A call to action lends itself to tough conversations

I don’t usually comment on issues such as the ones plaguing our country lately. However, the above image called to me so furiously, I simply have to.

When I watched the video of George Floyd being murdered, my eyes filled with tears. I shook my head, and silently begged for the cop to take his knee of Mr. Floyds neck. Even though I knew the outcome. The headline said it all. But when he cried out “Mama,” my heart imploded. The tears came and didn’t stop. It was my call to action.

I am a white woman from Calais, Maine. The second whitest state in our nation and the 9th whitest city in that state. When I say, I know not of what I speak, that is an understatement. I have no idea how Black people feel right now. I couldn’t begin to fathom. But I do know how I feel. And that feeling compels something in me that I have never experienced with such urgency. I must start speaking up.

I did yesterday. For the first time, with someone I love very much. Someone who I don’t talk about things like this with. Our views differ greatly on most hot button issues. When I called, this person was upset. While it wasn’t about George Floyds death; somehow, the conversation digressed. I remained calm and quiet for a long time. I listened to them go on a diatribe filled with ignorance and hate. And while they were unraveling, I took a moment to plot. Plot the absolute best way to rebuke their sentiments.

Throughout my life I’ve always taken great pride in my ability to connect with people. I don’t know a lot about many things, but I know enough about enough things that I’m able to talk with just about anyone. I’ve always found that speaking to a subject that resonates with someone creates a bond. A lasting connection that will carry through to whatever type of relationship becomes of it. I’ve also found that it may be the best way to have people hear what you’re saying when differences in opinion occur.

So, when they were finished, I told this person that they were one of the most compassionate people I knew. Something I knew they are proud of. But the feelings that they had just expressed didn’t reflect that. I reminded them of the conversation we had the other day about how lucky we were to be born in such a beautiful state. And then I brought them into the present. I said that that when god was handing out straws the day we were born, we drew the long one. We were born white Americans. And if it hadn’t gone in our favor. If we had drawn the short straw. Been born a minority, or in a war-torn country; that I knew they would’ve done whatever it takes for their family to feel safe. To know that they were equal. To not have to live in fear. Things got quiet after that. I don’t know if what I said had an impact. I suspect it did a little. But I do know that I will continue to speak up. To whomever may be challenging me.

With all that being said; the most difficult conversation I had, was the one with myself. Telling myself that it was time to start talking. That being silent and not standing up for what was right was just as bad as the racist population. As I mentioned at the beginning, I don’t talk about these sorts of things often. And that is simply because of ignorance on my part. I worry that the words I use to articulate these thoughts and feelings may not be right or respectful. I do not know any black people well. And I am ashamed of that. If you are a POC and are reading this; I truly welcome any and all feedback. More than anything these events have taught me that I need to educate myself better. Please feel free to reach out to me in any way.

Anticipation.

What an odd thing, antipacation. It has so many different connotations. The anticipation of Christmas morning as a kid, and even now as a parent. It evokes a sense of excitement, something magical. But anticipating news from a doctor’s office comes with a certain sense of dread. It can be good or bad, and either way it feels just about the same physically. But no matter what, I can’t say the word without hearing Carly Simon’s voice. Antici -pay -ay -tion.

My husband and I are expecting our second child in May. Our first son, Nikola, was 5 weeks early. And because he was so early he had a mandatory stay in the NICU. Couple that experience with a tough couple of days in the maternity unit and it has led to an unexpected reaction on my part.

This second pregnancy wasn’t planned necessarily. While my husband and I wanted a second child, this one came a bit sooner than we had discussed. And at the first hint of those telling symptoms, I started to feel something emotionally that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. At first, I was in denial. I didn’t take a pregnancy test for days even though it was clear I was expecting. That should’ve been my first clue that something was up. Eventually I did, and while there was certainly excitement, it came with an overwhelming sense of trepidation.

Every mother has a birth story. And most love to tell theirs. I do not. If I try, I leave parts out. Either because of modesty, or because I’m already crying too hard. At our first doctors appointment, I cried hysterically. And then at our second, and third. I tried so hard to communicate to my doctor what I was feeling. He would try to assure me that it wouldn’t be the same this time. But to no avail. My crying continued far beyond the doctors appointment. It was every night, and throughout most days. People would want to talk about the baby, and I’d stop them. Just the thought of going through what we did last time overwhelmed me more than I could have ever fathomed. The anticipation of it all….

