On My Mind

Well, hello there..... it's been awhile.

Let's blame me. I'm fine with that.

I got a message last week from someone who stumbled upon my blog, mentioning the similarities in our lives as far as divorce, etc. It made me realize that much of what I have said in the past year or so no longer exists on this blog. I won't get into why I deleted a year or more worth of entries--it doesn't matter anymore--but at the time, it was the right decision. It's bothered me because the whole point of this blog is for me to communicate. I'm not trying to prove a point, influence anyone, or make anyone look bad. I just think it, feel it, and write it. It's what's on my mind, and often, what's in my heart. I have received overwhelming support from blogland--it's humbling and overwhelming. I have made e-friends I've kept now for more than three years. I have met several fellow blog dorks in "real life" and consider all dear friends.

I thought about this message for awhile and realized that this person is only getting part of the story. Everything stops before the divorce and pretty much picks up thereafter. The real story is what was in between. And that's me -- a storyteller.... it has helped me tremendously to put my thoughts and feelings on paper, so to speak, and from the messages I receive, I guess others have received inspiration and strength from them, too, whether it reminds them to work harder on their marriage, being nicer to their spouse, or be true to themselves--whatever that means. Every comment and every visit means so much to me, so thank you for taking the time to read my words and let me know your thoughts, good or bad. So here I have reposted some of the entries I deleted. Some may be on here twice that are just for fun -- oldies but goodies.

I do have NEW updates too and plan on sharing everything very soon. I finally got time to do at least this, and now that life is somewhat "calm" again, and I anticipate having time to "come back" to blog land. I have enjoyed keeping up with you, and still visit often.

So, as promised.... greatest hits....reunion tour....reruns.....call it what you will (also in no particular order and in multiple parts)....... enjoy.

Til next time...

This Is...

...A big week for me in a lot of ways. I'll write more about it at another time when the dust has settled.

You see, I do my best thinking when I drive. This holiday weekend, that is just about all I did. Drive and think. Hours and hours of thinking. Sure, the thought process was interrupted to break up backseat arguments between my daughters, dodging flying sippy cups and  goldfish, pulling over to kiss "owies", etc. But I have settled my soul, finally, with some big decisions. I punch "go" on the process of these decisions this week. I have to. I have been in a such a state of "spin cycle" lately. I can't do it anymore. I'm worn out. Yes, people will be hurt. I'll hurt. But hurt is temporary. Hurt heals. When the decision is right, everyone comes out better in the end. You just have to hold on to your faith. And that's my plan. I like that plan.

I spent a lot of time with my sister this weekend. At one point, we were sitting in the "famous" rocking chairs on the porch of Cracker Barrel in Lubbock, Texas discussing, as usual, our love lives and/or the lack thereof. Much of the conversation was about our fears of the unknown….will we ever find "him?" Have we already found "him" and just don't know it yet? Will we make yet another mistake? Should we just settle even when we feel that familiar tug at our heart to hold out?

I looked across the way to the two rocking chairs in front of us. There sat, who appeared to be, sisters….probably in their 80s. If they weren't sisters, then they were best friends. They were looking over the menu, trying to decide what to order once their names were called. They were as dressed up as can be for west Texas and 80 years old--their night on the town. I looked at my sister and told her that no matter what decisions we make today, the inevitable truth is that we can't escape growing old. Our appearance will fade. Our energy will diminish. What's for dinner will become much more important than which heels to wear with what jeans. Hell, we probably won't even own a pair of jeans. Point is, this is it. One life. It's not a dress rehearsal. Both of us have been fortunate to enjoy second—even third chances. But we're not getting any younger. Sure, we still feel 25 and most of the time, we act like we're still 25. As each year passes, we'll feel it and see it. But there is still a lot of time between both sets of rocking chairs. We both have the chance to get it right—to seize happiness with both hands and not let go. To appreciate the blessings we do have and not worry so much about the things—and people—we wish we have, but don't. We have the time to take a new look at the people who consider us a gift—and treat us like one—rather than settle for men who look at us as only options…..men who may or may not get back to us when they realize the grass isn't always greener. While they wait, so do we…..and time marches on.

The point of my trip this weekend was to go to my papa and granny's farm house and get the porch swing. This isn't just "any" porch swing. It's the swing that I, literally, spent hours if not days, rocking with my papa and granny (usually papa) talking about anything and everything in the world. Without fail, he would reach over and hold my hand or hug me close when we talked. I could not have felt more special or more loved than on that swing with him. Sure, maybe his stories were long and about a time I couldn't begin to relate to, but they were full of color, humor, nostalgia, intelligence, and warmth. That porch swing, to me, signifies love….life….all of the beautiful things that God wants us to know, feel, experience, appreciate, and give thanks for. The swing is well more than 20 years old and has seen better days. Even so, it was loaded up into my step-father's truck (which I bravely drove with two small children) and carted off to his lake house where he has promised to restore it as much as possible so that I can rock my children on the swing and hopefully one day, my own grandchildren.

