Author: mykitchentable2017

It’s rainy and cold outside even though it’s May 25 and Memorial Day weekend starts tomorrow.  Last night brought in a cold front on violent winds that shook the windows and rattled the screen doors.  It was about 2:30 in the morning when the storm began, leaves blowing, branches waving frantically like arms trying to wake everyone up to prepare for the storm.  The first rumbling woke me out of a sound sleep.   I thought there had been an accident, that maybe a car had hit a tree or something but then the sky lit up with a bright white flash.  Lightening had begun.

Sleeping soundly next to me was Jackson, my best friend.  My sweet and elderly chocolate lab.  He didn’t wake at the first clap of thunder, but instead at the first flash of white light.  Strange that he saw the flash through his barely closed eyes before hearing the thunder.   I reached over to pat him and he immediately shivered.  His innocent and adoring brown eyes looked at me as if to say “Oh no.  What’s happening.  I’m scared”.  For a brief second we both thought it was just a freak strike and Jackson lolled his head back on his pillow.  But at the second blast he was fully awake and so was I.  His panting began, the shivering extending through his whole body.  I tried to hold him tight but he wouldn’t stay still.  By now the storm had intensified.  Lightening flashed in the sky every few seconds and the thunder was now a continuous rumble.  He ran around the house from room to room trying to find a way out.  Finally, I thought he might actually have to “go” so I opened the back door and out he went.

Jackson ran straight for the garden.  Naturally, where my black thumb can’t seem to keep anything alive in the best of seasons, this is where he heads to do his business.  But this time he just scampered back and forth along the fence.  At one point he looked up at me with drenched fur almost as if to say “I’m not sure how to get back”.  It took some coaxing but he eventually clambered back up the steps in a crooked line.  His joints were starting to go and going up stairs was never a straight shot any more.  By this time he was completely drenched and shivering even more.  I dried him off and we went back to bed.  But there was no sleep in our future.  I watched him and he watched me, ears pinned back, breath coming in quick bursts.

My eyes traveled over his soft brown fur, getting white now around his snout and on his paws.  Those are really the only places he is grey.  It’s so cute – the tufts of white hair between his pads.  His beard makes him very distinguished and majestic.  I can’t help but pet him endlessly, trying to soothe his fear, murmuring how much I love him.

Finally, I hear the thunder only in the distance slowly being replaced by Jackson’s soft snoring.   We stayed like this for a long time.  Times like this, when we are all alone in the dark I can get so melancholy thinking about what it will be like when he’s gone.  He is a constant source of love for me.  Always searching my eyes for something.  I’m not quite sure what – maybe just food.  Always a comfort, seeming to know when I need him to snuggle up.  It will be a loss that I cannot imagine being able to endure.  But right now he’s right here.  Soft, warm, exuding affection and love.  Sighing like a baby in his sleep.  And all I can feel is grateful for my sweet best friend.

I think I had an epiphany in the shower this morning.  I have been struggling to figure out what the next chapter is for me.  My nonprofit work is ending and I am trying to decide where to go from here.  I know that I don’t want to practice law again.  I’ve written before in this blog about wanting to write and that is definitely the direction I have chosen.  I know it’s the right choice but I am realizing that just “knowing” is not enough.  I am not talking here about skill or talent.  I am talking about something much deeper than that.  I am talking about giving yourself permission to do what you love, regardless of the outcome or monetary benefit.  I am talking about self-imposed guilt – something we women are pretty good at.  There is actually so much more than mere talent wrapped up in actually moving forward with this.

In my mind (and actually out loud) I have framed my writing future as one that should come in the form of a paying job.  Here is my thought process…….   “Of course I will need to make money as a writer of some sort because, for God’s sake, who do I think I am to sit in my house while my kids are at school and other activities and just write for the sake of writing.  Surely I don’t deserve that.  Who am I, a princess?  Most households have 2 working parents and they work damn hard to make ends meet.  They don’t get to sit at home and write for nothing.”  This thought pattern is what birthed my search for a writing job.  And that is where I have put all my energy.  Or lack thereof…..

