So, Here's the Thing About Choices.... Part 1

I’ve always marveled at the ability of other writers/authors to be able to generate ideas for their writing. I’ve often felt jealous about this ability, wondering where in the world they find this creative flow and how I might learn to tap into it. Every time I finish an entry here, I find that I am sapped of all reflective thought, so that it takes me many days to generate thoughts for my next entry. It had been almost two weeks before I could think of anything to talk about for this entry, when I began to sense a pattern. Call this my creative process if you will, but, generally, a thought will occur to me at random, I will stew over it for several days and, inevitably, things will happen in my life that coincidentally start to either reflect or correspond with this, mostly, random thought. I began stewing about this current entry days ago and as time has passed the number of related events to fuel my thoughts on this matter has been extraordinary.

I’ve always heard it said that “life is about choices.” You are always told as a young person that the choices you make today will affect the rest of your life. Generally speaking, this is said to adolescents in a context of preventative measure concerning drugs, sex, and alcohol. Usually the teen will roll their eyes, thinking that they can’t believe they are hearing this for the 14th time that day before moving on as if no one ever said a thing. I recall those days – thinking that I was above the advice of many adults around me. Granted, in many cases I had no business taking the advice of some of the adults by whom I was surrounded. Except Mr. Bushey – I never took for granted the lesson that could be learned whenever I heard Mr. Bushey tell me, “Heather, it builds character” after any great loss or defeat. Some words out of some mouths you just don’t roll an eye to. But when it comes to comments about choices, it’s sometimes hard to listen. In the last several months, I have had to come to terms with the enormity of this statement from my youth. I’ve realized just how palpable the effects can be when a choice we make resonates through our lives like ripples on a stone struck pond. Now, I am a big believer in fate, but when it comes down to it you simply have to accept that in order for fate to run its course you have to get up in the morning and get the ball rolling. You have to make choices; you have to decide what clothes to wear, what cereal to eat, what path to follow. Life isn’t going to happen to you laying in bed – only obesity, depression and bed sores will happen. And that, my apathetic friends, is a choice as well. You can’t avoid making choices. Sometimes I try to, and many of my friends can attest to this, but I try to avoid making choices if I can. I defer to others, remain quiet, hoping for another voice to speak out, all the while not realizing that my decision to avoid choosing is also a choice; just a bad one. I’m learning that choices are inevitable and sometimes, when we decide to take the plunge and accept the role of them in our lives, making choices can be the difference between upset and happily ever after.

Last week sometime, I received an email from a friend of mine from college. Simon (the friend in question) was sending a mass email to let us all know that he recently finished his album and had made his songs and CD available on iTunes and his personal website. I have to admit, I was startled by this email in a number of ways. As I said earlier, I was in my creative process, in search of an idea to write about. I have been thinking about my job lately and the way my career path has kind of hit a crossroads of sorts. I couldn’t think of an angle to talk about this issue, though, until I received Simon’s email. I was all at once thrilled, proud, amazed, and jealous. Here is a guy who, after getting his degree from college, working at a few different jobs along the way, but all the while passionate about his musical career, was doing everything he could to make his dream come true. The amount of tireless work, sweat, and love he must have put into making this dream happen is amazing to me and I felt so proud of him as I went to iTunes and listened to the clips of the songs he recently made available. (By the by, a little plug for his music, his stage name is Carter James, check him out, he’s crazy talented!) It occurred to me, as I listened to all of his work flowing out through the speakers of my laptop, that Simon had made the command decision to take his future into his own hands. He made a choice to pursue what he loved and is doing whatever it takes to make good on his dream. I can’t tell you how much I respect and admire that.