I can't go to that farm without feeling a rush of warmth, love, and belonging. No one lives there. The homes are void of people, but still filled with furnishings, photos, and memories. The homes even "smell" the same as I remember them from my childhood. The farm is a reminder that I have a starting place in this world. People cared enough about me to love me and support me and push me off into the world to go find my own happiness.

While there, I discovered a beautiful photo of granny and papa on what my father believes, was probably their wedding day or close to it. They were hugging and all smiles. They made it about 70 years….together. In love. I have no chance of making it 70 years with anyone, but I do have a chance for love. This time, it won't be the kind of love where the scales are so unbalanced—where I feel like my love is enough for the both of us. Where I feel like "he'll come around." Where it's obvious that he settled for me because I fit the bill of who he "should be with." If I could get in return what I give….well, I can't even imagine…..

Once we left the farm we drove back to Lubbock and went to the Alzheimer's/dementia retirement home where my granny now resides. She doesn't really know anyone except for my father. She is happy, although she will never understand why she's there or how it happened. And that's OK. Frankly, we're not sure if she even remembers papa, the farm, or any of the major parts of her life. She is always happy to see us, even if she's not entirely sure who we are. I choose to believe that somewhere way deep down inside, there is a spark of recognition of love, even if she can't identify who or how. As she ate her dinner, delighted in the smallest of things—a cookie or a smile from a friend—I thought back to the conversation my sister and I shared.

Outside of something purposefully tragic, you can't write the last chapter of your life. It's not for us to decide. When we're born, we have this clean slate. We're about the cutest we'll ever be—perfect little babies—and we are surrounded by love, care, and constant attention. Then we live our lives—the good and bad choices, the horrible mistakes, the blissful moments, and the mundane hum of everyday life. But every breath we take….every minute that passes….places us closer to the only thing that is inevitable—the end. And when that happens, do you feel grateful that you made "safe" choices and did what everyone else (who are probably not even alive anymore) wanted you to do? Do you feel relief that you let fear of the unknown kept you on a predictable path where you couldn't even feel this exquisite life that God gave you? Or, do you have regrets that you passed on chances. That you always took the traveled and worn roads. Do you wish you would have said what you always meant to say, kiss who you always wanted to kiss, dance when you felt like it, laughed until it hurt even when no one else knew why, said yes, said no, gone for it, said what the hell, helped someone rather than passed by, prayed more, hugged even when it felt awkward, said 'I love you' every time, danced and laughed with your children and friends...

I looked around the dining room of my sweet granny's retirement home and I couldn't begin to imagine the journeys of the people at these tables—many who could barely lift a fork to their mouth or have any sort of conversation with their seat mates. Why couldn't that be me? It happened to my smart-as-a-whip grandmother who was so full of life and love. Why couldn't my sister and I turn into the old ladies at Cracker Barrel where deciding on which sides to go with our pot roast is the biggest thrill of the day? Maybe their husbands were inside. Maybe they were still in love with those men after all of these years. Or, maybe not. Maybe they never met "the one" and they sit there, rocking….content, but settled. Wondering what if.

I drove home today with so many thoughts running through my mind, many of them scattered and unfinished at best. One very clear thought, however, was that for as long as I can remember, I have done everything in my life to please other people. And I am OK with that. It's a nice way to live, and it's thoughtful. I have waited patiently while the person I love hurts me time and time again before seeing "the light" and realizing I've been right for him all along, leaving me to feel alone and like honorable mention throughout our relationship. I have put together a list of what I want in a mate, only to settle for only a portion of those things just hoping that maybe, just maybe he'll "grow into it." I have loved and given so much of myself to just about everyone in my life, and I have taken sheer joy in doing so. And when I feel it in return, it's priceless. But that doesn't always happen. What's the saying? Show people how you wanted to be treated, and that's how they'll treat you? Well, the doormat aspect of my personality has really created a huge problem for me here.

So if in the end, I'm either in the rocking chair on the porch of a restaurant where the highlight of the evening is having pancakes for dinner or in a retirement home where someone is affixing a bib around my neck…… Well, who knows what will really be running through my mind? I hope I have great memories, a heart full of love, hilarious stories to tell my kids and grandkids. I hope someone is driving 7 hours with screaming kids in the back seat to pick up the porch swing that has made it through generations simply just to breathe in a special memory of me. I hope I can think of "him" and smile my biggest smile, knowing that in a matter of years our souls will be joined once again as God intended. I hope that "he" smiles that same smile, even when we're 80. I hope our kids and grandkids use us an example for their own relationships. I hope that they forgive me for the choices I had to make for myself and also, in a strange way, for them. I hope they one day understand.