I say lacking because the truth is I have been stuck in the “I can’t get out of my own way” space.   I’ve been true to writing this blog and have tried to do some writing for other people.  I even engaged someone to help me put together a resume that might make my limited writing experience look desirable to potential employers.   But honestly I have been dragging my self along.  Literally.  I have felt like I have two 500 lb weights on each ankle and arm making it almost physically impossible to move.  Slogging through the muck and mire is a good way to put it.  I am so certain that writing is what I want to do.  Why can’t I just do it?  

For a while I thought, “Oh it’s because I’m afraid of failure or looking like a loser.  I’ve certainly written enough as a lawyer to know what I’m doing but I haven’t written in other forums.  Surely no one will want to pay me.  What if I’m no good.  What if people don’t like me because I sound like a moron.”  Good God the thoughts just tumble along while I sit and stare at this screen with my  weights clanging around me.  

After weeks of running around this gerbil wheel, one paralyzing thought has been nagging at me with increasing intensity.   Why, if I am so certain about the joy that writing brings me, can’t I just write?   I believe in this choice for myself.  I feel like it’s time to do it.  I know in my heart that it is right.  Why am I so stuck?  Why can’t I offer my writing to an employer?  What the hell is the problem?  Well, I think I figured it out this morning in the shower and here it is.  Truth:  I actually don’t want a job writing for someone else.  There, I said it.  I am paralyzed because I don’t want to get a writing job or write for someone else using their voice.  I just want to write for me.  Simple as that.  Sure, it would be great to get paid but the truth is I don’t have to and the extended truth – the one that I believe is the owner of the 500 lb weights – is that I feel really guilty about that.

I am a very lucky woman.  I have a supportive family and group of friends.  I am fortunate enough at this point to not have to be a working mom.  I have stayed home with my children and have cherished every minute.  Well, maybe not every minute but most of them.  More importantly, I know that having the choice to work or not is not the norm for most women.   Most women, either out of necessity or desire, have a job outside of the home.  I know I may get some hairy eyeballs from this next statement but I believe that most working moms do so because they are an equal or primary breadwinner not because they necessarily want to.   There are millions of exceptions, I know, and thank God we are living in a time where those exceptions exist, allowing women to have a career and a family.  I have always felt very lucky to be able to choose to stay with my children.  But I have also felt extremely guilty about having a law degree and not using it.  About choosing to stay home to raise my kids rather than work for a salary.   

I fielded this guilt for many years by running a small nonprofit for the benefit of our school district.  This was volunteer work but it was also a way for me to feel useful to the world while being home with my kids.  I was really lucky to have this opportunity.  But now it is over and I am moving on.  This time doing something I really love but will most likely be meaningful only to me.  I suppose I might get lucky and publish something someday but that’s pretty unlikely.  This isn’t sour grapes or a “woe is me” tune I’m singing, it’s just reality.  And now I am ok with that.  It has taken some real soul-searching to get here and I am sure I will take a few steps back every now and then.  But for now I am grateful to all the Gods who have put me in a place of relative freedom.  Freedom to be at home and write just for writing’s sake.  

After all this rambling the epiphany I spoke of at the start is this.  It is ok for me to be in this position.  It doesn’t mean that I am a spoiled brat but it does mean that I should acknowledge the opportunity I have and be grateful for it.  My best friend told me a long time ago that “guilt is optional”.  That really rings true for me here.  I don’t have to feel guilty because I have the opportunity to do what I love.  I can – and should – be happy about it.  Deliriously happy in fact.  And more than that, grateful.  I have never been more grateful than I am right now as I write this post.  I am incredibly grateful to be able to write this silly little post and am really excited for all the posts and essays that will follow.

I first started thinking about writing a long time ago, before my second child was born. Back then, as my youngest says “when everything was in black and white”, the internet was really just beginning.  We had computers and email but that was about it.  Excited about developing my writing skills, I started an online course in writing for children.  We could email things back and forth but most of the things written were still sent via snail mail.  This course was fun and strengthened my desire to be a writer.  Then I had another baby.  And then 2 years later to the day, I had yet a third baby and the writing dream was put on the back burner.  The one that is way in the back of the stove and almost is never used.