Needless to say, that got me thinking a lot about my own life. If Simon could choose to steer his life toward his oft dreamed about musical career, why should any of us be doing anything but what we love to do? Since moving to California, I’ve found myself in a quandary about both employment opportunities and the direction my life will take if I am unable to find work in my field. I’ll tell you, I wasn’t as concerned about my unemployment status before the wedding. I thought, “what a blessing this might be, to have all of this time available to finishing working on the wedding.” I can’t say whether or not that was an honest feeling or me trying to make myself feel better about the situation in which I found myself. Either way, it ended up working out in my favor. However, when I got back from Savannah, reality set in: I was unemployed and, whether or not it had worked in my favor, I hadn’t heard anything from the hundreds of resumes I had sent out before I went back east. Panic set in. The reality of my situation was becoming painfully clear. Three weeks after moving to San Diego 3000 teachers were laid off in my area during one of the biggest budget cuts ever. I was not only competing with teachers in my age and range of qualification, I was also competing for jobs with these 3000 San Diego County experienced teachers who, now, found themselves a lot of sympathy to go along with their unemployment. All of the schools immediately went on hiring freezes and those that were hiring were only interested in recycling those teachers cut by the budget. All this, and my California credential was still not approved yet. As the months passed, I more and more realized that it might be that a career change was in order; at least temporarily. It had been 7 months and no jobs in education had reared their heads. Disappointment and a feeling of failure ensued.

It was mid July when I received a call from Kelly, Spa Supervisor of a new gym called Total Woman opening up down the street from my house. I had submitted an application to them in June and hadn’t heard back – to be honest, I had completely forgotten about that submission. It was one of about 75 I had submitted that week. Up till now, every interview I had been on I tried to avoid telling the employer about my Masters degree and even some of my experience because, in the end, it had ruined my chances at many jobs. Most jobs, which, I didn’t want in the first place because they required sitting at a desk, taking orders, and promoted depression and suicide. Some employers came right out and told me, “You’re fabulous, but we simply can’t take the risk on you leaving for better pay or a better opportunity.” I decided that, with Kelly, I would just be honest; I would ignore all prior advice and tell her everything you aren’t supposed to say in an interview: “Hi, my name is Heather, I have a Masters degree, I’m an out of work teacher, I just moved here with my husband, who is in the Marines, I don’t know how long I will be here, I think it will be about 4 years, but I’m willing to learn whatever I need to in order to be your next Spa Customer Service Associate.” *Sigh, there, I said it. After a few minutes, Kelly and I were talking and joking, and before you knew it, I was the new CSA for Total Woman Gym and Atmosphere Day Spa – at your service. Honesty really was the best policy. I was excited at first, then regretful, then disappointed in myself. That was before I started working. Now, three months later, I think I was always meant to take this position – which, in a roundabout way, brings me back to choices and fate. I think it was fate that I should spend some time working here, but this only happened because I chose to step out of my comfort zone and take a chance. Now, I realize just how much this job has helped me in so many arenas of my life. Yes, I’m not furthering my education career and I’m not pursuing my goals. However, I have changed my entire way of life out here. I’ve made so many amazing friends in the ladies that work for this company, I’ve heard so many stories from these women, who like me, were struggling to find a job and a life as well. Not to mention the fact that, albeit a small paycheck, it is A paycheck and it is a great distraction that gets me out of the house. I’ve learned so much about how to care for my skin and my body, how to live a healthier life and how to live a more balanced life. I feel like I am growing as a person and a woman because of this job and the people I have met in it, therefore giving me a lot insight into things I never bothered to focus on while I was slaving away in Pensacola.

Although the choices we are asked to make are not always easy or even obvious, they can more often than not be what makes us zig rather than zag; veer left instead of right. I’m learning that embracing the choices we are required to make is not only all part of the process, it’s the only way to continue living. If I had chosen to not go to my second interview and blow it off, I could potentially still be unemployed, mimicking my cats, and living in the same pajamas for weeks on end. I imagine this version of myself, drowning in self pity, 3 day old cereal stuck to my face, wondering if the aroma I’m breathing is my festering excuse of a life or the socks I haven’t changed in 6 days. With Ryan gone, this job has saved my life (and my sanity, for that matter). There is really no describing the kinds of feeling of failure and self degradation that come with 8 months of continuous, daily rejection. A person can only stomach so much of that. But I made a command decision – a choice that changed my outlook on, not only my career path, but my life in California as a whole. I woke up one day, metaphorically slapped myself in the face and, akin to Moonstruck Cher, yelled, “snap out of it!” Get a grip! Take a chance, step out of your comfort zone, accept an offer when it’s made to you, however undesirable it may appear at first glance. You really never know when making that choice equates to making a healthy contribution to what fate has in store for you…

To Be Continued

Where can I find some fiction?