As I smiled thinking of the memory of my sweet papa taking my hand, every time, as he talked to me, I thought about how many times I saw him take my granny's hand through the years…..just a natural gesture to show how he is there for her. I remember how his eyes would light up when he talked about their dating years, going dancing on Friday nights and such. Really, it's that simple…..someone who reaches out and who lights up….because he loves me unconditionally in a way that speaks right to my heart. The answer has always been around me in the lives of my grandparents and other special couples in my life. Basically, the porch swing is a constant reminder of real love whether it's a grandfather and granddaughter or romantic love—stopping everything to just swing, listen, hold hands, and be there for each other—even if it's for a brief moment….a soul connection. Think of how much nicer it is to get back to our busy, over-scheduled lives after experiencing that, even if it's just for a minute. Someone saying "I love you" without even really saying it all—feeling it, rather than just hearing it. My papa has been gone from this earth for more than two years, but I can still feel the love. I light up when I think of him, and when I think of his marriage to my full-of-life granny. Love is more than a word….it is an action. It can change everything when it's right. Their love has endured through generations…..to me….and eventually, to my daughters. I owe it them, and to myself, to get it right and to not waste for one second this precious, fragile, beautiful life. If I know where I'm headed, no matter what, then why waste one more second?

Yes, it's a big week. It's a big life. It deserves jumping in with both feet—carefully but with somewhat of abandon in order to really experience it.

I’m glad I got the porch swing. I'm glad I made some big decisions. I'm glad I reconnected with what was real about my past in order to stay focused on what's real in my present and my future. I'm glad my sister and I had that talk. I'm glad that things become more clear for me every day about what I'm doing right…and what I'm doing wrong. I'm glad I'm learning what I want, finally. I'm also glad that within a matter of months, I'll be spending crisp fall evenings relaxing with my girls on the porch swing, soaking in and being thankful for life's rich blessings.

Love life. Swing on.

You Signed Up for This

Several weeks ago, my spouse and I were engaged in a conversation about visitation schedules with the kids. I made a promise to myself when this separation started that I would rarely, if ever, write about its—why, who did what, who is doing what wrong at the moment, stupid stuff he does, stupid stuff I do. I don’t see what purpose it would serve, other than to leave a record of unhappiness and bitterness for my daughters to read one day. The only reason I bring this up is because this particular conversation has been running through my mind for the past 12 or so hours.

I asked him why he didn’t often keep the kids overnight. He said, “That’s two and a half days. It’s hard taking care of them for that long.”

            “Precisely,” I snap back. “I do it all of the time.”

            His response?

            “Hey, you signed up for this. It’s going to be tough for you, being a single mom and all.”

            My response to this “gem” of wisdom?

            “Why, are you planning on dying any time soon? You are still their parent. We don’t have to be married to co-parent.”

            And then proceeds to tell me that because “I signed up for this,” it’s different. If I want to be a single mom so badly—enough so to lose the house we worked so hard for, split retirement accounts, divide possessions, and be embarrassed around our friends and family—then I’ll “get what I asked for.”

            Yes, isn’t that every little girl’s dream? To grow up, fall in love, have a dream wedding, make a home, and then have beautiful, healthy children---all just to throw it away for the hell of it? Or because being a single mom sounds like so much fun? Give me a break. Rather than focusing on that, he should have been focusing on what it is he’s done to me through the years (or not done) that has made a more trying lifestyle more appealing than one with him. Well, we are here because doesn’t routinely turn the spotlight on himself for further examination. It was, is, and will always be “my choice.”

            Funny thing, outside of joint finances, I have often felt like a single mom in my marriage. Actually, from day one when our first child was born. Late night cry sessions, feedings, changings, searching for daycares and sitters, caring for sick kiddos, pediatrician visits, hospital stays, clothing, birthday parties and play dates, school functions—I handled all of it. I was our “relationship secretary” so to speak, as I would keep him informed about times, dates, and places for him to pencil in—much like an admin and a CEO. Therefore, when people ask me if it’s harder to handle the kids on my own, my honest answer is always no. There are moments it has been harder—an extra set of hands always helps. Shuffling kids to and from activities—it’s nice when two people can divide the task. Otherwise, as far as caretaking goes, things have remained relatively the same.

            Until Saturday night.

