My Beautiful Girl

Wednesday was the funeral for my daughter Jessica. I wrote this letter o her and my grandson, Javon, heroically read it for me. It was impossible for me….

I don’t know how to write a eulogy for my daughter, so I thought I’d write her a letter.

Jessica, my beautiful girl,

No one ever prepared me for what to say if you died. Maybe because there aren’t any words…except all the bad ones…the F bomb being my favorite, as you were well aware. I can’t stop thinking that this is not how life is supposed to go. This was not supposed to happen. You were not allowed to die before me.

I’ve been thinking about a Brandie Carlile song called “You Without Me.” Before Christmas I was thinking about you and Amy and Ben and watching you all grow up and separate from me and become your own people…amazing and beautiful people I must say. Brandie Carlile wrote that song about watching that happen with her daughter who is now 10. She says,

“Was your smile always crooked? Was the freedom ever free?

Do you kick the rocks between your feet, after all this time with me?

You can listen to your own records now, decide what you believe

You can pray on stars and skip the gods like stones across the sea

But I would know you anywhere, I lost myself in you

Heavy are the hands that you are free to slip right through

Do what you have to do

There you are, my morning star, I wondered when you’d show

Give me just a quick thumbs up, a wink before you go

I never heard that voice before today, I remind myself to breathe

There you are, it’s just you without me.”

That’s how it should be Jessica…you without me…30 years from now. Not me without you. I’m not sure I know how to be me without you. I did lose myself in you, but I also found myself…as a mom…your mom.

I know that life was a struggle for you. I wanted so much to do or say something to help you realize how wonderful you are. You were so smart and so kind and so funny. Some of my favorite times were with you, Amy, and Ben all of us laughing until we cried.

My sweet girl, I know that this life was too hard and too scary for you. I’m glad you’re without fear now. We had some challenging times when you were growing up. You were still apologizing to me for your teenage antics throughout your 30’s. But I wouldn’t trade one moment of being your mom.

When you were born you didn’t cry like most babies. When the doctor handed you to me, you just opened those beautiful blue eyes and looked at me. No crying or fussing…just looking, as if to say, “it’s me mom….I’m finally here.”

Right before you died, you opened your eyes and looked at me. You hadn’t opened you eyes for over a day. You looked at me and held my gaze as if to say, “it’s me mom…I have to go now.” Your breathing immediately slowed and minutes later you were gone. I had the chance to tell you how much I love you. I told you there was nothing to be afraid of now and that it was okay for you to go…even though there was nothing okay about it. I stroked your cheek, kissed your forehead, and told you that I have loved every moment of being your mom. And then you were gone.

I was with you for your first breath and your last. Thank you for that.

I believe that you are in a peaceful place now. A place without fear. A place where Roro, Foddy, and Grandma Jojo were waiting for you…and where they will care for you now. And I know they will…I gave my parents a long lecture, with a lot of instructions, the day you died.

Now we try to rebuild a life without you in it. Me without you. All of us without you. I’m not sure how. I will miss you forever. I will be grateful for you forever. And I will love you forever…my beautiful girl. Rest well.

Stand For Something

Lately I feel like all the news focuses on being against something, and against each other. Now I am against many things…like the war in Ukraine…Putin. The war in the Middle East. War in general. Terrorism in any form. Our country becoming an autocracy. Fascism. Dictators. Bombing boats because you “think” there might be drug smugglers on it. Tearing down the White House. Destroying our democracy. Trust me when I tell you I could go on and on…but I won’t.

It’s easy to be against things…especially right now. But that leads me to ask myself, what am I for? It seems like people don’t talk about that so much. Conversations are a back and forth of what someone has done and how you hate it and them…and they feel the same way about you. It is so easy to blame and argue and fight, but when do we step back, look at ourselves, and ask if we are just adding to the conflict. An ever-expanding list of things I’m against does nothing to create change or to build a bridge between people. It merely creates more distance…more animosity.

Maybe it’s easier to be against things. That way someone other than me is always to blame. If I am for something, I have to own it. There is a responsibility for me to act on what I’m for. To put action to my words…do something. Perhaps we can use the list of what we’re against to sift through and find what we’re actually for. What do we believe in…what do I believe in?