And so that’s where I’ve been mentally. Trying to turn the anticipation of this momentous event that will forever change and shape our lives, from bad to good. It’s been a long road, 6 months to be exact, but I think I am almost there. And because of that, the fog I’ve been walking in has seemingly cleared, and I was able to do this post. It’s incredible how much weight an emotion like that can carry. And you only truly realize it once its lifted.

The Ebb and Flow of Blogging

I can not possibly write one more post about not knowing what to write. I can’t. I mustn’t. But the words keep coming. And this post keeps taking it’s inevitable shape.

Then comes the wishful thinking: Will this be the start of a blogging spree? Will this post send me into a frenzy of creative inspiration, the likes of which my little page has yet to see? With these questions; a glimmer of hope.

Writing to write, they say, is one of the best ways to combat the blank head space that can happen in the world of creative writing. Start with a sentence. Just one. And it will take off. That’s what they say anyway…

Creatively speaking, I’ve been riding the coattails of my last post. It was a personal one about the loss of a loved one. I posted it to my Facebook page and was shared by many who knew my step-father. It was heartfelt and honest. And well-received. That was published 29 days ago…. 29 days without post.

Normally, I’d wait for inspiration to strike. That’s my favorite way to write. Feverishly. But today, I HAD to write something. Anything will do. Do you ever have that feeling? In your writing – do you ever feel like you MUST put something down, for your own….I don’t know.. mental health? I don’t know if thats it really. I don’t know what to call it. Do you?

But I feel like something different is afoot. For the first time, maybe ever, it’s not so much about views or likes. This post is purely for the sake of doing something creative. So, I am just going to send it out into the WordPress universe. And I hope that my dear friend, the spark, finds her way home to me. Wish me luck.

Extra-Ordinary Love, part 2

Nikola has always been an affectionate baby but lately he seems to have an agenda when dolling out kisses. He has learned that if he gives you a kiss and then asks or points to something, he’s more apt to get it. Whether it be a set of keys you’re fairly certain he’ll lose or if he wants you to play Baby Shark for the umteenth time. With his chubby little hands, knuckle dimples and all, he’ll grab either side of your face and pull you towards his. His mouth open as wide as a largemouth bass. And then, there it is. The kiss that makes you melt, over and over again.

He knows exactly how to manipulate your heart strings. He is smart and perfectly mischievous in the most adorable way. And it’s one of the things I love most about him.

The most masterful linguist, the most articulate wordsmith, wouldn’t be able to scratch the surface of the feeling that is loving your child. It is indescribable in every way. What it means. How it feels. It’s depth, It’s reach. It’s pull. All of it. It is entirely different from every other kind of love that exists. And I understand how incredibly lucky I am to feel it all day, every day.

You don’t know what unconditional love is. You may say you do, but if you don’t have a child, you don’t know what that is. But when you experience it, it is the most fulfilling ever. ”    Regina King

By Jove, I’ve done it.

I have surpassed the 200 follower mark.

While it may not have been a particularly lofty goal, it has been one that has long eluded me. The process was slow but boys oh boys, doesn’t it feel good.

I have never been a person who sets personal goals. I have never strived for anything in particular. Any sort of feat or accomplishment. And it is truly one of my only regrets in life. I wish I had tried harder to be good at something. I wish I had made more of an effort in school, or hobbies, or sports. I wish so badly that I hadn’t given up on so so many things that didn’t come natural to me. But, c’est la vie.

So, this is it. This is what I want to be good at. Writing. Story Telling, Blogging. Creating relevant material that people enjoy. I don’t know where it will lead or what it will become. And that’s ok.

Time to move the goalposts.

Beginners Bloggers Block

Originally posted on July 17th, 2017. And as I approach the two year mark of this post, I wanted to share it again. It was, and has continued to be, my most popular. I find myself referring back to it often when I need a little motivation. And I hope it provides the same for you.

I started out strong. Just over eight months ago.  I was blogging often, having a fairly clear, concise point with each post.  The feedback I got was amazing.  People told me that what I was writing was relatable and how they looked forward to my posts. But, as the weeks went on, I found myself blogging less and less and less.  At one point going more than a month without posting a single thing.