            As fast as I can claim it’s not that hard being a single mom, I will also admit (near) defeat at the moment. My daughter and her best friend have planned a Halloween party for months. They were so into this gig that it often felt like we were planning their birthdays instead of a quick holiday gathering. The day was spent making the house look as spooky as possible (these are girls after all….gore has its limits) and we made sure everything was put together for costumes, down to black nail polish and purple hair spray. My daughter’s friend and her mom—who happens to be one of my closest friends—arrived mid-afternoon to help set up, plus it was a chance for us to catch up over a beer….then another beer….and so on. It was a fun day.

            Right at 6, the little ghosts and goblins arrived. It almost brought tears to my eyes when I realized that these kids all became friends when they were about 2, going on 3. I remember their first Halloween at their pre-school, as they clung to our legs and timidly tried out carnival-type games for the first time. My how time flies, I realized, as they began chasing each other around the house, sword fighting, wrestling, jumping off of chairs, and such. They were doing anything but clinging to our legs. I call my group of friends “the preschool posse” as that’s where we all met and became close. In daycare situations, you usually smile and nod at the other parents during drop off and pick up, but for some reason, our situation was different. We quickly realized we shared an affection for a nice cocktail and good food, all mixed with lots of laugh-out-loud humor. All working moms, we have a lot in common. Champagne cocktails, bacon-wrapped scallops, chips and dip, brie, wine—we indulged while the kids played.

            The party officially kicked off with spooky blood-red Kool-aid over dry ice and eyeball suckers. Then we went into pin the nose on the jack-o-lantern, a cake walk, dance contest, guessing games, and such. Right about the time we handed out goodie bags, it hit. By it, I mean my youngest daughter’s stomach virus—the one she stayed home for on Friday. At first, I thought it was the champagne mixed with cupcake frosting. But nope. I sprinted for my bathroom. Enough said.

            Party is still in progress. It’s my house, and I’m the hostess….. So, I put a cool rag to my face, re-apply lip gloss, and head back out. This is when I realize my friends are being true friends and are hanging back to help me clean. Normally, I’d take them up on the offer, but I had more pressing matters at hand. I insisted they go home and get some rest. Just as I ushered out the last guest, I hear my oldest daughter tell me that her stomach hurts. I knew instantly that she had the bug too. As I was putting my crying pre-schooler to bed (she was furious that we skipped stories and songs….sorry kiddo) I hear a primal scream from the gameroom. I knew that she had gotten sick, but I didn’t realize the damage…until I opened the door from Liv’s bedroom to find the last thing that Kate ate—chocolate cake—all over the carpet. She’s crying and scared so I usher her to her bedroom to clean her up and put her to bed. Then it’s my turn. I run to the guest bathroom. Then it’s her turn. I hold back her hair and bring the trash can over to her bed. This continues for what seems like forever. I strip her sheets and get her settled in with a cool rag to her head and some water. I settle in next door in the guest room. We had about two more bouts each during the night but we made it through somehow.

            Somewhere in the night—not exactly sure what time as it seems almost endless—I sat up in bed, curled my legs in to my body, rested my head on my knees and cried. It was if the tears were unending—a steady stream of sadness, frustration, guilt, and bitterness that I had been holding back for months. All I could think of was “You signed up for this.”

            Now granted, if he was here, there probably wouldn’t have been much he would do to help. I’ve been through “sick kid nights” like this before. He gets nauseous when someone else is in this situation, and nurturing when sick is not his forte’. But I couldn’t help but think of one thing he could do, which was to go out and bring back a Sprite. Since I was a kid, drinking Sprite when I have an upset stomach has been an almost magical cure. It just settles everything and helps me (and my stomach) relax. I could not get the vision of a tall, ice cold Sprite out of my head. I was so thirsty, and water helped but sort of made me sick again. I thought about calling a friend, but at that hour, my friends with kids were long in bed….my friends with no kids were probably just leaving the bar somewhere. I thought about calling neighbors, but the sad realization is that my neighbors are “his” friends. I’m friends with them via marriage—which is on the rocks—so I really don’t think these fine folks would jump at the chance to bring over a Sprite in the middle of the night to help out their buddy’s ailing estranged wife. Doubtful.

            I went downstairs to check the pantry and fridge one more time for some lone can or bottle of Sprite, possibly left behind from the last round of sick we experienced. Nothing. I look around and see a house destroyed—dishes everywhere, toy plastic spiders all over the floor, opened and left-behind treat bags, half-eaten apples, smoky red Kool-Aid coming out of my sink, three bags of garbage, and scattered wine and champagne glasses. I thought about my bathroom—the scene of the original crime. I was in such a hurry to return to the party that I didn’t exactly clean it up. I felt sick again just thinking of it. I thought about the ruined carpet upstairs and Kate’s stained bedding. I realized that I had little to no sleep, but that in a matter of hours, my youngest will wake up ready for breakfast and eager to play with mom. I could barely turn my head, much less carry her around. The aches, pains, and chills were starting to set in.