Now that my kids are a bit older and I find myself with more time on my hands, I have decided to revisit the writing dream.  But boy is the writing world a different place.  It isn’t just writing an article, sending it out to several publishers and waiting for a response or being a journalist or even being a technical writer.  Now we have websites and blogs, which I am quickly learning is where the writing action is.  There is a much greater opportunity to write and instantly share your words.  You can write for anyone anywhere from your own space, sending it on with a simple click.   The internet has provided so many new outlets for writers it’s almost overwhelming.  Especially for a new writer.  At first glance it might seem like an endless source of opportunity.  However, the truth is, if you decide to write for others through the internet you risk losing the personal contact with the one you are writing for.  And this makes it very difficult to write in “their voice”.  That might not matter to everyone, but to many people looking for writers, it’s imperative.

Being a remote writer means you don’t go to an office and interact with people in that business.  You don’t get the opportunity to hang around listening to the character of the business, which will show you their distinctive voice.  Plus, it’s probably not your only writing gig.  You certainly can’t hang around several different companies each day to soak up all of their energy and wisdom.  So you have to learn quickly how to adapt to their voice.  Now that I have started writing for someone else I see how difficult this can be.

I’ve already blogged about finding your own voice and how there can be several of them living inside the one you.  So imagine how difficult it is to write for someone else who also undoubtedly has several people at their kitchen table.  The trick is to find the one they want to project.   And this means you have to listen and watch them.   Although these writing jobs are remote, I am realizing that there is no way around the fact that you have to be in their space at least a bit to understand where they are coming from. I could be wrong but I think it’s more than researching a topic or a business.  It means really understanding how they say things.  It is literally putting someone else’s words in your mouth for expression.

I have found that it might take several attempts to get the right representation of their thoughts and ideas.  This can be discouraging.  Rewriting and rewriting again is part and parcel of being a writer.  No surprise there.  But this writing in another person’s voice is quite a challenge for me.   Stay tuned.

A couple of days ago I asked a friend to read this blog.  I wanted her opinion of whether anyone would be interested in it and whether she thought I was even a little good at it.   Her response was really interesting and, I thought, worthy of a blog post.

My friend, Alyssa, called to say that she had read a couple of posts and had some constructive criticism for me.  I held my breath, and I am sure she did too, as she told me that she thought it was good and she could see what I was trying to do.  But she also thought that it didn’t sound like me.  She said that she sees me as a person who is fun and has very few boundaries, tending to say what I think in whatever way I want.  She thought my blog posts were more serious than that and didn’t reflect my personality.   She thought they should.

I thought about this for a long time; trying to figure out who the funny, no boundaries girl was.  She seemed a little familiar but that wasn’t really how I saw myself.  Then I realized that Alyssa and I were seeing two different sides of me – two different voices.   One is the voice that I present to people in a social setting.  That voice is very sarcastic, loud, self-deprecating and probably funny.  I have to say that I think the “no boundaries” is also pretty accurate.  But then there is the other me.  The one I know very well and who I think of when I think of my “self”.  This is the voice that worries about everything and everyone.  The voice that is thoughtful, serious, critical, somewhat fearful and definitely unconfident.   I can recognize both of these voices.  I think I always have but never in this definitive way.  It’s almost like being two different people.  One on the inside and one on the outside.  To a certain extent I believe that all of us have at least two sides and most of us have several.   It’s interesting when someone articulates the side of you that you don’t show them by recognizing the side you do.  It’s like understanding something by what is unsaid.  This is what happened to me when Alyssa commented on the blog.   She couldn’t recognize me in my posts because it was a me that she didn’t really ever see.

When I started thinking about writing, I considered my writing voice but I didn’t make a conscious decision to write in a certain way.  I guess it is natural that the voice that showed up was my inner voice.  But there is something much more interesting about this whole conversation.  It connects directly to one of my most important self discoveries (I will probably regret sounding so new age with that one….).  That of “my kitchen table”.  Interesting how that is actually the title of this blog.