I know it’s been a little while since my last posting, but there have been lots of things going on around here, keeping me from my computer. Ryan came home from his training a week and a half ago and we have been spending pretty much every second of that time together. We just got back from our trip to Hawai’i with Ryan’s family, a time that was, as I’m sure you can imagine, full of self reflection and observation. The island of Kaua’i was beautiful, humid and remote. We did lots of snorkeling, surfing, and discovering different pieces of the land. I learned a lot of new Hawaiian words and, during the whole of the trip, buried my face in Harry Potter 7: The Deathly Hallows. Of course I didn’t let Harry impede my ability to enjoy the beauty and culture of the island, nor did I allow it to keep me from socializing with the family or spending time with Ryan. Harry just helped me get through the quieter moments as well as the more beach focused moments, which, as we all know, are not necessarily my favorite. I was able to read all 754 pages, starting on the plane ride there and ending on the plane ride back.

Now, I think as a true fan of the series – as I am, re-reading the series to refresh my memory and emotions before the release of each new movie – I tend to follow the same habits of other fans. If you are a fan of Harry Potter, please do not try to deny that there is at least some part of you (which grows larger the bigger a fan you are) that wishes you could have gotten your own wand at age 11, ridden the Hogwart’s Express through the Great Britain countryside, learned magic in the halls of Hogwarts instead of Muggle subjects in your Muggle high school, and had a pet owl who delivered your mail for you. Fans of the series find themselves wondering which subject they’d be good at: Herbology, Charms, Potions? And finally, everyone wonders which character their personality most resembles. It has been my observation that the character one tends to believe they are most like and the one their friend’s would say they are most like is often not the same. It’s difficult to read this series, or any book for that matter, without identifying with the characters - are you sometimes too smart for your own good, like Hermione or are you quiet, unassuming, yet endlessly brave like Neville? I found myself in these thoughts as I finished the final book (for the 3rd time) last night on the redeye from Kaua’i.

It may seem arrogant and possibly overshooting, but I do believe I most resemble Harry Potter himself. Of course everyone wishes they were like him, and it may be that my friends would debate that I am more like someone else, (hopefully not Luna Lovegood, for goodness sake) but hear me out. As I was reading the last half of The Deathly Hallows, I began thinking about how much things can change when circumstances continue shuffling the deck and dealing unpredictable hands. I’ve always compared my life to Harry Potter’s – a difficult childhood, parents who were good people at the core but were, on the whole, uninvolved in a good portion of my upbringing due to uncontrollable circumstances, a string of adoptive parents who stepped in as they came along, a habit for living inside my head with others at a comfortable distance. And the biggest piece? A life of loneliness staggered with great friends who come to my aid in times of need, always lending a helping hand and ear, but who, despite their constant vigilance, never really could fully comprehend what life inside this skin is really like. I’m not famous, I don’t talk to snakes, and death doesn’t follow me like a depressing wake; however, my scars are deep and they do sometimes dictate my paths. I feel connected to characters like that.

I guess the real question is, why do we seek to find ourselves in fictional characters? What insight can we gain from this kind of pursuit? To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I asked myself this question several times, not only to check my own sanity for living a little too closely inside the story while I was reading, but also to see what it was that I was really identifying with. Maybe it’s the hope you can gain from seeing where the story goes. Maybe, if the character’s story ends well, things will end well for you – a person whose life, even in a parallel universe, mirrors that of the character. In Harry’s story, I see him as always on the brink of some adventure; some great life changing endeavor. He goes into each installment of the series thinking the worst is behind him and that what waits in the future is the possibility of normalcy. He longs for what Ron has, two parents, a bunch of siblings, and a house full of warmth, tradition, and uncompromised love. He clings to family that come in and out of his life while trying to figure out how to maintain a balance in the everyday. I get all of that about him. I connect to that. I understand the longing to have the kinds of ties and traditions that others around me have, while embracing the real life knowledge that a life like that may not have been meant for me. That I was meant for something different and that I was meant to create something different for my children with that knowledge. As the actual deployment quickly encroaches upon me, I stare into its face wondering what weapons I will need to combat it. I think about all of the battles in the past I have had to wage and fight by myself as well as with my closest friends beside me, and I wonder if the worst really is behind me or still lurking in the future. Am I in the 3rd book or the 7th? What do I stand to lose and do I really want to know?