            So I stood there, in the middle of my kitchen in the middle of the night, crying. Earlier that evening, one of the mom’s asked if I was involved in interior design work and complimented the house and its style. I was blown away. I started looking—really looking—at everything around me that I have poured my heart and soul into making the “perfect” life—the pictures everywhere, the perfect granite to go with the perfect tile and backsplash which complements the perfect bronze fixtures on the sink. The list goes on. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and walked over to a window, running my hand over the plantation shutter that I spent hours choosing with a designer. I looked outside to the pool, still lit from the party—so serene and inviting. The house was so quiet. I could just hear the familiar ticking of the mantel clock. I sat on the couch and said it out loud….”You signed up for this.”

            And then the tears stopped. Yes, I still wanted that Sprite. Yes, I still love my house and everything in it. But what I realized is that he spoke the truth when he said those words. Yes, I did sign up for this….because I didn’t have a choice. He didn’t give me a choice, even though I gave him opportunity after opportunity to do so. You see, just before I got Kate settled into bed, and just before my second round with “the sick,” I called him, as he is out of town on business. I thought about the fact that he’d be angry if I didn’t call after the party so he could talk to Kate and sing her goodnight songs. So in the midst of my misery, I found the energy to get the phone, call him and quickly say….”Kate has been throwing up. I am throwing up. We have Liv’s virus. It’s awful around here but I didn’t want you to think I kept Kate from telling you good-night. I had to hang up, as I was getting sick and I could hear Kate getting sick again.”

            You would think that he would call back at some point, if nothing else than to check on his daughter. And if not, you would think he’d call first thing in the morning to see how everything turned out. The phone never rang. I had a moment of weakness in the night and called him, wondering if he could think of someone who could just buy a two-liter of Sprite and put it on the front porch—a friend or something. He didn’t answer the call and nor did he return the missed call in the morning. I reached him this morning so Kate could talk to him, and he whispers “Yeah….” I ask if he’s in a meeting and he says, “No, we’re about to tee off.” And then I knew. He was busy with golf….his friends…himself.

            I realized that if I was on a business trip out of state and he called to tell me that everyone in the house is sick, the carpet is ruined, and he would do anything in the world for a Sprite, I would do everything in my power to help. I’d call and call….and then call again…to check on everyone.

            So, there you have just one example of many of the differences that brought us to this point. So, yes, I did sign up for this. I signed up to give my daughters a shot and learning about what a healthy relationship is—and isn’t. I signed up for taking care of them 100 percent, even if that means I get throw-up on my jeans and have to wash the sheets three times in one night. I signed up for telling my daughter it’s OK and not her fault when she sees the stain on the carpet and cries because she feels bad. I signed up for giving my daughter a fun Halloween party and not ruining it by announcing that I’m sick, but instead carrying on with fresh lip gloss and a smile. I signed up for staying home from work—when I’m already behind—to take care of them. I signed up for creating a home that is full of love, laughter, and peace—not tension and anger. Maybe the home we wind up in won’t have granite and plantation shutters, but it will be filled with love, laughter, and a Christ-centered focus in everything we do. I signed up for being a healthy, happy mom—which I wasn’t before. I signed up for life….for living.

            So now I have a messy house—I’ll clean it tonight when I feel better. I have a stain on the carpet—If I can’t get it out myself then I’ll all a carpet cleaner. Oh, and I also have a Sprite. I bundled up my sick kiddo and enticed the younger one with her own “grown up drink of Sprite” and headed to the nearest drive-thru to get the biggest Sprite on ice they have. Bliss. I feel better already.

            I really do. I feel better already. So glad I signed up for this.

Everyone' a Winner, Right?

I was thinking today about, well, everything. But then again, what else is new? First I felt a little sad....then frustrated...then mad....then pissed. Not at anyone in particular -- me maybe. I was trying to figure out this pattern I always find myself in.

See, this new therapy gig I have going on has really opened up a new door of emotion. In short, I am supposed to call on my resources--nurturing, protective, spiritual--to help take care of and heal my detracters....the negatives in my life that formed, supposedly, long ago. As it turns out, a lot of it started with my step-father and his relationship with my mom. She was a pleaser; he went with it. My "issues" were apparent in the relationhip first real boyfriend, who later become my first husband. Even though I completely lost myself in that relationship, I felt OK and validated if he was happy. I just wanted him to be "pleased." Eventually, the desire to please transformed into resentment, almost hatred. Along the way, there were other boyfriends. In almost every instance, it seemed like I didn't have to work all that hard to get the guy, but I had to work pretty hard to keep him. Inevitably, I wound up hurt...wounded...mad....jaded.