A doctor friend of mine once described our psyche in a fantastic way.  At first I thought he was telling me that I am schizophrenic with many strange personalities and would likely need to be immediately hospitalized.  That would be my anxiety talking with a head full of deadly illnesses that are stalking me.  But he quickly said, “No. That’s not it at all.  Instead think of your kitchen table.  There are several versions of you at this table.  Each version is a part of you based on your DNA, your family and your experiences.  Together they make you a whole person.  How boring if it was just one.”   This description really resonated with me.  It might seem simple until you start dissecting each person around the table.  For me, I could immediately visualize the table, the room it was in, what each person was wearing, their facial expressions and how they felt about each other.  It fascinates me every time I think about it.  In fact, I have spent a good amount of time figuring out who all these voices are, how they relate to each other and how they were each “born”.  This has also been a huge part of my wanting to start writing.  Especially this, “My Kitchen Table”!  Funny how it all seems to connect.

Alyssa’s comment on this blog fits perfectly within this theme.  Thank you!  The voices of these various posts definitely come from one or another of the members of the table.  The voice that Alyssa recognized as the typical me is probably the dominant one – the one who shows up to the world first – but was not the voice of the posts she read.  That was a different member of the table and together they all make up the whole of me.

As to my writing voice, I think that I’ll probably be writing with them all.  It won’t be conscious and might depend on the topic.  I guess to get a good picture of my kitchen table and it’s voices, you will have to just keep reading, won’t you!

I was standing in line today at a coffee shop and noticed a young man come into the cafe in dress pants and a dress shirt.  I thought he was clearly working in an office of some kind.  His hair was combed back and he looked clean and neat.  Everything a mother would want in her newly employed young son.  I had images of him being a new college graduate starting a new job.  It was the first really nice, warm day of spring and I thought how sweet it was that he took a walk for some late morning fresh air and a cup of coffee.  As he waited for his cup I noticed his key chain.  And my whole image shifted.  He had his keys on a long fabric lanyard that was very worn.  The keys were directly hanging on a clip – like the ones used for backpacks and hiking – then the clip was attached to the lanyard.  There were several keys and rings of various sizes and other things like a tiny flashlight, a key fob and some other things that I didn’t really recognize.  I know it sounds strange but the key chain made me think of him in a different way.  Instead of a new college graduate working in an office, I now thought that he was younger, maybe still in college.  I imagined now that he was working in sales and was on the road.  I guess all the keys and gadgets indicated that he was spending a lot of time in his car, which I thought might be filed with samples of whatever he was selling.  While he waited for his coffee, he started tossing the keys up and down, as if he was impatient.  This made me think that he was probably not taking a break from work but was busy and on the move, grabbing something to eat and drink while on the road.   This thought process, which lasted about 30 seconds, led me to thinking about how much we assume about someone from the small things they happen to carry around with them.  Things, like keys, that we don’t consciously see or think about but that might indicate basic personality traits.

Take me for example.  I have my keys on a long suede strap that ends in an over-sized furry puff-ball.  The puff is navy blue and immensely fun to play with.  Anyone I happen to be sitting with will ask to touch it and, undoubtedly, ends up playing with it for the time we are together.  I absolutely love this key chain for a few reasons.  Number 1, it is nearly impossible to lose my keys.   Even in the dark depths of my huge tote bag, I can find the puff and my keys hanging on the end.  Number 2, as I mentioned, I love to play with the puff.  It is super soft and doubles as a great stress ball for someone, like me, with anxiety.  Number 3, it is a great conversation starter and ice breaker.  Numerous people have started fun conversations with me by asking “what on earth is that thing hanging out of your bag”.   Lastly, I think it reflects a little of my personality.  I tend to dress outside the traditional mom box.  Not too far out or too much like an old hippie but I think I do have my “own style”.   I am also a self-deprecating, goofy and sometimes clumsy person.  Having a puff ball key chain should really surprise no one who knows me.

Then there is my husband.  He has his keys on a simple short black strap.  Nothing fancy.  Just a completely utilitarian key chain that fits cleanly in his pocket and hangs neatly on our key rack.  They are not meant to be spun around a finger or played with   They come out only when needed to start the car or open the house door.  There is nothing unnecessary about them.  This is a perfect reflection of my husband’s personality (for the most part anyway).  He does not believe in excesses.  He is a solid and traditional person, with a mostly conservative personality and believes that less is more.