I think what bothers me the most is the fact that I probably can’t rely on the stories of Harry Potter to direct my thoughts about the future. As I finished the final book on the plane, I considered, as I always do, the cliché afterword JK Rowling attached to the end of the story. The whole piece where we find out Harry and Ginny get married and have little predictably and overkill named children, living close to the married Ron and Hermione. They share their lives with seemingly no problems, but those attached to parenthood, and Harry finally finds his little bit of normalcy. As I finished reading that afterward, I couldn’t help but feel the detachment set in. That’s not what true Harry Potter fans want to hear about Harry’s life. I want to hear that he grows to be the next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and ends up becoming the next great headmaster of Hogwarts. I imagine Harry continuing to fight for the rights of the innocent and defend the honor of those who died to help pave his way. I have no desire to see him fade into normalcy – Harry was never meant for a life of normalcy! So, therein lies the rub. I read the story to find an answer about what might lie before me, but am unequivocally denied by a ridiculous version of what an author may have thought people wanted to hear. Now, this is not to say I am judging Mrs. Rowling; I respect her as an author and bow down to her creativity and ability. I guess my disappointment just got personal and I was hoping for something a little bit closer to my own truth. But, I claim Harry Potter. Others can make their suggestions and they may be right, but I stand by my opinion. I’ll continue to reread the books and every time Harry finds himself on the precipice of some grand, life altering event, I’ll pay attention. I’ll pay really close attention and maybe, just maybe, by then I’ll be able to tell you what really happens to someone like Harry Potter after the battle ends and life begins again.

Schizophrenia: a side effect of deployment

I began working on an entry about employment and my current status, but midway through that entry a more pressing issue arose that has been at the forefront of my thoughts for some time now: the many faces of military separation. Pardon the super long entry, but I have a lot to say on this matter.

Ryan has been gone now for 12 full days and, after the initial transition period passed, I came into the habit of making daily observations about how very different life is without him around. Now, it doesn’t really take a genius to realize that life would be vastly different without the presence of a person who has become your lifeline. Also, it’s not hard to believe that life is a completely different experience when you live as a single person instead of a couple, or even as a set of roommates. What was not obvious to me, though, until recently, is that in order for life to remain livable, I have had to change. In essence, I have been forced to become a different person entirely. This might be easy to understand, but for me, it was a harsh reality. I like who I am with Ryan; I actually feel like the best version of myself when we are together. Allow me to explain.

When Ryan and I first moved in together, it felt really easy. I think most couples go through a reasonable transition period, where each person has to not only experience the other’s daily habits and hidden personal secrets, but become accustomed to them and adapt to them as well. Over the course of time, no matter how much irritation and disgust arises, the two of you learn how to compromise and blend together, altering your lives to happily cohere. Granted, there were a few minor quirks that I had to adjust to, but ultimately, from my perspective, it was a seamless union. I love to cook, he loves to eat, we both enjoy spending an entire day watching tv on the couch, and sometimes we make bad food decisions but have an unspoken agreement to own them and not judge. We don’t feel forced to spend all of our time together, we have just always chosen to do so because we have more fun together than we could imagine having apart. I’ve learned so much about myself being with him and have truly become more comfortable in my own skin as we’ve grown as a couple.

Now, the old me would scoff at this. I’ve always been an independent woman, especially since I broke off my last engagement, hell bent to allow anyone to inhibit my need to stand alone at times. But, what I’ve realized, is that you can be an independent person and still need another person to help define you. The trick is to consciously participate in this definition; look at it as growth instead of inhibition; ensure that the definition of your character is being aided by the other person, and not controlled or misdirected. This is definitely the case with Ryan and me. I’m not afraid to admit that he has been behind a lot of my positive changes, pushing my growth and encouraging my development as an individual. I feel truly blessed to have someone with whom I can not only share myself so completely but who I can also trust to challenge me when I start to get lazy. The disappointing part of this reality is that it’s addictive and, when taken away, leaves the individual (that’s me) unsure of how to proceed. This brings me to the many faces of separation.