Because I was never, and still am not, a "challenge" or "feisty," inevitably, their eyes would wander. Often their hearts would follow. So then I'm left with the classic, "It's not you, it's me" or some other bullshit version of it. My friend Jeff once said about me and a good "friend," "Jennifer is like Miss America pretty; "She" is like Penthouse pretty." Beyond looks, I know what he meant. I'm vanilla; she, and so many others, are chocolate with tons of toppings. Plain vs. Loaded. Boring vs. Wild. And so on.....

So I'm driving along and it dawns on me -- hits me over the head really -- I have been a consolation prize almost my whole life. As it turns out, women who raise a lot of hell, make a lot of noise, fight, demand the world and then some--hell, probably even  lie and cheat--are the ones who seem to sink their nails so hard into a man's skin they are permanently under it. I can't tell you how many times a guy has told me how great I am, how nice I am, how pretty I am, that I deserve so much more, etc. only to hug me good-bye and walk straight into the arms of a girl who has always been a huge pain in the arse for him. I have alway sat there wondering......OK, so if I'm so great, then why don't you want me? The answer, whether I know it then or not, is almost always about another girl. It's usually  an old girlfriend that drove him crazy--they fought all the time--but he just can't shake her. Or, it's a girl who has shown interest, and he's willing to risk it all for one shot with her. When I think about it -- yes, every guy I've ever been involved with has said/done this to me in one form or another.

I joke about being a doormat.......it's really not a joke. Now granted, I will admit that my second husband chose me first. He went after me like crazy in college, and then when I was available again, he broke up with his almost-fiance to give it a go with me. But, there was that period of time where we both thought he would have to do the "right" thing and stick it out with her. Obviously, he didn't. We got married. That time, I "won." Funny thing, any time we talked about past relationships, she was always the one he spoke of, particularly her "passion." I'll leave it at that.

My high school buddies who read this blog will probably know exactly what I'm talking about. I was the classic case of Nice Girls Finish Last, at least when it came to relationships anyway. I just chose the wrong kinds of guys I guess. I never thought of myself as the "but she has a great personality" kind of girl, but I guess I am. I often would tell my husband -- "for you, I just fit the checklist. I fit your idea of what a nice, suburban wife should be." I told him once in therapy that I felt interchangeable -- like a plug in or something. He didn't really care that it was me, just as long as he had/has someone that meets his criteria for this stage of his life. He never really agreed; but he didn't exactly deny it either.

So here I sit, right at the cusp of 35, realizing that the words doormat and consolation prize now fit my life description. Nice. But, I have no one to blame but myself. What's that saying? Others treat you the way you let them treat you. I believe that. So assuming, let's hope, that I still have more than half my life left, I guess it's time to make a change--throw out the doormat and start living like I'm first prize rather than honorable mention.

Of course, some people will argue with my theory, and that's fine. They are friends and care, and I am thankful for that. I'm not saying this for sympathy or for anyone to argue -- just to let it out.

Whew, that feels better. Who wants a beer?

....Oh, and for parting words, here are two songs that fit my mood perfectly today. One, you'll see, is on my home page. Alright then, let's rock.

“Inside every older person is a younger
          person wondering, "What the hell happened?"

For as long as I can remember, I have lived with a mixed blessing. I want to call it a curse, but this aspect about me hasn’t always been negative, so I consider it part blessing, part curse. You see, I am a thinker. I ponder. I worry. I think, re-think, and over-think everything. In fact, I have to struggle to remember the times I have done something that was absolutely, positively for myself—something that no one else would benefit from. This quirk, if you will, is a curse because I cheat myself. It’s a blessing, because others benefit from my selflessness.

When reality stares me in the face, reminding me that I have just one life….one chance, I wish I didn’t think so much. I wish I was a doer; not a thinker. I think about the precious few times I have felt alive—really alive—and I crave that feeling. You know what I mean….where you’re living in the moment and actually feel life rushing over you. I cherish those times where I felt like I could simply explode with happiness, simply because I was living….really living. I don’t have enough of those moments under my belt, yet at least. When I think about why, I realize it’s because I have sacrificed them for something else, usually someone else. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt, yet I’ll hurt myself and let others hurt me over and over.

The flip side of this is that others have—and still are--benefiting from my thoughtful, pensive nature. My step-father once told me, when I was about seven years old, that I was too tender-hearted for my age and that it worried him how much guilt and worry I carried on my shoulders for other people—particularly people who didn’t return this gift. I had no idea what he was talking about. Now I do. The truth is, I would gladly sacrifice in order for someone I love to feel happy and cared for. Although I would like the same thoughtfulness in return, I certainly don’t expect it. That’s just me.

