has to be just that. I may have a little crash in the fall and not be able to do it until the new year, and I have to be able to be okay with me if that happens. I have to be able to not see it as a failure, as a sign of me not following through. I just hate it when someone is all talk, no walk. All buckle, no horse. But that is a risk I'm just going to have to take.
Here's the trick, here's the only way it is going to work. Charge more, work less. More efficiency, less busywork. More outsourcing, less guilt. This week - I have yet to succeed in that. Hmmm.. I've booked 5 charity shoots (read: for free, but I'm happy to do them), I've committed to at least 3 others, I have a wedding to shoot, a million things to pack and a deadline of 3 weeks. I also know, however, that if anyone knew how much pain my little body was in while I was doing all of this they would probably commit me... somewhere. Yet only I know, and only you know, what we're going through. Let's be a little easier on ourselves, shall we?
Here's a hint: start with the word, 'no.'
As I was driving to my shoot tonight, hurting, dizzy, wandering if I would be able to walk more than a few steps, I realized that here I was again, pretending to be healthy, pretending to be perfect. pretending to be wonderwoman.
It is a pattern that is so easy to fall into, especially with those who knew the old me. People just expect her and get so excited when they see her back a little bit. Yeah! We've missed her so much! (me too, kids). And then comes the expecting of me to..... And then comes the complying on my part to... Just pretend you're not sick, it's easier that way. Easier for everyone but me. Easier for others not to have to worry. Easier for others not to be inconvenienced. So much harder for me. Just too hard, in fact.
I had a counselor once tell me that people close to me will see my photography business as my salvation, a cure, almost. You can pick your own hours, you don't need to be at a desk at 8 am, etc, etc, and etc. Yes, that is all true, but honey, mama works full-time and then some. I assure you, I pull my 40 hours, at least. After telling one friend last week that I was moving to Austin and going to really try and make it on my own she said, 'See! This is what we've been telling you to do for years!' Maybe I shouldn't have but I interpreted, 'See! You're finally sucking it up and just working anyway We've been telling you this is the only way!'
I'm trying to make it very clear that this is a goal I've set, and it has to be just that. I may have a little crash in the fall and not be able to do it until the new year, and I have to be able to be okay with me if that happens. I have to be able to not see it as a failure, as a sign of me not following through. I just hate it when someone is all talk, no walk. All buckle, no horse. But that is a risk I'm just going to have to take.
Here's the trick, here's the only way it is going to work. Charge more, work less. More efficiency, less busywork. More outsourcing, less guilt. This week - I have yet to succeed in that. Hmmm.. I've booked 5 charity shoots (read: for free, but I'm happy to do them), I've committed to at least 3 others, I have a wedding to shoot, a million things to pack and a deadline of 3 weeks. I also know, however, that if anyone knew how much pain my little body was in while I was doing all of this they would probably commit me... somewhere. Yet only I know, and only you know, what we're going through. Let's be a little easier on ourselves, shall we?
Here's a hint: start with the word, 'no.'
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Mai Pet
Oh my saucy little pet. I realize that I need to clarify whom I am referring to with such a title. Mai pet is not my dog, hell, my dog isn't even a dog, to me. Pet, aka, Alli-pet, aka Allison, was my roommate in the dorms my freshmen year of college. I found the piece of paper the other day that I was sent the summer before I went to school telling me her name, where she was from, etc and I remember looking at that over and over again and wondering what she would be like.
She was from Newbury Park, a suburb of LA, I could do LA, I thought, I love California! Maybe she'll be nice and normal! I was so hoping that I wouldn't get one of them, as a roommate, you know who I'm talking about, the super straight laced chick from Orem that wouldn't have been able to handle my trucker's mouth or my um, my irreverent sense of humor. Turns out I definitely didn't get the molly, though, I got mai pet.
There are only a few things I remember about pet the first time I met her. I remember she was small, as and I remember black. Pet was covered in black. Her hair had been dyed jet black, she had on all black, black eyeliner, and she had lots of straps and collars wrapped all around her. Now being the doe-eyed Miss Texas that I was, I was taken back a bit. With my big hair and my huge assortment of texas flags and nonsense that I had brought to decorate our dorm with, I'm sure I was even more of a shock to her. As those first few days passed and we began to learn more about each other, the differences only became more apparent. She was a vegetarian and wore no leather, I only ate meat and potatoes and had a wardrobe that consisted entirely of leather. She was left, I was right. She was quiet, I was so very very loud.
Our first semester together was spent quietly tip toeing around each other, trying to be as respectful and polite as possible. She was an amazing student, never missed a class, read every line of every textbook and worked so hard, while I well, didn't exactly make it out the door most mornings. I slept like a baby that year. Getting through election night together was a milestone, and I became used to her boyfriend calling and automatically hearing, 'Have you eaten meat today???' 'Hi Ryan,' I would reply, 'here she is.' leach. Things went by fine but we weren't exactly connecting.
Then the breadsticks happened. And oh, how they happened. Our dorm had a cafeteria and next door was a little pizza place that you could use your meal card to order pizza and breadsticks with. Those blasted fat pills, coming in your choice of garlic of cinnamon-sugar, were our bonding mechanism. Being one of the only things we both could eat together, we did just that and then some. Then people started to knock on our door asking if they could wear our clothes as costumes. Funny, we thought, those are just our everyday clothes. She introduced me to Modest Mouse and took me to their concert in Salt Lake. I liked them! We had modest mouse! She was oh so tolerant of me that year, and by the end of finals that spring I remember walking her to a bench where the airport shuttle was supposed to pick her up and crying at the thought of a summer without my little friend.
That was 12 years ago, folks. We have been great friends throughout it all and whenever I look back at those early days, I thank God for her having an open mind with me. As the years have passed we have both taken on different paths in life, she met the MOST PERFECT MAN FOR HER and was married, while I went off on my weird hippie travels. I remember walking in the woods one gorgeous autumn day in rural Conneticut, nervous to tell her that I was going to go on a mission - so not something that anyone thought I was the type to do, and getting nothing but support and encouragement at a decision that I knew was right but just didn't understand. She wrote me every week of my mission, encouraging me, uplifting me, cheering me on and I felt it was definitely something that we went through together.
It's funny to look at us now, she's a hard-working mommy of two kiddos and me practically living in a teepee, and to see how much we have become like each other and switched roles a little, even. I wish so badly I could switch spots with her for a day and give her some much needed rest, while I know she would fix me one of her fine herbivore feasts every night, if she could. She has been a huge source of support and a sound mind through all of this and I know the good Lord knew what he was doing when he assigned roommates in 2104 Taylor Hall. The day I got my first (and only) Pet.
*the mai thing. When I lived in Thailand for a summer (hitchhiking and wearing very little clothes), I learned three Thai words. Three. 'Hello' and 'not too spicy'. Sawadeekah and MAI PET.