My oldest son is a sophomore in college.  He carries keys to cars, keys to dorm rooms, keys to our house and who knows where else.  I’m sure I don’t want to know.  They hang on a long lanyard that came from a high school film club and which generally hangs from the front pocket of his jeans.  My son is a classic nerdy hipster.   He is kind of clumsy and totally doesn’t care that the keys hang down to his knee and slap him as he walks.  He probably doesn’t even hear or feel it since he is likely thinking about the next Star Wars film.  His key chain suits him perfectly.

My Mom had a key chain that had many things other than keys on it.  She had beads with the names of her grandchildren, charms with her dog’s picture, ribbons that held some meaning to her, and her keys.  My Mom was crazy about her “people”, who included family members both living and dead, animals and best friends.  She looked at her key chain as a memory or charm bracelet.  It was fun to look at and definitely elicited memories for her.   I remember it as something that made noise when being used.  In fact, the sound of keys clanging around a steering wheel is something that will always remind me of her.  My Mom was pretty silly and had an amazing sense of humor.  I am sure that her key chain made her happy.  It might have been as simple as that.

My Dad’s keys were classic Bob Butz (my Dad).  My Dad was a smart, structured, “everything must be in its place” kind of man.   He had a plastic key chain from the company who sold him his golf cart.  He had a house key and his cart key.  The only distinguishing thing about it was that he had stuck his address label on the plastic tag.  I am sure that this was so that if he lost them, whoever found them would send them right back.  Very orderly indeed.

Maybe I am wrong about the picture you get from someone’s key chain.  Maybe it really is just a meaningless necessary object.  But maybe not.  What does your key chain look like??

I have what is frequently called a perfect “resting bitch face”.  I’m not sure when I first developed this but I think I was pretty young – possibly when I was in my early 20’s working in NYC.  I remember being apprehensive about walking the 11 blocks from the bus station to my office.  I think it was then that I decided that it would make sense to look unfriendly and pissed off as I walked to work so no one would approach me.  Surely no one will mug you when you have your RBF on.  Since then I have perfected this “look”.  So much so that I don’t even know that I’m doing it anymore.  In fact, my husband has said to me “why do you look so mad when you’re running.  I thought you enjoyed it.”  My response is always that I’m not mad.  In fact, I’m super happy and relaxed, almost meditating while on a run.   So, I guess that my RBF is now my natural game face in all circumstances.

I think a lot of people, primarily women, have developed this look.  Take a look around you as you walk down the street.  Look at any magazine photo of a celebrity.  Check out someone eating alone in a restaurant.  It’s amazing how common it is.  You could almost call it a remedy for discomfort.  You know the idea – “never let them see you sweat”.   I think an understanding of what this is all about might help observers to feel less offended when faced with……the face.  So, here are some reasons I suspect that the RBF is so common these days.

If you’re like me you might want to scare people away and looking like a mean bitch is most certainly one way to insure that you will not be approached.  Think about it.  Who wants to engage with someone who looks like they will turn and give you the finger in response to a simple hello.  This could be the number one way to avoid making friends.   Don’t you already have plenty of friends?  Who needs more?  I have unknowingly used this look and have had that result many times.  Fortunately for me, one friend was able to look beyond my RBF and try again, ultimately creating one of the best relationships I have in my life.

A couple of days before I started law school a list of class schedules was posted in the “mail hallway”.  We didn’t have a mail room, just a hanging rack of pendaflex files – one for each student.  This became a convenient stopping and meeting place for us.  Eager to find out what my classes were, I showed up in the hallway to check the list.  Another student, let’s call her Mary, was also checking the list.  Mary tried hard to catch my eye, to strike up a conversation, to ease our growing anxiety at starting law school with a funny remark.  I was having none of it.  I held my RBF ground, smirked and ignored her every attempt at kindness.  I made quick work of writing down my schedule and took off for home.  I kept this up for a few months.  As I write this now, I completely understand that my reason for instituting the RBF was fright.  I was certain that they had admitted me to law school by mistake.  There was another person with my name and who was much more qualified than me who had been jilted.  (To this day I sometimes still believe this.  But that’s another essay.)  I was frightened that administrators would soon find out and send me packing.  Not wanting to show anyone this fear, I stood tall, acted smug and proudly wore my RBF so no one would find out that I was really a fraud.   Using that face is most assuredly a defense mechanism and a cover for fear.  Luckily for me, Mary did not scare easily and became one of my very best lifetime friends.  We laugh about it now but it does make me wonder how many other friends I might have made had I chosen to smile instead.