I am for democracy. I am for free speech…even when we don’t agree. The constitution. The right to vote. Equality. Diversity. I’m for a first-rate educational system…a public school system providing a quality education for everyone. I’m for a living wage. Financial assistance to help people struggling with housing or food insecurity, mental health issues, disability, unemployment, childcare…meeting the real needs of people. I’m for compassion and empathy…for putting myself in someone else’s shoes before I rush to judgement. Despite arguments to the contrary people do not get rich on government assistance…people barely survive. I am for surviving…for thriving…not just getting by. I’m for opportunities for everyone. For freedom of religion, including the freedom to not have one. I’m for a united country…for less red and blue and more purple. I’m for the truth and reality. I am for love and the power of love…to heal, to change, to transform. I’m for the golden rule…treating others how you want to be treated. I’m for respect. For listening. For hearing. I’m for equal opportunities for everyone in our country. I’m for happiness and joy. For living without fear. I’m for affordable healthcare that actually provides good healthcare. And affordable dental care. I’m for social security, Medicare, Medicaid, and programs that provide care for people who need it. I’m for the rights of the disabled. For access to mental health care and substance abuse treatment. I am for safety and security. For justice. I’m for affordable housing for everyone. I’m for the availability of nutritious food for everyone, especially children. For access to regular meals and eating until you’re full. For sharing with others because we care about them…whoever “them” is. I’m for the ability and opportunity for everyone to live the life they dream of…make all the money they want…and I’m for a sense of obligation to care for our neighbors. For an abundance mentality that understands there is plenty for everyone…and we can share out of our abundance. I am for abundance for everyone.

I know I could keep going but that’s enough for now. The point of that monster paragraph is to encourage you to spend some time thinking about what matters to you…what are you for? Find those things and be for them…be moved to care, to give, to share, practice kindness, compassion, empathy. Listen more and talk less. Seek understanding. I’m for seeking justice, loving mercy, and humility…being able to care about someone else more than myself. And I’m for love…always. Because in the end what matters is how we love people. I am definitely for that.

A Matter of Perspective

Jealousy is a funny thing…and by funny, I mean a pain in the ass and very discouraging. I consider myself a kind and supportive person. Eager to see people succeed and reach their goals. Now that’s what I consider myself to be but that doesn’t make it so. Well, I am those things but I’m also much more…for example, prone to jealousy or envy. Crap. Sometimes the truth hurts.

I have been working at losing weight for the past couple years. I guess before that I was working on gaining it. Who knew that was a job? I have changed what I eat, and I started exercising. Keeping my physical limitations in mind, I tread water for an hour a day when it’s warm out. Our pool is not heated…brrrr. I’ve made big changes, and it’s been hard. Hard to implement and even more difficult to be consistent…so fucking hard. Seems like it should be easy since I’ve developed new habits. Seems that way but….

Habits with eating are tricky because food is tricky. If I just didn’t need to eat, I’d have it made. But there are so many choices and so many things that influence my choices…my mood, what food is in the fridge, my mood, what people around me are eating, my mood, cravings, and my mood. I am an emotional eater. I’d like to say I’m not anymore but that would be a lie. I thought I’d be over it by now, but alas I am not.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a blog about my weight loss. I talked about how I lost weight with switching to whole food, plant-based eating. I felt vulnerable after that post because my weight is a very private topic to me. As I said, I am an emotional eater…and because I felt exposed, I handled my discomfort by making unhealthy food choices. Patterns are hard to break. I continued to sabotage myself for over a week. I did become aware of what I was doing…it only took 3 or 4 days to notice and then another week to decide to do something about it. Fuck. I guess it’s better than never being aware…still frustrating.

Speaking of feeling vulnerable, here’s something I’m not proud of…I feel jealous when I see the commercials for those injections that make you lose weight. My understanding is they help you lose weight because they suppress your appetite. I suppose you still make a choice not to eat. So, here’s the thing, I want shots. I want to have an easy time losing weight. I want to lose weight faster…but I can’t have the shots. The doctor said no, about 50 pounds ago. I don’t have diabetes. I’m not even pre-diabetic. That’s what I get for eating plants. Plus, my cholesterol has gone down 25 points in the last 8 months. I am happy that I’m healthier. That was my goal after all. But damn it I want shots too! I want to be one of those people in the commercials dancing and singing about lowering my A1C…whatever the fuck that is. I want to sing about losing weight…and I am definitely not singing.