I would still go to WordPress almost every day.  Just under the “Reader” tab.  I would scroll through my saved categories, spending a majority of my time under “Blogging”.   A common post I’d see would fall along the lines of “So, I haven’t posted in a while.” or “Things have been really hectic lately and I haven’t logged in”.  Listen, I get it. I do.  Life gets busy and things come up.  But I couldn’t help but wonder…  Were they really too busy for days, weeks, on end or maybe it’s because they didn’t have something to say? Something they were proud of, or inspired by, or excited about. And by no fault of their own necessarily.

It’s so very easy to rely on an excuse, rather than admit that you’ve maybe lost motivation.  Or perhaps, you’ve been looking for inspiration and have come up empty handed.  I find that so many of my posts have come to fruition because I was inspired by something.  Something happened or I read something.  Whatever it was, was so amazing that it just compelled me to write. To tell the WordPress world all about it.

A few weeks ago, I got the blogging itch.  The one where you need to write something down, purely for the sake of writing.  But, I didn’t know what to write about.  I needed inspiration in real bad way.  So I went over to  Dream Big, Dream Often, to see what the author had been up to. He has a fantastic blog.  Every day he publishes posts that are not only thought-provoking, but also entice engagement from a seemingly very diverse audience.  I’m pretty new to this, but even I know that is no small feat.  And as I scrolled and read, there it was. A simple blog post, about nothing really. It was maybe 3 or 4 sentances long.  In the post, he had asked a question about social media usage. I answered, and in my response, I typed the title of this post.  That’s all I needed, I had my inspiration.

When inspiration hits, there’s no other way to describe it other than a spark.  When I have an idea for a post that I’m excited about, there is nothing that will stop me from writing, editing, revising and hitting that beautiful blue “publish” button.  My eyes light up, you can see the wheels turning and from there, my fingers glide over the alphabet keys with the utmost of ease.  You never know where the spark will come from or when it will strike.  But thankfully, inevitably, it does.  Whether it’s slight or fierce, sooner or later, you’ll have a creative urge that will bring you back from that merciless thing called writers block.

What’s your inspiration? Do you have a place you go or something you read? How do you create your spark?

Help or Hindrance? The Enneagram Test

A few years ago, while driving, I came up to an intersection. To my left there were about 10 cop cars, lights swirling and police officers with guns drawn. A man was standing with his hands raised and he was yelling. He said “I have PTSD. Don’t you understand? This is why police are killing so many people, you don’t listen!” It was clearly an intense situation. And in that split second – my first thought was; “I should probably get out to see if I can help”. The thought just washed over me. I couldn’t control it. And thankfully, it went as quickly as it came.

During my lifetime, I have put myself into countless situations I have almost immediately regretted. Because, simply, I can’t help myself. Sometimes my offers of assistance are not well thought out and are more often than not, just instinctual. I want to help. I want to fix it. Whatever it is. And now I know why.

I first heard about the Enneagram Test on the Chelsea Handler podcast “Life will be the death of me.” Her therapist recommended she take it. I’m not one for personality quizzes but the theory behind it sounded interesting. Then, a few days ago when I was checking out some new blogs, there it was again – the test. For it to come up twice in two days was too curious for me to pass up. So, I took it.

The test is a simple one. Its origins date back to the 4th century AD (that’s crazy, eh?) It’s based on the idea that there are 9 basic personality types. The Perfectionist, Helper, Performer, Romantic, Observer, Skeptic, Enthusiast, Challenger, and Mediator. The gives you a series of questions, asking you to rate it mostly true or mostly false. Some questions are easy, and some are more introspective. The real dig-deepers.

You can take the test for yourself HERE

My results are in:

I am Type 2, The Helper – While that sounds like a lovely thing to be; it certainly has its fair (and unflattering) share of “Challenges”. And my god…I have never read anything more accurate.

Type 2 people tend to:

  • Believe that people’s love for them depends on what they do for them and what role they play in their lives
  • Make a huge effort to be an important part of the lives of others
  • Forms social ties easily and enjoys company
  • Will always lend a helping hand
  • Sacrifice himself for others in order to validate self-worth

Type 2 Strengths

  • Caring
  • Helpful
  • Relationship-Oriented
  • Generous
  • Sensitive to others feelings
  • Empathetic
  • Lively

Those are some the nice things. They always start with the nice things.

Type 2 Challenges

  • Won’t communicate needs, expects people to just notice it themselves. And when that doesn’t happen, feels disappointment and resentment.
  • Proud
  • Requires the approval of others
  • Intrusive
  • Demanding
  • Emotional and Hysterical

I have a lot to work on. These are not the personality traits I want to possess. And here’s the kicker: I have had the title of this post saved in my drafts Since January 10th, 2017…. I think, perhaps I’ve always known that this behavior is a problem. And now, I just have the proof.