It is also true that once you begin using the RBF to chase away smilers, you start to think that a random smile means that the person must have a sketchy ulterior motive.  Otherwise, why would they be grinning at strangers.  Well, maybe they just happen to be happy and a friendly person.  More importantly, they are without a doubt the more confident people.  After all a smile is really a fearless open door.

Of course there is always the chance that someone sporting a RBF might honestly be mad at something – working out a tough situation in their head while walking along.   But I really believe that there is something about the RBF that serves a purpose in and of itself.  It makes you feel powerful.  At least I will admit that it does for me.  There isn’t much that we have control over and warding people off or giving the impression that you don’t need anyone gives you the upper hand.  It allows you to be in charge of who gets your attention.  At least in your own mind.  However it also encourages people who might otherwise be really helpful to you in some way to turn and run.

Maybe another reason for the RBF is insecurity.  I think of this as the “RBF technique” and instead of being instinctual it can be purposeful.  A RBF comes in handy when you are feeling like a loser and need a little boost of confidence.  Let’s say you have had a particularly bad day at work.  It seems like nothing you have done is right.  You are feeling like you are an unnecessary appendage on the letterhead and might as well white-out your name yourself before HR comes calling.   And then you leave work with your flashy RBF and start feeling stronger, like you really didn’t screw up.  You just did what you thought everyone wanted.  Maybe it was just a rough first draft of something.  Maybe you misunderstood what was asked of you.  You start feeling a little more confident and with that comes reason.  The next day you will talk to your boss and colleagues about what happened and why.  Ultimately all will be well and you can thank your RBF for this.  Just hope that you haven’t scared any significant other away in the process.

Although it seems clear that the RBF can have its benefits, from now on I am on a mission to turn my sneer into a smile.   At the very least I’ll get a shot of that happy endorphin scientists swear you produce when you smile.

Caution:  Don’t try this at home.  It’s really just a thought……

What a great idea!!!  Getting our of your own way so you can move forward through life and do the things that you are meant to do.  Unfortunately for many of us it’s not as easy as it sounds.  If only I could push myself to the side and step on through.

It’s such an interesting concept really — not being able to move forward.  Physically, if you are lucky, you can.  Intellectually, you know what you want to do next.   But there is something causing you paralysis.  Something blocking your way.  Unseen, unheard, unfelt.  But most definitely IN YOUR WAY.  I think we all must feel like this at one time or another.   Perhaps it is caused by an emotional setback.  Or maybe pure exhaustion.  But even then, your intellect will tell you – “Go on move your lazy ass.  You’ll feel better”.  And yet you sit.  And think.  And maybe worry.  It’s actually often a vicious cycle.  The more you think and worry the more you feel paralyzed.  At least that’s often how it works for me.

Well here’s an idea.  Get someone else to push you out of the way.  I mean literally push you out of the way.  Not an aggressive or violent push, just a gentle nudge.  Sometimes your friends and loved ones will try to do this with words.  “Come on Karen, go for a run – you look like you’ve put on a few lbs.  Come have lunch with me.  Let’s go shopping.”   The hope is that the simple act of moving might get you going.  But words rarely work for me as a motivator.  Eventually, of course, I will get going and it may depend on whatever it is that is paralyzing me.  Is it grief, sadness, anger?  Some things cause you to be more stuck than others.  But sometimes I find that I actually might need a physical nudge.  So friends, next time I say “I just can’t go.  I don’t want to.  I’m not moving.  I can’t get off the couch.”  Please come over and nudge me on the shoulder.  Don’t throw me on the floor or push me down.  But move me in a direction.  Any direction.  Maybe the act of moving will take hold and I’ll find myself a little further down the street.  On my way to my next stop.  It’s worth a try!

Over the years I have come in and out of the idea that “you create your own reality”.   Maybe on some level I have always believed this to be true but it’s really been since I went to law school that I had a specific conscious thought about it.  Since then this idea has been expressed to me in many ways.  In fact, it seems a little like it is one of the more popular DIY, self-help mantras these days.   Whatever it is, one thing is for sure.   Believing this about yourself and your life is empowering and that is one thing we all need these days.  So what does “you create your own reality” mean?  For me, it’s this..