She was from Newbury Park, a suburb of LA, I could do LA, I thought, I love California! Maybe she'll be nice and normal! I was so hoping that I wouldn't get one of them, as a roommate, you know who I'm talking about, the super straight laced chick from Orem that wouldn't have been able to handle my trucker's mouth or my um, my irreverent sense of humor. Turns out I definitely didn't get the molly, though, I got mai pet.
There are only a few things I remember about pet the first time I met her. I remember she was small, as and I remember black. Pet was covered in black. Her hair had been dyed jet black, she had on all black, black eyeliner, and she had lots of straps and collars wrapped all around her. Now being the doe-eyed Miss Texas that I was, I was taken back a bit. With my big hair and my huge assortment of texas flags and nonsense that I had brought to decorate our dorm with, I'm sure I was even more of a shock to her. As those first few days passed and we began to learn more about each other, the differences only became more apparent. She was a vegetarian and wore no leather, I only ate meat and potatoes and had a wardrobe that consisted entirely of leather. She was left, I was right. She was quiet, I was so very very loud.
Our first semester together was spent quietly tip toeing around each other, trying to be as respectful and polite as possible. She was an amazing student, never missed a class, read every line of every textbook and worked so hard, while I well, didn't exactly make it out the door most mornings. I slept like a baby that year. Getting through election night together was a milestone, and I became used to her boyfriend calling and automatically hearing, 'Have you eaten meat today???' 'Hi Ryan,' I would reply, 'here she is.' leach. Things went by fine but we weren't exactly connecting.
Then the breadsticks happened. And oh, how they happened. Our dorm had a cafeteria and next door was a little pizza place that you could use your meal card to order pizza and breadsticks with. Those blasted fat pills, coming in your choice of garlic of cinnamon-sugar, were our bonding mechanism. Being one of the only things we both could eat together, we did just that and then some. Then people started to knock on our door asking if they could wear our clothes as costumes. Funny, we thought, those are just our everyday clothes. She introduced me to Modest Mouse and took me to their concert in Salt Lake. I liked them! We had modest mouse! She was oh so tolerant of me that year, and by the end of finals that spring I remember walking her to a bench where the airport shuttle was supposed to pick her up and crying at the thought of a summer without my little friend.
That was 12 years ago, folks. We have been great friends throughout it all and whenever I look back at those early days, I thank God for her having an open mind with me. As the years have passed we have both taken on different paths in life, she met the MOST PERFECT MAN FOR HER and was married, while I went off on my weird hippie travels. I remember walking in the woods one gorgeous autumn day in rural Conneticut, nervous to tell her that I was going to go on a mission - so not something that anyone thought I was the type to do, and getting nothing but support and encouragement at a decision that I knew was right but just didn't understand. She wrote me every week of my mission, encouraging me, uplifting me, cheering me on and I felt it was definitely something that we went through together.
It's funny to look at us now, she's a hard-working mommy of two kiddos and me practically living in a teepee, and to see how much we have become like each other and switched roles a little, even. I wish so badly I could switch spots with her for a day and give her some much needed rest, while I know she would fix me one of her fine herbivore feasts every night, if she could. She has been a huge source of support and a sound mind through all of this and I know the good Lord knew what he was doing when he assigned roommates in 2104 Taylor Hall. The day I got my first (and only) Pet.
she and I last year in Pasadena with our babies
*the mai thing. When I lived in Thailand for a summer (hitchhiking and wearing very little clothes), I learned three Thai words. Three. 'Hello' and 'not too spicy'. Sawadeekah and MAI PET.
Friday, April 20, 2012
A different step forward.
I've been thinking a lot lately about what it is that I am trying to say here, what the purpose of all of this is. I kind of lost my voice for a while and I think it was for good reason, things got a bit to self-serving. I felt so strongly for so long that I needed to do it, but now it is time to stop. focus. and write with a purpose. What am I trying to say, what am I suppose to say?
I'm sure you've gathered the whole anger thing, the frustration with docs...thing, the why me thing, the i didn't really like my former career choice..yep, thing. I. I. I. I. now it's time to move on. close those doors and start living.
I wish everyone could have a period of time in their lives like my last few months have been. Completely clarifying. completely cleansing. completely honest. I've completely, totally, wholeheartedly accepted me for me. Perhaps one has to hit the bottom to see through the nonsense that was up top, that was their top. My goals have changed, my priorities have changed, and I think with that, my entire well-being has changed. I'm not mad, I'm not angry, I'm not physically any better, but I am so much more at ease. I'm simply me, ready for my life to start. the right one.
I'm sure you've gathered the whole anger thing, the frustration with docs...thing, the why me thing, the i didn't really like my former career choice..yep, thing. I. I. I. I. now it's time to move on. close those doors and start living.
I wish everyone could have a period of time in their lives like my last few months have been. Completely clarifying. completely cleansing. completely honest. I've completely, totally, wholeheartedly accepted me for me. Perhaps one has to hit the bottom to see through the nonsense that was up top, that was their top. My goals have changed, my priorities have changed, and I think with that, my entire well-being has changed. I'm not mad, I'm not angry, I'm not physically any better, but I am so much more at ease. I'm simply me, ready for my life to start. the right one.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Eating plants.
I walked, okay waddled, into the health food store today and things felt right. I have got to find alternatives for easy, cheap crap food. I lay in bed and plan things to make but when I make it to the kitchen and think about the energy it will take to stand at the stove, well - I put some peanut butter on a piece of bread and go lay down. And that's a good day. If I eat one more happy meal I think the guilt may do me in. And veggies? Yeah - don't eat em. at all. One can't expect their body to heal itself on sugar, butter and bread alone. honey, if that were the case I would have healed years ago.
I daily reference my pet's guide to healthy living - http://www.veganmommychef.blogspot.com/ and wish I could be at her supper table every night. post coming about this pet of mine and how different she is than most people's. Anyway, Pet is the only one that can get me to eat my vegetables. I don't know how she does it, but somehow she makes them edible. And her sweets! Oh man, they are delightful, and usually very healthy. She understands the chemistry of food so well that she know how to make healthy substitutes in her baking. One day I must go to the culinary school of Pet, I think that is the only way it is going to work - me and my sweet tooth, that is. I must break the happy meal chain before I am responisble for feeding more than just me.
So I walked into Sprouts and smiled a little. All natural beauty products, essential oils, millions of vitamins I am sure I am supposed to be taking. Everyone in there was trying, trying not to eat the crap and live that life, and I was happy to be mistaken for one of them. I'm working on it, but definitely don't deserve the t-shirt yet. I did buy a plant, though. A basil plant. I love that herb and figured this was a good first step into my own herb garden and ultimately, a hippie life :) Guarded with one my pet's recipes for a cauliflower pasta bake, I was convinced I would be victorious and energetically head home to cook it on up. I might have had to text her a million times to ask what exactly tahini was and where I might find miso, but I got mostly what I needed. I'm gonna hold off on buying big jars of the expensive stuff until I am situated somewhere (anywhere) because that $13 bag of xantham gum has been staring at me for years saying, 'you'll never use me, you know you won't.'