As my 35th birthday nears, I have finally accepted that I may be too compassionate for my own good. I am finally ready to admit that playing by the rules isn’t always the best way to play. You see, outside of sacrificing for my children of course, many situations, things, and people I have “over-thought” have slipped right through my fingers. In almost every instance, I really wanted these things but let something get in the way. The worry I have about the unknown….all the what if’s…..this is where I have cheated myself. At the end of the day, when I’m tired, mad, sad—all of it—I want to blame someone and go over all of the things that happened that brought me here. And I have no one else to blame. I try to fall back on the old stand-by that “everything happens for a reason.” Sure, you can pull the bright spots out of a bag and say, “See? This is why.” But I don’t really buy into that reasoning. To a certain extent, you control your own destiny, particularly when it comes to relationships. It seems like that out of all the mistakes that can be made in life, this is one of the most critical. The wrong choice affects everything you do, the way you feel, and who you are from that day, on.

As of late, I have been surrounded by break-ups and divorces. I remember as a teen-ager, always noticing how couples stayed together all school year and then once “spring fever” rolled around, it seemed like everyone was breaking up and going after someone new. Well, it’s springtime and not much has changed. Some of my dearest friends are going through divorce at this very moment—friends I thought would be the only ones with a shot at making it for the long haul. Of my four siblings, only one hasn’t experienced divorce. One, like me, has been married twice. The first time, it was a high-school sweetheart situation where it seemed like they would beat the odds. They didn’t. Now, the second marriage—what everyone thought would right all wrongs—isn’t that strong, either. Another couple in my has been together on and off for 10 or more years, despite marriages to other people and just about every known obstacle. Why do they keep choosing other people if they just continue to drift back to each other? To me, the reason is clear. What is it about life that allows us to believe that temporary obstacles are reason enough to sacrifice happiness?

I keep hearing the same thing from these people in my life, “I should have waited.” Or, “I should have stayed with ____.” And so it goes. I am guilty of this, too. And even harder to understand, is, why is the person you wind up with completely different from the “one who got away?” What makes you think that “good enough” is going to last you for the rest of your life? Why do you wind up exchanging vows with someone who makes you smile, but not the one who makes your heart leap. The one that, no matter what, can send chills down your spine with a single glance? I am so frustrated by this for so many people, and it has hit home in my life as well.

Regret. In a recent email, my ex-husband told me that regret is what reminds you that you are alive….that you feel…and that you remember. I didn’t agree with a lot he had to say when we were together, but I agree with this. Regret, at least to me, is painful. I am experiencing it now in so many areas of my life. The movie, “Say Anything,” comes to mind. I think of the graduation scene where Diane says, “I have seen the future, and all I can say is, go back.”

Go back.

Sometimes, when I see young girls in the mall having fun with their friends, enjoying their youth and freedom I just want to scream at them to hold on to their dreams and what they want. I want to stop them, look them straight in the eye, and tell them to never, ever settle. Don’t ever think it will get better on its own. Make your life happen; don’t assume it will fall into place. Don’t chase down the husband, house, and 2.5 kids because you think it’s what you are supposed to do. Find yourself. Know yourself. And then stick to it. Don’t change. I wonder, sometimes, how I can feel like the same 16-year-old girl inside, but am anything but? When I think of the happiest times in my life, outside of being a mother, there is very little about myself then that I recognize today. I have always been so motivated and driven. I have accomplished almost every one of my life goals. Although I try to convince myself that I have a life, there is always the little voice in the back of my head saying, “No, it’s a lifestyle. There’s a difference.” Life….lifestyle……Love……duty…….Living…….Getting by. These are things that simply cannot be interchangeable, yet they often are.

I know that thinking about what “might have been” is pointless and a waste of time. I understand that “you can never go home again.” But if I could sit down and have a talk with my 16-year-old self, I would definitely tell her to go for it—in everything. Don’t hold back. Down the line, as you get older, if “he” or “she” crosses your path and you know it, don’t let go. Exhaust all options and leave no stone unturned before letting him/her go. Don’t play games, but don’t always play nice, either. Fight for what you want. Believe it’s worth it. Above all, don’t tell yourself that someone else can take his/her place. Sure, you can find a lot of temporary fixes, but never a real replacement. Very little in this life is worth losing the cornerstone in your life. If you don’t believe me, then ask those who passed up their chance.