In the weeks leading up to this first stretch of separation, I was doing really well. The other wives actually commented on how well I was handling the idea of our first deployment. “Wow, Heather, we are so relieved you are taking this so well. It’s important to be as positive as possible, especially to help Ryan feel like you will be ok when he leaves.” Well, I have to admit, I was conscious of my positivity. My opinion was, “hey, he’s leaving no matter what. Who does it help to sulk and wait for it – we should enjoy the moments now and I can be sad later.” I call this Face 1: The Strong Face. Well, as the days became numbered and it was mere hours before he was to leave, I’d be lying if I said my positive face didn’t start turning downward. There were moments, unexpectedly, when I would have to leave the room because I would burst into tears. It was sort of like spontaneous combustion, brought on by the most random thing. I tried to not let Ryan see any of this, and was pretty successful, because I didn’t want him to worry about this separation any more than I knew he already was. The morning he left, though, was messy. This was the next face of separation, Face 2: the sad face, if you will. I was distraught, I cried endlessly (well, for a few hours, at least) and mourned his leaving as if I had nothing left to live for. Now, like I said, this only lasted a little while. I had to, after all, go to work that day. Bring on face #3, the diversionary face. On the way to work, I was still battling Face #2, especially because I was bombarded with a slew of Tim & Faith songs and other musical nonsense meant to divert my emotions. Later that same day, though, I found myself at work, immersed in the projects of the day. Face 2 & 3 really battled it out there for a day or two, but ultimately, Face 3 won. I developed a routine, I spent as many hours at work as possible, busied myself when I walked through the front door of my house, and tried to fall asleep right as I hung up the phone with Ryan. Here’s where the observations begin…

It didn’t take long for me to realize how I was trying to deal with this separation. Avoidance was key. I tried to detach myself from the situation by pretending like Ryan would be home that night for dinner. Then, when dinner time came, I’d distract myself in some other way. I immediately thought to myself, “well, this can’t be healthy. Since when is denial the best course of action?” But, I took it into consideration and really thought about it for the next day or two. Wasn’t it necessary, though? If I sat around, thinking actively about Ryan as much as I wanted to, I’d be a mess! I’d be a sobbing, sad, pathetic pool of unproductive drool and phlegm. Who needs that? But, I also couldn’t go about my life as usual. My usual day revolved around Ryan coming home. Yes, I went to the gym, cleaned up around the house, ran errands, etc. All of these tasks, though, were directly connected to the time Ryan would be home and were done in the hopes of having all responsibilities completed before he came home to me. I wanted to spend all of the time he was home with him, doing whatever we wanted, not bogged down by other things. Also, dinner was a large part of this process. I usually spent a better portion of my day thinking about what I’d make for him that night, what was something new we hadn’t tried, what groceries I’d need to get it done, etc. This all sounds hopelessly pre-women’s revolution, but don’t judge me – I spent 7 months unemployed and needed something to fill my time. I decided my husband was a worthy candidate and stand by that. At any rate, when he was gone, so was all of this. So, I couldn’t think about him and I couldn’t continue with my usual routine, what was I supposed to do? Face 3! The diversion.

I didn’t realize it at first, but I started getting to the point that the diversion was taking over so much that sometimes when Ryan would call, I would actually feel anxious to get off the phone to get back to what I was doing. In the moment, I felt validated, but the second I hung up the phone I said out loud to myself, “What the hell was that? Did you just get annoyed by talking to your husband. Check yourself or wreck yourself.” I was shocked. The next day, I was brought to face this problem in a different light. I received a distressed phone call (from someone I will not identify) from a friend who was experiencing her own separation from her husband. She and her husband have been apart a few weeks now and were looking at many more weeks apart for various reasons. They had become irritable with one another and had been spending a lot of time bickering and finger pointing. She was knee deep in Face 3 and her husband couldn’t understand why she never had time for him. It really boiled down to this, I think, as the ultimate source of their frustrations. He was frustrated to be left behind with her too busy to talk, and she was frustrated that he couldn’t understand her need to stay busy and involved in her routine. They were both suffering from the same thing – missing each other and struggling with dealing with it in their own ways. She was scared, though, that when they finally came back together that they’d find they had grown apart so much that they weren’t in love like they used to be. I told her she was crazy to think this way and if you go into a situation with thoughts like this, you were signing your own ending. The wives are right about one thing: you do need to remain as positive as possible, which is sometimes the hardest thing to accomplish.