My energy left me and I found myself hanging on to the cart just to walk. I've only caved in and rode the motor scooter buggy thing one time (that was a dark day), and was determined that today just wouldn't be number 2. I walked through the parking lot, sat down in the seat, and decided to take a little rest before I turned the car on. This is usually where I wonder if I'm up to driving home or should I call for a ride. Home was only 15 minutes away, I could make it so off I finally went. Was I tempted to drive through Taco Bell. Yes, yes I was. I knew my hopes of cooking tonight were shot but figured there had better be something else I could muster up at home. By the time I got home it was looking pretty ugly, things were spinning and I managed a few day old taco meat on a tortilla and headed into the office (my bed).
These are goals I'm making and they will take time (and a whole lot of patience). Did I essentially eat that blasted taco bell..probably. But I tried, and I will keep trying. That cauliflower dish will taste just as good tomorrow, or the next day. even though I hate cauliflower. I'm trying, Pet!
I daily reference my pet's guide to healthy living - http://www.veganmommychef.blogspot.com/ and wish I could be at her supper table every night. post coming about this pet of mine and how different she is than most people's. Anyway, Pet is the only one that can get me to eat my vegetables. I don't know how she does it, but somehow she makes them edible. And her sweets! Oh man, they are delightful, and usually very healthy. She understands the chemistry of food so well that she know how to make healthy substitutes in her baking. One day I must go to the culinary school of Pet, I think that is the only way it is going to work - me and my sweet tooth, that is. I must break the happy meal chain before I am responisble for feeding more than just me.
So I walked into Sprouts and smiled a little. All natural beauty products, essential oils, millions of vitamins I am sure I am supposed to be taking. Everyone in there was trying, trying not to eat the crap and live that life, and I was happy to be mistaken for one of them. I'm working on it, but definitely don't deserve the t-shirt yet. I did buy a plant, though. A basil plant. I love that herb and figured this was a good first step into my own herb garden and ultimately, a hippie life :) Guarded with one my pet's recipes for a cauliflower pasta bake, I was convinced I would be victorious and energetically head home to cook it on up. I might have had to text her a million times to ask what exactly tahini was and where I might find miso, but I got mostly what I needed. I'm gonna hold off on buying big jars of the expensive stuff until I am situated somewhere (anywhere) because that $13 bag of xantham gum has been staring at me for years saying, 'you'll never use me, you know you won't.'
My energy left me and I found myself hanging on to the cart just to walk. I've only caved in and rode the motor scooter buggy thing one time (that was a dark day), and was determined that today just wouldn't be number 2. I walked through the parking lot, sat down in the seat, and decided to take a little rest before I turned the car on. This is usually where I wonder if I'm up to driving home or should I call for a ride. Home was only 15 minutes away, I could make it so off I finally went. Was I tempted to drive through Taco Bell. Yes, yes I was. I knew my hopes of cooking tonight were shot but figured there had better be something else I could muster up at home. By the time I got home it was looking pretty ugly, things were spinning and I managed a few day old taco meat on a tortilla and headed into the office (my bed).
These are goals I'm making and they will take time (and a whole lot of patience). Did I essentially eat that blasted taco bell..probably. But I tried, and I will keep trying. That cauliflower dish will taste just as good tomorrow, or the next day. even though I hate cauliflower. I'm trying, Pet!
A few steps back.
Have you noticed a difference lately? My mood, my writing (or the lack thereof). I sure have. I am really trying to up my marketing (FOR AUSTIN!!! yeah!!) and that involves working on my business facebook page, which involves me logging onto IT. eish. so yeah, it crept back up on me and after doing so well, well - I was casually logging in every day and that facebook funk started to appear again. why is it facebook? so many others do just fine on it, they use it in moderation and are just peachy. eish. that damn news feed will be the end of me.
And I turned the tv on again. it was one night a week and that was fine, but then a few really sick days came and I just wanted to lay there and stare. Before I knew it, it went on at 7 and didn't go off until 2 and I was just flipping from channel to channel looking for something, anything, to entertain me. I'm all for watching your favorite show, but when you're scared about what to do with life when the thing is turned off, well then it's time to live life without it for a while.
I'm working on it. Do they have meetings for this???
And I turned the tv on again. it was one night a week and that was fine, but then a few really sick days came and I just wanted to lay there and stare. Before I knew it, it went on at 7 and didn't go off until 2 and I was just flipping from channel to channel looking for something, anything, to entertain me. I'm all for watching your favorite show, but when you're scared about what to do with life when the thing is turned off, well then it's time to live life without it for a while.
I'm working on it. Do they have meetings for this???
Monday, April 16, 2012
Rest in Peace Meemaw
Today I went to a southern baptist funeral to honor quite a lady. Meemaw, as she was lovingly called by so many, was a grandma of a friend of mine and her passing was sad, yet relieving because she had been so ill and was finally back with her husband of 70 years. As in they were married for 70 whole years!
She lived pretty much all 92 of her years in the same 10 mile radius, a sweet little community called Webb that only people who have lived in my hometown for at least 20 years had even heard of. She was a spitfire of a woman, who had pink hair and could cook about the meanest pie you ever ate. Her husband was Catholic and she wouldn't hear of it so each Sunday, they each went to their own church. She and her husband, Papoo as we called him, were married in 1940 and had built a house on a farm in 1946. They both remained in that house until the day they each passed.
Some of my favorite memories of Meemaw include:
-her 'buggy' aka a golf cart which she and Papoo used to drive around their farm and get to 'the cool spot,' a little hill on their land that caught the breeze.
-her cooking. that woman was blessed from God for the things she could make. Every last item that came from her kitchen contained bacon grease and you were thankful for it.
-her sense of humor. My friend got married on her farm and the day before the ceremony as we were setting out all of the white chairs she came out with her walker and declared, 'looks like we're having a revival!' I always wanted to bring in a pad of paper when I would go visit because everything she said was hysterical.
-her voice. She could quiet a room in no time. I dropped by a few months ago and she looked up, saw me and yelled, 'WHERE YOU BEEN!' And then she smiled and puckered up which meant you had best go and give her a kiss on the cheek.
-her marriage. She and Papoo were quite the opposite. She would sit and talk and talk and sass and sass and he would just sit there and smile. I remember dropping by one day a few years back and I asked her how many years they had been married. She loudly declared, '69! and I tell you what, I'm on my last lap with him!'
-her farm. I have had many shoots there and she was always willing to just let me walk around with my camera and see what I could get. This is one of my favorites.