This Saturday, I attended a memorial service of one of my church’s most beloved Reverends, Renee. She lost her 10-plus year battle with Lupus a week ago. Up front sat her family—her parents, her brothers, her husband, and her two teen-age sons. Over and over, during testimonies, we heard about how this woman’s husband was her sustaining power….her rock….her touchstone. I was fixated on this man—someone I’ve never met. He made it through most of the service with a smile and stoic face, but when loved ones would acknowledge him and their relationship of 27 years, the tears would fall. I could actually feel his grief as he looked at her beautiful bridal portrait near the podium. Someone told a story about her first week in the hospital. She was in a coma and not expected to wake up or respond for her remaining days. The family knew and accepted this, but visited her every day, talking to her like she was wide awake about the most mundane of topics. One day, a nurse and her husband were chatting when she was wheeled into the room.  Renee puckered up, like she was giving a kiss. The nurse thought it was strange that she would make any movement at all. They continued their conversation and she did it again, making the gesture toward her husband. A few other nurses were called in; they all agreed that this was medically impossible. Then she did it again. Her husband asked, “Renee, do you want a kiss?” And a slight, yet brief smile crossed her face. He kissed her, and she fell asleep, content. To me, that is the very definition of true love—fighting through the seemingly impossible to be with the one you just know in the depths of your soul you were meant to be with.

Perhaps my favorite movie of all time, for so many reasons, is The Bridges of Madison County. I can identify with the following scene so well. Yes, it’s a movie, but these words are reality for so many people.

Francesca: And in that moment, everything I knew to be true about myself up until then was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before.

Robert Kincaid: This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime.

Francesa: I was just going to have some iced tea and split the atom.

Robert: If you want me to stop, tell me now.
Francesca: No one's asking you to.

Francesca: Robert, please. You don't understand, no-one does. When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself. You never in your life think that love like this can happen to you.
Robert Kincaid: But now that you have it...
Francesca: I want to keep it forever. I want to love you the way I do now the rest of my life. Don't you understand... we'll lose it if we leave. I can't make an entire life disappear to start a new one. All I can do is try to hold onto to both. Help me. Help me not lose loving you.

Robert Kincaid: Don't kid yourself, Francesca: you are anything but a simple woman.

When I think of why I make pictures, the reason that I can come up with just seems that I've been making my way here. It seems right now that all I've ever done in my life is making my way here to you.

            What Francesca says about losing it if they leave…..I wonder that all of the time. Is the idea of “someone else out there” just something to keep us believing in true love? And if we did wind up with that person we missed a chance with, would it wind up being just like it is now? Once the romance becomes a daily reality, will it too be ruined by talks of money, who did the dishes last, and who does more with the kids?  Why do we chase after happily ever after when the proof that it rarely exists is all around us with divorces, break ups, domestic abuse, and abandonment at every turn? Why do we say “I do” when we really don’t mean it? Maybe we want to mean it; maybe we hope that one day, our hearts will catch up with our words. How does a couple, once so affectionate, get to a point where kissing is a distant memory….plus it’s too intimate….and intimate is the last thing you feel with the stresses of life pressing down on you. Why do we let what we’re “supposed to do” interfere with what we just flat out “want to do”? Once you achieve the degree, the job, the spouse, the house, the kids, and all the stuff to go with it, why do so many people then call it quits? I mean, we got what we wanted. Right? But once we have it, we don’t want it anymore.

            And then there is the other side of the coin…….. How is it, that even though we want to break free and right our wrongs, we don’t? Why does obligation win over living the life we were meant to live? Why is it so hard and so frowned upon to step up and say, “I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”? The consequences of untangling a longtime relationship or marriage are so incredibly severe. No one wins. Certainly not the children. Certainly not the bank accounts. Sometimes, it seems like all of life’s “riches” are rewarded to those who stick it out, happy or not. A fat retirement account, the kids’ colleges are paid for, a nice retirement, nice home, and a steady circle of friends and family. Most of all, you never have to share your children. Although divorce is an awful, horrible thing (and something I’ve experienced personally) I have to admire those who choose to live the life they feel they were born to live. I admire that they have the guts to try again and not repeat their mistakes and fall back into the trap of “this is what I should do.” I also admire those who fight their way through it and feel a sense of satisfaction at the end of their life that they “did the right thing.” I would hope that the ones who “make it” are peaceful, eventually, and proud.

            I ask these questions because I don’t have the answers. I’m not sure anyone does. I guess if we did, then we would all be content with our choices. Maybe I should go back to “Everything happens for a reason.” That seems to sustain so many people. Maybe I should hope. Hope for what? Well, only I know the answer to that. The confusing part is do I hope to realize that happiness is right in front of me right this second, or do I hope to one day find it and, this time, grab it? Is this where I am supposed to be? Did I do it right, or did I miss my chance because I simply didn’t take one? Do I think about myself more, or have I been doing it right along by keeping others’ needs before my own? Do I give up, or do I fight harder?

            See, I told you I think too much.