So, tell me. What is your number? How do you feel about it? Did you think you might be a different number? If so, why?

The End Result

What is your goal? If you allowed yourself to dream wildly, what would be the ultimate end result of your blog? When would the feeling of success creep in? With a certain number of followers? Maybe revenue from advertisment? Or even a small amount of name notarity?

I told my husband that my blog post from yesterday had done particularly well. So well in fact, that it suprassed a super duper top-secret goal I had set for myself. YOU were the reason I achieved it. So, thank you. My husband jokingly said this morning “well, now you just need to become famous and make money from it”. And it’s got me to thinkin’…..

What is my aspiration? My desired outcome?

My answer is almost too embarrassing to admit . And there are many facets to it. My husband has an entrepenureal spirit, he sees opportunity everwhere. I admire that. However, when it comes to something this personal – something that demands such vunerability; constant caution and extreme modesty seem to be the norm. Do you allow yourself to reveal your goals? To honestly state your ambitions? Yikes. Thats a risk. A gamble I dont know if I can stomach.

I worry. I’m a worrier by nature. But when it comes to this blog, as I’ve talked about many times, I worry what people think. That’s why it’s so hard to type what my wildest dream would be. What if people read it and think to themselves “That would never happen. She isn’t good enough.” Granted, I’d never know if that were to be the case. Most people are too kind to say those sorts of things. But, thats where my head goes. More than anything else, that is the biggest obsticle in my path. And I’ve done it to myself.

Goals are a moving target. Sometimes you miss your mark. But if you’re lucky, you achieve it and set another. You just need to get out of her own way to see how it plays out.

The Spark: A requirement to create?

When searching for advice on writing, you’ll likely come across blog post after blog post suggesting writing just to…..write. And eventually, something will come from it. Will it be good? Cohesive? Something you’re proud of? Who knows. But the act of writing is therapeutic. You feel productive. Creatively.

A little shout-out to the movie “P.S. I love you” and I guess William Blake too.

But when I want to write something. Like, really write something. It’s because of the Spark . It will, inevitably, ignite a passion and urgency that can’t compare to the ho-hum mental state of typing aimlessly. Your mind and fingers are in perfect unison. You have a purpose. A purpose to create. And what a sweet sensation that is. You can literally feel your body decompressing with every word typed.

I got the Spark today. And it was like a greeting an old friend. Warm and comfortable. Coincidentally, it also came to me because of an old friend. A friend I value greatly. As someone who likes to write, I can tell you one of the most priceless tricks, tips or tools you can have is a friend who believes in you. Someone to share ideas with and be inspired by. Inspiration is contagious. It’s a motivator and an agitator. Never to be ignored. Always acknowledged and used to its full potential. It’s the Spark.

Premonition or Déjà Vu?

Get out your wellies boys and girls.  This one is gonna get a little deep. 

I believe that most everything happens for a reason.  I think that we are all heading towards a sort of incredibly vague predetermined destiny.  Some people may find that comforting, others perhaps not.  I’m indifferent.  But it does play into this theory of mine quite nicely.

Most people have experienced Deja Vu at some point in their lives.  It’s a fairly common phenomenon. But I seem to have it regularly.  Maybe once or twice every couple of weeks.  Only, I’m not certain that’s what I’d consider it really.  When this experience occurs I dont have the feeling that I have been in that exact space before.  It’s not about space for me.  It is about the lighting, the smells, the sounds, the people, the entire experience in that split second. It’s not something happening “again”. Instead it’s something I had, at some point, dreamt of happening. A premonition. 

When these moments happen, I relish them. I close my eyes and will it to last longer.  This sudden and fleeting sense is what I like to think of as a “checkpoint”.  It’s a little blip in time that confirms I’ve made the right choices.  I’m on the right path. That all my stars are aligning just so. And I find that astoundingly comforting.

I had a “checkpoint” moment yesterday.  I had just gotten home from work.  My baby was in his walker and we were in the kitchen.  He and I have been in those exact spots countless times. But yesterday was different.  The familiar and exciting feeling came over me like a wave. I closed my eyes for a moment. Then looked at my son and smiled.  Believing that you are exactly where you’re supposed to be is one the most gratifying sensations there is.