What a texas woman and what a good ole southern send-off she was given today.
Rest in peace sweet, sassy Meemaw. I can only imagine the high ole time you are having with so many you loved.
She lived pretty much all 92 of her years in the same 10 mile radius, a sweet little community called Webb that only people who have lived in my hometown for at least 20 years had even heard of. She was a spitfire of a woman, who had pink hair and could cook about the meanest pie you ever ate. Her husband was Catholic and she wouldn't hear of it so each Sunday, they each went to their own church. She and her husband, Papoo as we called him, were married in 1940 and had built a house on a farm in 1946. They both remained in that house until the day they each passed.
Some of my favorite memories of Meemaw include:
-her 'buggy' aka a golf cart which she and Papoo used to drive around their farm and get to 'the cool spot,' a little hill on their land that caught the breeze.
-her cooking. that woman was blessed from God for the things she could make. Every last item that came from her kitchen contained bacon grease and you were thankful for it.
-her sense of humor. My friend got married on her farm and the day before the ceremony as we were setting out all of the white chairs she came out with her walker and declared, 'looks like we're having a revival!' I always wanted to bring in a pad of paper when I would go visit because everything she said was hysterical.
-her voice. She could quiet a room in no time. I dropped by a few months ago and she looked up, saw me and yelled, 'WHERE YOU BEEN!' And then she smiled and puckered up which meant you had best go and give her a kiss on the cheek.
-her marriage. She and Papoo were quite the opposite. She would sit and talk and talk and sass and sass and he would just sit there and smile. I remember dropping by one day a few years back and I asked her how many years they had been married. She loudly declared, '69! and I tell you what, I'm on my last lap with him!'
-her farm. I have had many shoots there and she was always willing to just let me walk around with my camera and see what I could get. This is one of my favorites.
What a texas woman and what a good ole southern send-off she was given today.
Rest in peace sweet, sassy Meemaw. I can only imagine the high ole time you are having with so many you loved.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
I put 6 years of my life on the curb.
Literally. In my sorting of things, I came across the two huge boxes of my college work and textbooks that I had once upon a time wanted to keep. Applied Linear Regression and Statistical Methods?... really? nope. don't want em anymore. not exactly my idea of a page turner.
I had kept these things knowing that one day, in my stats-ey job, these notes and programming code I had written would be helpful. So that's how I did that, etc. Well, yeah, don't want that career anymore so keep it? Because of that small chance that I magically am healed tomorrow and decide to sack all of this inner finding stuff and go get that job. At least it pays well. And I could get back on my feet. yada yada yada. Wrong answer. That little sliver is still so hard to let go of even though I know it is the right thing to do.
I spent quite a while looking through old tests, old projects and papers and remembering just how much work I put into them and how many all-nighters I used to pull. I would say, on average, at least 2 a week. Yep. Two full nights slaving away only to run home for a shower (on a good day) and then work the next 18. NO WONDER I'M SICK. eish. I remember frantically running from my office to my car and then into school to print out my paper that was due in 57 seconds only to find a low ink notice. I was just alway shaking, always so stressed and stretched so thin that there was no way of ever even slightly looking like I had it together.
I found that Calculus 3 test. The infamous test. I was doing a summer at BYU-Hawaii and I had a huge test on my 21st birthday. I remember that I had studied over 70 hours for this test - I did all I could do to prepare for it. I got in the testing center, said a prayer and started at it. 8.5 hours later - I walked out, officially of legal age and all. That's how hard I worked - I just couldn't give up and kept reworking each problem until I was sure it was all correct. I went to Foodland, bought myself a piece of cake and took it to the beach to enjoy at sunset. I was proud of myself because I knew how much I put into it. I still am. And when that 69.3 grade came back, I remember crying because my best just never seemed good enough. Yeah, that test got chucked the other night.
In my sorting, papers just started flying into the trash. paper after paper, code after code. It brought back so many bad memories of me working so hard, yet accomplishing so little and always feeling like the dumbest kid in the class. Always treading water, always just trying to pass and keep from running away to a hippie colony before finals were over. I would read and read and study and study and I might has well had been reading Chinese, it made that little sense to me.
How I did 6 years of this nonsense, I have no idea but am grateful for the clarity now to know that it is okay to walk away from it. It is so okay and feel so wonderful. I think something about math that appealed to me so much is that there is always a perfectly right answer, you just have to find it. You are either right or wrong, there is no gray and I think I was drawn to the safety of that. Oh well. There are things some of us are going to be good at, other things we just aren't (no matter how hard we try), and that's perfectly fine.
Well, long story short all two boxes got trashed. Well, they were dramatically carried to the curb at 1am so there would be no chance of me changing my mind, no chance that I would ever go back down that road. I ended up only keeping my thesis and a calculus test from high school that I got a 94 on. Those I kept. The rest are gone and I'm okay with it. My education taught be patience, problem-solving, time-management, and pure grit and for that I'm proud. The rest is on the damn curb.
I had kept these things knowing that one day, in my stats-ey job, these notes and programming code I had written would be helpful. So that's how I did that, etc. Well, yeah, don't want that career anymore so keep it? Because of that small chance that I magically am healed tomorrow and decide to sack all of this inner finding stuff and go get that job. At least it pays well. And I could get back on my feet. yada yada yada. Wrong answer. That little sliver is still so hard to let go of even though I know it is the right thing to do.
I spent quite a while looking through old tests, old projects and papers and remembering just how much work I put into them and how many all-nighters I used to pull. I would say, on average, at least 2 a week. Yep. Two full nights slaving away only to run home for a shower (on a good day) and then work the next 18. NO WONDER I'M SICK. eish. I remember frantically running from my office to my car and then into school to print out my paper that was due in 57 seconds only to find a low ink notice. I was just alway shaking, always so stressed and stretched so thin that there was no way of ever even slightly looking like I had it together.
I found that Calculus 3 test. The infamous test. I was doing a summer at BYU-Hawaii and I had a huge test on my 21st birthday. I remember that I had studied over 70 hours for this test - I did all I could do to prepare for it. I got in the testing center, said a prayer and started at it. 8.5 hours later - I walked out, officially of legal age and all. That's how hard I worked - I just couldn't give up and kept reworking each problem until I was sure it was all correct. I went to Foodland, bought myself a piece of cake and took it to the beach to enjoy at sunset. I was proud of myself because I knew how much I put into it. I still am. And when that 69.3 grade came back, I remember crying because my best just never seemed good enough. Yeah, that test got chucked the other night.
In my sorting, papers just started flying into the trash. paper after paper, code after code. It brought back so many bad memories of me working so hard, yet accomplishing so little and always feeling like the dumbest kid in the class. Always treading water, always just trying to pass and keep from running away to a hippie colony before finals were over. I would read and read and study and study and I might has well had been reading Chinese, it made that little sense to me.