So, after I told Ryan this story about my friend and we proceeded to have a long philosophical conversation about it, I started to realize how much I’d had to change my daily routine and my outlook just to make it through the time. Enter Face 4: the face of Rationalization (I’m still working on the name for this one). I was secretly nervous that I might change so much that I’d never be able to find my way back to where he and I were when he left. I also knew that I needed this alternate reality to distance myself from the situation. I spoke to another friend in the midst of her own separation, and she verified many of these things for me. She has already been through a deployment and told me the same thing I had felt before – sometimes she told her guy not to call for several days because talking to him brought her out of her diversionary face. It made Face 2 come back and derail the whole coping process. This made sense, but do I really want to be in that position? In the event that the unthinkable happens, do I want to know that I didn’t talk to my husband because I couldn’t handle it? Absolutely not, so I’m moving on to Face 5, which I don’t have a name for yet. I’m still developing the outlook for this face. I want to accept the situation, but not live inside of it. I want to be able to develop myself for my own betterment, but not so much that I leave so many pieces of myself behind and I’m unrecognizable when Ryan comes home. I want to survive as a woman living single, but feeling married all the while. This has been hard, especially when my natural instinct is to detach, detach, detach. I’ve had a few setbacks in my pursuit of a new face; Face 2 reared its ugly head the other day when I was exhausted and vulnerable. I also know that deployment is like a roller coaster, during which you go through periods of strength and weakness. I’m going to go through these faces all over again in the coming weeks when Ryan comes home and leaves again. I’ll keep you posted on that – I’m sure a few more faces will develop. I still don’t know what’s the best course of action to deal with this very unique situation, but I wish someone had put in the user’s manual that Schizophrenia was a side effect of separation.

Rollercoasters and Flaming Torches

When I woke up this morning to the sound of my phone ringing and my husband’s voice at the other end, I knew it was going to be a good day. Waking up to his voice, when I couldn’t wake up to him, was a welcome jolt out of the crazy dreams I’d been having all night long. It didn’t take long for me to realize that today would be one of those days that I just knew I was meant to experience. This day was waiting for me to get to it. It was hiding around the corner, hoping I would keep my chin up long enough to see it. I proceeded to my yoga class, hoping for some continued enlightenment. Now, I should say, that I never go to the gym on Saturday mornings. Typically, I spend the day garage sale hunting, thrift store shopping, and relaxing in parks, reading books under shady trees with my better half. This particular lonely morning, I felt a strong pull toward yoga class at the Y and pushed myself to go. My instructor began our practice with a discussion about finding light in the darkness. It was like she had read into my thoughts and knew just want I needed to hear this morning. She told us that, often times we go through life weaving in and out of the light and dark periods and that we should expect to do that. After all, it’s like they say, you can’t truly appreciate the light until you’ve experienced the dark. What’s important, though, is being able to look within yourself to find the light, point your heart toward it and bring yourself to it. Well, I know you probably think I already knew that. And I did. It’s just, sometimes you need to wait until the perfect day and moment to hear it. And I mean really hear it and let it soak in. Today was that day and 9:03 am was that moment.

You know, it’s funny. Sometimes I feel as though I am living my life, not walking a straight line, but rolling through a rollercoaster shaped track. I go through cycles and, at this point, I should be able to tell what’s up ahead and what’s necessary to survive it, at least generally. This is not to say that every time I re-enter the cycle the scenarios are the same or are predictable in any way. That would make for an incredibly boring ride and not one I’d be interested in taking. What I mean is that I seem to come across the same problems presented in different formats and each time I see them, I get to try a new way of approaching them. I should, at this point, be able to read or guess which part of the cycle I am entering. Am I going to climb steadily upward, hoofing and sweating it all the way, reaching for the top with my hands stretched out and up, eager and ready for the rush that comes with a quick and fast plummet down? Or am I about to fly over the top of the climb, rolling downward with my hands up, my eyes open, enjoying every minute of the best part of the ride, headed for another valley? And yet, every time I stop to look around, I find myself feeling surprised to actually be at any given part of the ride, thinking “how did I get here and what the hell is going to come next?” That’s where I found myself when my yoga instructor intersected my thoughts with her wisdom.