I think it means that you can be in charge of how your life looks and feels to you.  You can choose to see daily life through a certain lens.  If you do this often enough your future will also take on this same reality.  It is about choice of perception as well as choice of action.  For instance, I am writing this blog because I want to write professionally and this is my way of learning and practicing the craft.  So, it is my choice of practice modes – action.  However, it is also a way for me to see myself as a writer and to set myself up to live in that reality – perception.

There is so much that is out of our control in both daily life and our long term goals.  We need only turn on MSNBC to see how frenetic life has become.   The job market is tough, if not impossible for many; health care is uncertain at best; the cost of living is ever increasing and our government appears to be a train wreck.  Our Country seems to have lost it’s edge and may be getting closer to being at risk every day.  Actually, it’s probably better not to turn on the news – it can be far too unsettling.  My point is that any shred of control we can fabricate is most definitely good for morale.  Why not create a reality for your life that makes you happy and satisfied.  Why not choose to see your life in a way that lifts you up.

As I get older I find that choosing your reality and focusing on that lens is definitely not an easy task.  There is so much to consider.  Your family, your friends, your lifestyle, your health to name a few.  Every choice we make, intentional or not, simple or complex, impacts everything in your life.  Even something small like how to respond to my teenage daughter’s question about whether her clothes match or not.  Depending on my choice of response I can most certainly change everyone’s reality – from a somewhat calm, slow morning to a screaming match disturbing everyone within the current city block.  But I digress.  What I am really talking about here is something deeper.  A choice to see yourself in the world in a way that pleases you.  And it is so important to recognize that we really do have this choice.  It is also important to admit that this requires an active state of mind.  No one but you can choose your reality.  Unless of course you let them.  By the way, “them” includes the natural progression of things and doesn’t necessarily equate to a person.  By choosing nothing you are choosing to roll along with the tide, letting it take you wherever it goes.  This might be fine for some.  But as I get older I realize that it is not fine for me.

So I find myself at a point where I want to actively choose my reality.  For me this means doing something that is satisfying to me and that makes a difference to others.  It doesn’t have to change the world.  I just want to do something that matters.  So I have decided to write and I am starting with this blog.  But it is not easy.  A lot of people depend on me to be their “person”.  And without a doubt they come first.  I also am not the most confident of people.  So it takes effort for me to create a writing reality each day.   If there is something else I have to do, then I’ll choose to do that first.  This often ends up leaving me with little time for my reality.  But.  And this is a big but.  I realize that I am consciously choosing to carve out a sliver of the reality I want to create each day.  And for now this is enough for me.  Hopefully, as time goes on this reality will become more than just a sliver and will be most of my day.  Enough so that some day I won’t have to be quite so conscious about it.  I won’t need a lens because it’ll be straight up.  We’ll have to wait and see how the choices play out.

This past year and a half has been particularly difficult for my brother and I.  It actually began several years ago when our Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.  Accepting this diagnosis was hard for both of us.  More for my brother because I live close to my Mom and could see what was happening daily.  He lives farther and had much less interaction.  So, of course, it was more difficult to accept.  Plus there is the added selfishness in both of us.  Who wants to believe that your parent has this awful disease – one that might easily be your disease someday.

Then our Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.  By this time our Mom was in a nursing home.  Dad lived in Florida – far from both of us.  Unlike my Mom, this diagnosis was something to fight.  And fight we did.  Despite that our Dad didn’t quite make a year from diagnosis.

When we suddenly heard that he had only  had a few weeks to live we both went to his house and took care of him through the end.  This was something I would have never thought I could do.  I’m sure my brother felt the same.  It was frightening, difficult, and painfully sad – for all 3 of us.  We became his health care provider, his advocate, his caretaker but we were always first his children.  We were together at the very end, helping in ways that shock us both even today.  Praying, singing, supporting him in any way we could.  I don’t think that we will ever be the same after that experience.  And I am sure that we will always have a special bond because of it.

Then this past Christmas held the end for our Mom.  I was here right away with her in the hospital because I live nearby.  My brother arrived soon after.  Again, we stayed with our Mom while she left us.  Another bonding and another ending.