How I did 6 years of this nonsense, I have no idea but am grateful for the clarity now to know that it is okay to walk away from it. It is so okay and feel so wonderful. I think something about math that appealed to me so much is that there is always a perfectly right answer, you just have to find it. You are either right or wrong, there is no gray and I think I was drawn to the safety of that. Oh well. There are things some of us are going to be good at, other things we just aren't (no matter how hard we try), and that's perfectly fine.
Well, long story short all two boxes got trashed. Well, they were dramatically carried to the curb at 1am so there would be no chance of me changing my mind, no chance that I would ever go back down that road. I ended up only keeping my thesis and a calculus test from high school that I got a 94 on. Those I kept. The rest are gone and I'm okay with it. My education taught be patience, problem-solving, time-management, and pure grit and for that I'm proud. The rest is on the damn curb.
I kind of sold all of my possessions.
Okay, not all of them - but most of them.
Sorry for the delay! I forgot the password to login. I know. It's my mind - things just disappear in there.
I had a garage sale! For the past month, sometimes for even 20 minutes at a time, I've been going through stuff. Crap. Complete nonsense possessions. It is amazing the things that I have kept over the years. Old train tickets from strange places, little notes from middle school, random newspaper clippings, and picture after picture after picture. I kid you not, I probably threw out at least 2,000 pictures. I think I kept every single print from the last 15 years. Horrible shots of the same mountain range, the same field, just taking up
As daunting of a task as it seemed, I decided to just have the yard sale and sell absolutely everything I could (and try and rectify the $1.20 I had to my name). I had been hanging on to so many things in hopes of filling my own place with and everyday, I would look at these things and be reminded that they have no place to land. So much of it was the old me and for the old life I lived which meant it was definitely time to let it go.
At 6.15am, still pitch black out, people are showing up. I knew they came early but c'mon, it isn't even light enough to see anything yet! My dad and I were frantically putting everything out and running around and people are desperately looking for something to buy. I'm guessing these would be the hoarders (bless their hearts). As the morning went on, and each little item was sold, I felt a little more free of all of this junk and that life that just wasn't meant to be.
Woodrow was beside himself with worry, however. Each person that came up to me he had to come and sniff, and stand right behind until they left. Each person that walked on his yard he had to go and greet personally. And when I had the audacity to put out one of his blankets (that he only used once), well - now that was just too much. Evidence below:
The garage sale was a lot of work. Way too much work for my little body but for some things (and only some), the price I pay is worth it. So yeah - a lot of crap gone and $1,000!!!! later, I'd say yeah - maybe every few years I could swing this.
ps - money is already in the bank so please don't rob me.
Sorry for the delay! I forgot the password to login. I know. It's my mind - things just disappear in there.
I had a garage sale! For the past month, sometimes for even 20 minutes at a time, I've been going through stuff. Crap. Complete nonsense possessions. It is amazing the things that I have kept over the years. Old train tickets from strange places, little notes from middle school, random newspaper clippings, and picture after picture after picture. I kid you not, I probably threw out at least 2,000 pictures. I think I kept every single print from the last 15 years. Horrible shots of the same mountain range, the same field, just taking up
As daunting of a task as it seemed, I decided to just have the yard sale and sell absolutely everything I could (and try and rectify the $1.20 I had to my name). I had been hanging on to so many things in hopes of filling my own place with and everyday, I would look at these things and be reminded that they have no place to land. So much of it was the old me and for the old life I lived which meant it was definitely time to let it go.
At 6.15am, still pitch black out, people are showing up. I knew they came early but c'mon, it isn't even light enough to see anything yet! My dad and I were frantically putting everything out and running around and people are desperately looking for something to buy. I'm guessing these would be the hoarders (bless their hearts). As the morning went on, and each little item was sold, I felt a little more free of all of this junk and that life that just wasn't meant to be.
Woodrow was beside himself with worry, however. Each person that came up to me he had to come and sniff, and stand right behind until they left. Each person that walked on his yard he had to go and greet personally. And when I had the audacity to put out one of his blankets (that he only used once), well - now that was just too much. Evidence below:
He stayed there most of the day, still as a statue. For dramatic effect, he would often lay across all of the blankets. People would be walking along, sifting through things, and suddenly jump because the brown blanket had eyes. I got many offers for him but he just isn't for sale. ever.
The garage sale was a lot of work. Way too much work for my little body but for some things (and only some), the price I pay is worth it. So yeah - a lot of crap gone and $1,000!!!! later, I'd say yeah - maybe every few years I could swing this.
ps - money is already in the bank so please don't rob me.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
My first official goal.
So, I've set a goal. I'm not the most organized, list-writing, attention to detail (hi pk) person in the World, but this time, I'm putting it down.
Unless something huge happens between now and then (like a dream home bequeathed to me in Sundance), I'm moving to Austin in the Fall. That town has been calling my name for years and I had best start listening. One problem I've been having with my business is that the Dallas photography market and I don't ususally see eye to eye. Dallas brides put on these massive, hotel ballroom weddings and want me to make them look absolutely perfect in every shot. And they all want the exact same posed pictures. There is not a huge want for more creative or artistic take on the big day and I realize that Dallas isn't going to change anytime soon. So, I can moan and groan over it or I can do something about it. move.
Austin has my heart for many reasons, though. Being the hippie traveler I'm learning that I actually am, (kind of), Austin and I are fast friends. And it's Texas. And it's beautiful. I worry about the hot summer next year but for now, Woodrow, my business and I are heading south on I-35 this fall. How on Earth I'm going to be able to afford those first few months while I'm getting settled and getting my name out about my work, I have no idea. I'm just gonna have to trust that since the answer is clear that that is where I'm supposed to be, the rest will somehow work itself out. I hear there is a hippie commune where everyone lives on old school buses. okay, i'm not that bad.
There. It's in print. Let's make it work.
Unless something huge happens between now and then (like a dream home bequeathed to me in Sundance), I'm moving to Austin in the Fall. That town has been calling my name for years and I had best start listening. One problem I've been having with my business is that the Dallas photography market and I don't ususally see eye to eye. Dallas brides put on these massive, hotel ballroom weddings and want me to make them look absolutely perfect in every shot. And they all want the exact same posed pictures. There is not a huge want for more creative or artistic take on the big day and I realize that Dallas isn't going to change anytime soon. So, I can moan and groan over it or I can do something about it. move.
Austin has my heart for many reasons, though. Being the hippie traveler I'm learning that I actually am, (kind of), Austin and I are fast friends. And it's Texas. And it's beautiful. I worry about the hot summer next year but for now, Woodrow, my business and I are heading south on I-35 this fall. How on Earth I'm going to be able to afford those first few months while I'm getting settled and getting my name out about my work, I have no idea. I'm just gonna have to trust that since the answer is clear that that is where I'm supposed to be, the rest will somehow work itself out. I hear there is a hippie commune where everyone lives on old school buses. okay, i'm not that bad.