I’ve had a lot of ups and downs in the last 6 months. I’ll probably go into many of them in more detail in the coming posts, but let’s just say it’s definitely been a ride. Leaving my job with such bittersweet feelings, coming to terms with moving cross country, being unemployed for 7 months, getting married, and adjusting to my new Marine Corps life, just to name a few. Between all of the disappointments and life changes I feel like I’ve lost my way somewhere along the path. I took a left turn and all of a sudden I’m in California, no where near teaching, living alone with my 3 cats. What the hell happened? Well, the darkness happened. And in the midst of it happening I, yet again, didn’t pay attention to where I was going and forgot to look for the signs of the reoccurring cycle. I, a woman well versed in the cycles of the darkness emerging into light, should have understood that the darkness was imminent and I needed to rely on myself to rub two sticks together to find some light. Well, I guess today you could say I found my two sticks. Somewhere between my yoga class and sitting here tonight I picked them up on the path. I’m still looking for the proper method of rubbing those sticks together to get the best source of light. At this point, I need a flaming torch to hold high out of this darkness. In order to get to that sort of illumination I need to keep my heart pressing outward, reaching toward the light, with the knowledge that it’s up ahead. If I keep my hands extended up and out long enough, the anticipation of that rollercoaster climb will be met with the thrill of the downhill rush, wind in my face exhilaration of freedom that comes from knowing you’d reach the top of the climb eventually and be paid back in full for holding out that long.

Well, it's a beginning

Well, here we go. I've been telling myself for the longest time that I should start a blog - to give a booster shot to my desire to write, to communicate with those who I am away from, and to talk. Sometimes I just need to talk. I don't know what form this blog is going to take. I don't even know if there will be a shape to it. No themes, no direction - just me, talking. So, here goes...

I’m pretty sure that writing has saved my life – both on individual occasions as well as on the whole. However, it seems that just as with any saving mechanism, once it is sapped of its use, it is cast aside until it is needed again. If I were an honest woman, I would admit that, although I have thought about sitting down to write on several occasions, I have actively decided not to. I’m not sure why; since writing was my bread and butter for so long, and I even became a spokeswoman for its powers and promises, I feel a bit of a hypocrite as I sit here in a state of penance. I feel like there must be some literary equivalent to 10 “Hail Maries”and 5 “Our Fathers” that would save me from the sins I have committed against writing itself. There have been so many occasions to document that I have simply let pass me by. There have been so many feelings and thoughts that I’ve wanted to share, but I’ve let them sit restless in the files of my brain. If you were to ask me why, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I probably couldn’t even lie my way out of it. I’ve been asked before, and at the time, it was easy to say that I was tired or out of time. It was nothing at all to lay the blame on my job, my Masters degree or my status as a wedding planner. Well, a lot has happened since then and I find myself in a place now where I think I need this more than ever.

Truthfully, it was pure laziness. It was fear. It was a constant thought that if I sat down to write, would I really have anything worthwhile to say? Rubbish! I had plenty to say. I had students who, every day, made me rethink who I was as an individual. Young people who made me question myself and my actions every few minutes. These reflections, which I promised in my academic musings only a short time ago, were the fruits of my labor – or at least they should have been. There was no daily, weekly, bi-monthly journal that I kept to reflect upon my teaching strategies. There was no cathartic admission of truths and fears during my time at EBMI. For all of this I am ashamed. I am ashamed to call myself a writer, and when asked, I have purposely left it out of almost every description of myself for the last several months. People ask what interests me and I feel it would be a ruse, a lie even, to tell them that I’m a writer. To classify myself with people who commit themselves to it, especially when it’s hard. Writing saved my life once upon a time and I have let writing down as if it were something I had the right to lay down and walk away from.

So, let's set the stage then, shall we? Where is it I find myself, you ask? The answer to that is multi-dimensional. First, I find myself married, which is a change that has affected my life in so many ways I can't even begin to comprehend them all. I find myself on the West Coast, far away from my family and friends and everything else I feel comfortable with. I find myself alone in a big place. I find myself at odds with the dreams and goals I have worked my entire life to achieve. I find myself needing people, but constantly without them. I find myself needing this. I find myself. Everyday.