Many people have said that we are so lucky to have been able to share this experience with both of our parents.  That most people don’t get that chance.  While I do feel that it is a gift for us, and for our parents, I mostly feel incredibly alone.  As is always the case, my brother and I have gone back to our lives.  We both have families to take care of and regular life to live.  I know that this is the way of life.  But I can’t help thinking about how we are significantly changed forever in a way that is true only for us.  Everyone will lose their parents one day and will feel that loss as only children can.  But isn’t it also true that each family, each parent and each child within their nucleus have a special bond.  A bond that can’t even be described with words.  Now the only bond left is between my brother and I.  I feel this so strongly now.  It means so much more to me than ever before.  Because, simply put, he is all I have left of my nucleus.

When my oldest son was in 6th grade a good friend of mine mentioned a prevention program she had just attended with her daughter.  She lived in a small neighboring town.  It was a program provided by her school that educated 7th graders and their parents about the risks of youth substance abuse and other high risk teen behaviors.  My friend said that it was “life changing”.  That she and her daughter had never talked so much about these serious topics before.  I thought, “Wow, sounds like a crucial bit of education for us about some pretty dangerous choices our kids are facing as they move through middle and high school”.  So, I approached the school principal wondering why our city didn’t have a similar program.  We lived in a larger more densely populated city that had just as many, if not more, problems with youth substance abuse than her town did.  The answer was typical.  “Well, we used to have a program like that 20 years ago but we lost funding.”   And suddenly this became my passion.  The principal introduced me to the retired guidance counselor who ran the old program and still did some grant based work in the school.  Together, with a few other concerned parents that I dragged along with me, we researched, planned and fundraised.   In a matter of 5 months we offered the program to our 7th grade families – Project Safety.

Project Safety is a day long conference for kids and their parents, held during the school day  and off-site.  Kids and parents attend sessions about a variety of issues like:  substance abuse, bullying, peer pressure, safe use of the internet and other timely issues we know our kids will be facing every day.  The focus for kids was to talk about the consequences of the many choices they were making and to show them what could happen in real life.  We did not paint pretty pictures of the reality of bad choices.  Our goal was to open lines of communication so that kids would feel empowered, safe and smart about these choices.  Parents had their own sessions focused on the same issues but with emphasis on providing tools parents could use to talk to their kids and keep them safe.

Over the next 10 years we organized our small program into a nonprofit corporation (now Project Safety Association) and gained 501(c)3 tax status.   We attended other similar programs and conferences so we could maintain current information about the issues our program addressed and continuously provide fresh speakers.   We worked hard to gain credibility with school administrators, city officials and parents.   It wasn’t easy to do this. We had a lot of  push back from some parents who didn’t think the material we provided to kids and parents was “appropriate”.  Because of course “their kids” would never hear about any of these things and certainly not choose to engage in them…..  And of course there were the school staff members who didn’t think that they had the class time to give up to the program.  Nonetheless, as they say, we persisted and became proudly known as the only prevention education organization “game in town”.

I have been the Executive Director of this Association for 10 years.  This venture has been the most important professional one of my life.  I am so proud of what we have accomplished and believe that we have impacted the lives of our kids and parents in significant ways.   I know that some of our kids will always remember the speakers and the important and sometimes intense things they’ve shared with them.  I hear it a lot.  Especially recently…..

I have decided that it is time to move on to something new.   A bit of a new chapter, I guess.  This blog is the beginning of that.  The sad part for me and one that I am struggling with is that no one is interested in taking over the Association.   I do understand it in part.  There is no paycheck for this position.  We are all strictly voluntary.  All the funds raised go right into programming.  It’s not a big budget but it can be tough to raise money these days.  There is enough for programming but not for the planning of it.  I have been fortunate to be in a position to do it as a volunteer – it really has been a passion of mine.  I know that is not the case for everyone.  We’ve tried hard to muster up some new blood and, while everyone – and I mean everyone – says how fantastic the program is and how much our kids and parents need it, no one wants to run it.  So here I am.  Winding down “my Association”.  It has taken a lot out of me and sometimes I feel like I’m giving up a child.  But it is time.  Nonetheless, it is killing me to see my sweat, hard work and passion go down the drain.

Mine, mine, mine.   Going, going, gone.