There. It's in print. Let's make it work.
Friday, April 6, 2012
It Ain't Over!
On my online support group today, somone posed the very sad question, 'if the Lord God Himself spoke to you and said, "My son you can choose to pass from this current life now if you want to, or you can choose to stay". What would be your response?'
I've learned not to judge this question, I'm not in their body, I don't know how much pain they are in. So many are so, so worse off, having lost their spouses, their jobs, their homes, their hope. On my really bad days, I used to even ask that question myself. It's all about learning to see around the illness and not through it, and oh, is that so hard to do. It's about not giving up on your life but finally giving in to your body. For now.
Someone linked a video to me that might have done more good than the last five years of self-processing I've done.
Today, I want to lie in my bed, windows closed, ceiling fan slowly spinning. I feel like a mac truck came and hit me in the middle of the night. After watching this video, I'm not going to. Today, I'm going to go sit on that sailboat and enjoy the sunshine. It may hurt, and I may not last too long, but what a way to spend this gift of a day.
If you do nothing else for yourself today, please click on this link below, and hit play.
http://edsstory.com/films/it-aint-over.php#view-film
It's so ain't over, baby.
I've learned not to judge this question, I'm not in their body, I don't know how much pain they are in. So many are so, so worse off, having lost their spouses, their jobs, their homes, their hope. On my really bad days, I used to even ask that question myself. It's all about learning to see around the illness and not through it, and oh, is that so hard to do. It's about not giving up on your life but finally giving in to your body. For now.
Someone linked a video to me that might have done more good than the last five years of self-processing I've done.
Today, I want to lie in my bed, windows closed, ceiling fan slowly spinning. I feel like a mac truck came and hit me in the middle of the night. After watching this video, I'm not going to. Today, I'm going to go sit on that sailboat and enjoy the sunshine. It may hurt, and I may not last too long, but what a way to spend this gift of a day.
If you do nothing else for yourself today, please click on this link below, and hit play.
http://edsstory.com/films/it-aint-over.php#view-film
It's so ain't over, baby.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
when we get there.
There is a line from a song I was listening to tonight that says, 'let me know when we get there, if we get there.' Now that is the great thing about music - it means something different to everyone depending on how their minds translate the song to them. I heard, loud and clear, the moment when we are suppose to stop and realize, 'i've made it. that whole success thing, that whole happiness and fulfillment and you've finally worked hard enough now go enjoy...thing'
I don't think that moment really exists. Maybe it should, maybe it shouldn't. I don't know. I think we often are always wanting more, more, more and no matter how much we have, it will never be enough. Adversley, I think few are blessed with the realization that fulfillment and true happiness often doesn't happen from doing what everyone else thinks they should be doing. The big house may or may not be there, the wad of cash in the bank may or may not be there, and it doesn't matter - that after all those years of self-doubt and struggle and hard work (on yourself) have finally paid off and you are free to go on ahead and just be you.
I think that's what that song said to me.
I don't think that moment really exists. Maybe it should, maybe it shouldn't. I don't know. I think we often are always wanting more, more, more and no matter how much we have, it will never be enough. Adversley, I think few are blessed with the realization that fulfillment and true happiness often doesn't happen from doing what everyone else thinks they should be doing. The big house may or may not be there, the wad of cash in the bank may or may not be there, and it doesn't matter - that after all those years of self-doubt and struggle and hard work (on yourself) have finally paid off and you are free to go on ahead and just be you.
I think that's what that song said to me.
Someone has my supper.
My father (who deserves an entire blog dedicated to his antics) stole, I mean, waited in line twice after his bike ride to claim me a free burger. Woodrow is such a carnivore and has slight entitlement issues.
Mama is getting big
I would like to publicly thank those blasted birth control pills for the 6lbs I gained in the last 4 weeks. 4 weeks. Even the doctor was impressed with such a number in so little time. And I've been eating so well. eish. I hate those things. And I hate how much I have to pay for them. Every night, it's like swallowing 2 ounces of pure lard. Pizza is so much better. I know, I know, these are not major problems in life. indulge me.
So, the surgery I had 3 weeks ago went really well. 6 more little incisions on my stomach (there goes my oh so promising career as a bikini model). I expecting it not to be fun at all but it really wasn't that bad. I think it must have been a gift from God because I just wasn't up for another month of nonsense. They took a good look, and they actually found something. Severe endometriosis. What? You mean, you can see it? They had to print me out a picture to prove it. Am I sad? no, not really. Relieved is probably a better word. Validated, even.
I have have a friend who suffers daily, hourly from it. Endo owes her about 20 years of her life. So much pain. So unfair. She could have thrown in the towel so many times but she held on to have those babies and I wonder if they will ever know how much she went through just to bring them here. She has been such a great source of strength and understanding through all of this because she knows chronic illness. She knows pain like no one I've ever met.
I'm very lucky and don't think I have endo all that bad. Doc says no matter what stage of it you have, it doesn't necessarily correlate with how bad you hurt. I only really hurt one day a month (at most, sometimes not even that) - that's it. Now that day is bad, horrible, horrific, makes me scream bloody murder and make sounds I didn't think any human ever could....but it is just one day.
Now - is this all a coincidence? Are all of these random little health problems related? They have to be. I don't care what anyone says - the everything in the body is connected and when the central nervous system begins malfunctioning it forgets to tell other parts of the body how to act properly. That jaw problem that lead to that massive surgery? 12 (YES 12) cavities since I've been sick? Blood pressusre 60/40? i could go on but that is not the point I want to make. It's all related and oh how wonderful the day will be when they finally put all the puzzle pieces together and figure it out.
And I'm very lucky that with yearly surgery, and those blasted birth control pills should keep me primed and ready to fertilize when the time is right. (but sooner than later). That was really good news for me to hear. Should I have heard the 'we have to take it all out,' then well, yeah, that would just have been about more than I could handle. Not that. Anything but that. This illness can take whatever it wants just not that.
Now let me vent on the healthcare system for just a moment. please. indulge me. When I was declared legally disabled, which was such a blessing that I was on only the first try (CFS usually gets laughed at), I was told that I would qualify for Medicare (health insurance for over 65 and disabled). YEAH!!! Wait. After TWO YEARS. what? I thought it was a joke. Nope, you can't get your benefits until you wait for two years. Poor people! What is everyone suppose to do? I mean, those far far far worse off than I? Spend your entire savings on one trip to the hospital. So sad. Anyway, that was a long and hopeless two years but I finally got my medicare and could finally go see some docs and hope to get this thing figured out.
So, Medicare does not cover any type of birth control pills. I mean, okay, the elderly ain't exactly looking to breed, I get it, but what about the rest of us. Okay, moving on. I can live with it. Because I am kind of poor, okay I fall in the poverty-stricken bracket (but I live a very good life, I promise) I qualify for Medicaid as my secondary insurance. Hey, I'll take it. I called them today and was informed that Medicaid does not cover any type of birth control, either. WHAT? seriously? So let me get this straight, I can get pregnant every 9 months and have all of my medical expenses covered at 100%, I can even go to the er every single day but I can't get a pack of birth control pills? Sorry, I just don't see the logic, people. Oh how much I am learning about what it is like to be poor, wanting to better your situation so badly and work, and just can't.
So I say what the hey how much can these things be, right? Well, some of the ones we have tried have made me sick but we found one that I did really well on. It's 100 bucks a month. eish. people the government gives me $641 a month (for rent, food, everything), and although I am so grateful for it, 100 bones of can't go to birth control pills. I called the insurance company who told me to call the pharmacist, I called the pharmacist who told me call the doctor, and I called the doctor who told me to call the pharmacist, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. You see why people just give up. Why they go to a very dark place in their mind and go home and give up. And give up everyday for the next 30 years. It's too much. Why is it so hard to be part of the system and still get the help that any human deserves. I promise I worked hard. I promise I tried to get to a place where I could provide for myself. I really did. And so have so many others.
on a cuter note, here is woodrow and i the day after my surgery. bless his heart. he always takes it so hard whenever I get hurt. He even stopped eating after my jaw surgery. Anyway, I tried to look at the camera and smile but then I had quite the double chin so I chose to do the dramatic look away.
oh, and a cute little story about that wooly thing he is laying on. I now drive what used to be my grandparents car and my grandpa put that little strap cushion on the passenger's side seat belt to make rides more comfortable for Norma. Such a typical little act of how he would treat her like a Queen. It makes me smile everytime I look at it so it is staying right where it is.
So, the surgery I had 3 weeks ago went really well. 6 more little incisions on my stomach (there goes my oh so promising career as a bikini model). I expecting it not to be fun at all but it really wasn't that bad. I think it must have been a gift from God because I just wasn't up for another month of nonsense. They took a good look, and they actually found something. Severe endometriosis. What? You mean, you can see it? They had to print me out a picture to prove it. Am I sad? no, not really. Relieved is probably a better word. Validated, even.
I have have a friend who suffers daily, hourly from it. Endo owes her about 20 years of her life. So much pain. So unfair. She could have thrown in the towel so many times but she held on to have those babies and I wonder if they will ever know how much she went through just to bring them here. She has been such a great source of strength and understanding through all of this because she knows chronic illness. She knows pain like no one I've ever met.
I'm very lucky and don't think I have endo all that bad. Doc says no matter what stage of it you have, it doesn't necessarily correlate with how bad you hurt. I only really hurt one day a month (at most, sometimes not even that) - that's it. Now that day is bad, horrible, horrific, makes me scream bloody murder and make sounds I didn't think any human ever could....but it is just one day.
Now - is this all a coincidence? Are all of these random little health problems related? They have to be. I don't care what anyone says - the everything in the body is connected and when the central nervous system begins malfunctioning it forgets to tell other parts of the body how to act properly. That jaw problem that lead to that massive surgery? 12 (YES 12) cavities since I've been sick? Blood pressusre 60/40? i could go on but that is not the point I want to make. It's all related and oh how wonderful the day will be when they finally put all the puzzle pieces together and figure it out.
And I'm very lucky that with yearly surgery, and those blasted birth control pills should keep me primed and ready to fertilize when the time is right. (but sooner than later). That was really good news for me to hear. Should I have heard the 'we have to take it all out,' then well, yeah, that would just have been about more than I could handle. Not that. Anything but that. This illness can take whatever it wants just not that.
Now let me vent on the healthcare system for just a moment. please. indulge me. When I was declared legally disabled, which was such a blessing that I was on only the first try (CFS usually gets laughed at), I was told that I would qualify for Medicare (health insurance for over 65 and disabled). YEAH!!! Wait. After TWO YEARS. what? I thought it was a joke. Nope, you can't get your benefits until you wait for two years. Poor people! What is everyone suppose to do? I mean, those far far far worse off than I? Spend your entire savings on one trip to the hospital. So sad. Anyway, that was a long and hopeless two years but I finally got my medicare and could finally go see some docs and hope to get this thing figured out.
So, Medicare does not cover any type of birth control pills. I mean, okay, the elderly ain't exactly looking to breed, I get it, but what about the rest of us. Okay, moving on. I can live with it. Because I am kind of poor, okay I fall in the poverty-stricken bracket (but I live a very good life, I promise) I qualify for Medicaid as my secondary insurance. Hey, I'll take it. I called them today and was informed that Medicaid does not cover any type of birth control, either. WHAT? seriously? So let me get this straight, I can get pregnant every 9 months and have all of my medical expenses covered at 100%, I can even go to the er every single day but I can't get a pack of birth control pills? Sorry, I just don't see the logic, people. Oh how much I am learning about what it is like to be poor, wanting to better your situation so badly and work, and just can't.
So I say what the hey how much can these things be, right? Well, some of the ones we have tried have made me sick but we found one that I did really well on. It's 100 bucks a month. eish. people the government gives me $641 a month (for rent, food, everything), and although I am so grateful for it, 100 bones of can't go to birth control pills. I called the insurance company who told me to call the pharmacist, I called the pharmacist who told me call the doctor, and I called the doctor who told me to call the pharmacist, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. You see why people just give up. Why they go to a very dark place in their mind and go home and give up. And give up everyday for the next 30 years. It's too much. Why is it so hard to be part of the system and still get the help that any human deserves. I promise I worked hard. I promise I tried to get to a place where I could provide for myself. I really did. And so have so many others.
on a cuter note, here is woodrow and i the day after my surgery. bless his heart. he always takes it so hard whenever I get hurt. He even stopped eating after my jaw surgery. Anyway, I tried to look at the camera and smile but then I had quite the double chin so I chose to do the dramatic look away.
oh, and a cute little story about that wooly thing he is laying on. I now drive what used to be my grandparents car and my grandpa put that little strap cushion on the passenger's side seat belt to make rides more comfortable for Norma. Such a typical little act of how he would treat her like a Queen. It makes me smile everytime I look at it so it is staying right where it is.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
after the storm
I survived twister 2012! Every spring there are always a few tornado scares. I guess I'm used to them and usually ignore them. Unless the sirens go off, mama doesn't get out bed.
It actually was pretty bad this year, though. It is eery to see homes leveled on the news in towns that I was in yesterday. I don't know - that stuff always seems like it will never happen to you.
It started out as a very different day, and ended one for that matter. I woke up and looked out the window and smiled. It was dim out, it was cool. It wasn't hot. I had finished a whole slew of editing, I was exhausted, and today was going to be a down day, a great day. Woodrow and I had a great stroll, there was a great breeze and I was planning a great 6 hour nap with the windows open.
Within an hour everyone was calling and telling me to turn on the news. TV hadn't been plugged on in a while. So I plug the blasted thing in, turn it on, and it's the all too familiar doplar showing the purple, red, and green areas of the storm. An hour later the sky was green and my sister was over and trying to shove me in a closet with her. They came close but never hit our town. We were lucky, others down the road weren't. How can someone wake up on Tuesday, head off to work and come home to a pile of rubble? So sad.
Fast forward a few hours. I'm done. I call it a night at 5pm. A few hours later I hear Woodrow's frantic squirrel bark from far away. Sure enough, the front door was open and someone smelled a squirrel 3 house down. I head to physically remove him from trying to climb the tree and notice something - it is the most beautiful night I've seen in years, probably. The sky is gorgeous, the breeze is perfect, and the most perfect light is floating around. How could it have all changed so quickly? After the storm is so much better than I ever thought it could be. after any storm.
It actually was pretty bad this year, though. It is eery to see homes leveled on the news in towns that I was in yesterday. I don't know - that stuff always seems like it will never happen to you.
It started out as a very different day, and ended one for that matter. I woke up and looked out the window and smiled. It was dim out, it was cool. It wasn't hot. I had finished a whole slew of editing, I was exhausted, and today was going to be a down day, a great day. Woodrow and I had a great stroll, there was a great breeze and I was planning a great 6 hour nap with the windows open.
Within an hour everyone was calling and telling me to turn on the news. TV hadn't been plugged on in a while. So I plug the blasted thing in, turn it on, and it's the all too familiar doplar showing the purple, red, and green areas of the storm. An hour later the sky was green and my sister was over and trying to shove me in a closet with her. They came close but never hit our town. We were lucky, others down the road weren't. How can someone wake up on Tuesday, head off to work and come home to a pile of rubble? So sad.
Fast forward a few hours. I'm done. I call it a night at 5pm. A few hours later I hear Woodrow's frantic squirrel bark from far away. Sure enough, the front door was open and someone smelled a squirrel 3 house down. I head to physically remove him from trying to climb the tree and notice something - it is the most beautiful night I've seen in years, probably. The sky is gorgeous, the breeze is perfect, and the most perfect light is floating around. How could it have all changed so quickly? After the storm is so much better than I ever thought it could be. after any storm.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Assistend Living
No, I'm not going there yet! Not really.
A few years back, I was watching Oprah and she was interviewing this very successful CEO of some company. Oprah was asking her how she did it, how she kept up with all the demands of her job and maintain a life and her response has stuck with me for a long time. "You are never too old to be in assisted living."
She went on to explain that she has someone that cleans her house, she has someone that picks up her dry-cleaning, and she is completely comfortable with that. She spends her time where she is needed most and for everything else, she outsources. Yeah, sure, wouldn't it be great if she really could do it all (and do it all really well), but she fully admitted that she can't and so why on Earth would she kid herself by trying to. Even this woman, with all her degrees and her fancy titles and prestige is no wonderwoman! And she freely admitted it.
I realized right then and there that that is why she has become so successful, she knows how to ask for help.
When I lived in Africa, it was common (pretty much the norm), to see families of means have a cook and a maid in their home. Even those who probably couldn't afford it would sacrifice to at least have someone come in a few days a week. Theyaccepted expected that they would need this help, guilt free. They would be shocked to hear that American women usually do it all themselves. And many of them working full time jobs, too. Shocked. 'You mean, everything?' yup. 'And at home - the cleaning - all of it?' yup. 'the shopping and cooking, too?' yup. That sounded crazy to them, and after a while, it sounded a little crazy to me, too. No wonder why American women are so stressed! Would it really be so bad if we got a little help with it all?
I was thinking about how homes were run in England 150 years back. Okay, I was watching Pride and Prejudice. These women had help. Lots of it! They weren't cleaning the entire house, fixing all the meals, all the while maintaining a spotless appearance, etc - they had a whole staff to help them! (oh wouldn't that be nice).
Now, I know that this just isn't possible these days, (and our homes are a fraction of the size) but how quickly we have gone from living with a whole staff to help to taking on everything ourselves! One now has all of the jobs that used to take so many people to complete. No wonder we have a hard time keeping up with everything. No wonder why we often feel like failures, of course we are not going to be able to do it all (and do it well).
So what gives? What can give? Money is tight, and few people have the resources these days. I sure don't have any magic answers. Yet I hope one day that we can get to a place like that woman on Oprah and enter into some kind of guilt-free assisted living, seeing just how successful we can be at something instead of fizzling at everything.
whatever your part is, act well thine part. (so pick a part).
now me admitting that I need to somehow hire an assistant to help me when shooting weddings? like salt on a wound, i tell ya.
A few years back, I was watching Oprah and she was interviewing this very successful CEO of some company. Oprah was asking her how she did it, how she kept up with all the demands of her job and maintain a life and her response has stuck with me for a long time. "You are never too old to be in assisted living."
She went on to explain that she has someone that cleans her house, she has someone that picks up her dry-cleaning, and she is completely comfortable with that. She spends her time where she is needed most and for everything else, she outsources. Yeah, sure, wouldn't it be great if she really could do it all (and do it all really well), but she fully admitted that she can't and so why on Earth would she kid herself by trying to. Even this woman, with all her degrees and her fancy titles and prestige is no wonderwoman! And she freely admitted it.
I realized right then and there that that is why she has become so successful, she knows how to ask for help.
When I lived in Africa, it was common (pretty much the norm), to see families of means have a cook and a maid in their home. Even those who probably couldn't afford it would sacrifice to at least have someone come in a few days a week. They
I was thinking about how homes were run in England 150 years back. Okay, I was watching Pride and Prejudice. These women had help. Lots of it! They weren't cleaning the entire house, fixing all the meals, all the while maintaining a spotless appearance, etc - they had a whole staff to help them! (oh wouldn't that be nice).
Now, I know that this just isn't possible these days, (and our homes are a fraction of the size) but how quickly we have gone from living with a whole staff to help to taking on everything ourselves! One now has all of the jobs that used to take so many people to complete. No wonder we have a hard time keeping up with everything. No wonder why we often feel like failures, of course we are not going to be able to do it all (and do it well).
So what gives? What can give? Money is tight, and few people have the resources these days. I sure don't have any magic answers. Yet I hope one day that we can get to a place like that woman on Oprah and enter into some kind of guilt-free assisted living, seeing just how successful we can be at something instead of fizzling at everything.
whatever your part is, act well thine part. (so pick a part).
now me admitting that I need to somehow hire an assistant to help me when shooting weddings? like salt on a wound, i tell ya.
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