As I am writing this Serena Williams is on tv injecting herself and taunting me about her 31 pounds she’s lost…seriously? What the absolute fuck?! I am frustrated…I know I hide it well. I am mostly just frustrated with myself and my attitude. You’ve gotta agree it needs work. Why can’t I just be happy for all the people of the world who are healthier because they’ve lost weight? I should be able to celebrate with them, shouldn’t I? What is up with all the jealousy and envy…and the judgement that lies behind it. I know I’m being judgy. I just don’t know why. Well…wait…ya, I know…I do know. Of course I know. Fuck. I don’t want to try. I don’t want to do the work. Even though I said I did in my blog, that was then, and this is today…moods come and go so quickly here…here being inside of me…this mind of mine.

Jealousy is “Feeling or showing envy of someone or their achievements and advantages, feeling resentful of another’s success or possessions.” It is a “complex emotion involving a combination of insecurity, fear, resentment, and suspicion; Unchecked jealousy can lead to anxiety, low self-esteem, and harmful behaviors like sabotage.” Envy is, “Wanting what someone else has, such as possessions, qualities, or achievements.” Now according to Merriam Webster I have more envy than jealousy…although I am resentful of Serena Williams…and Rebel Wilson…whatever.

Jealousy. Envy. Wanting what someone else has…being resentful. I am jealous and/or envious of weight loss being easy for other people. How do I know it was easy? Because it looked easy…from my perspective. People do dance and sing after all. So, according to me it was easy. Me in all my great wisdom…Duh, right? Jealousy…envy…I have them both. And an unverified belief that weight loss is easy with the injections and so hard for me…poor, poor me.

So, what to do…so far, I’ve only managed self pity. And I tell ya, it’s not really working. Feeling sorry for myself is not going to pull me out of this emotional soup I’m stuck in. I can’t seem to will myself out of this…so? So, what? That is the question. So, I wish I knew. I am hoping to discover something before the end of this blog. I’d like to think I have a point…don’t you worry, I’ll find one.

After I read books on plant-based eating and weight loss I became determined to change my eating habits. I wanted to lose weight, but I also wanted to be as healthy as I could, with as little pain and inflammation in my body as possible. I was training myself to enjoy healthy food…to like the taste of vegetables…I already love fruit. Then this jealousy and envy attacked me. But when did I decide that I changed my mind back? That I didn’t want to be healthy? That crappy food is more important to me than my own longevity, my own pain management. Do I like nachos and cookies more than myself? Do I want wine and cheese more than feeling better? Of course I don’t. I’m not an idiot…I can be difficult, but I am not an idiot. So where is the disconnect for me?

Food is important. We must eat to live. I feel strongly about continuing to live. But food also means so many things to us. We want cake for a birthday, champagne to celebrate an achievement…and more cake. We associate holidays with the smell of roasting turkey (at least I did before I became a vegetarian), mashed potatoes and gravy…or burgers on a grill in summer. I’ve had family or friends want to make a salad for thanksgiving and it offended me. You do not waste the precious space in your stomach on salad. Not on a holiday. You use every inch for “the good stuff.” Why is the “bad stuff” the “good stuff” for me? At least that has been my thinking…might still kind of be…a little.

When someone dies, we make a big meal to celebrate the life lost. We eat to mourn. People bring us comfort food after a loss…casseroles…lots of casseroles. On our own, when we’re sad, we reach for ice cream, cookies, candy…and of course, cake. We find comfort in food. We’ve been taught to. But do cake and cookies and casseroles really provide comfort, or do they just provide a distraction from the real source of our pain. After a loss we can feel empty, as if something is missing…and it is. Rather than sit with that discomfort, it’s easier to fill the emptiness with food. I know that I have often misinterpreted feelings like anger, that I notice in my gut, for hunger. If I feel something in my stomach it must be hunger, right? No. We feel and carry emotions throughout our bodies.

We’re meaning makers. There’s a story of our life running through us. The story we tell ourselves about where we’ve been and where we’re going. That story frames how we see the world…it is the lens we look through to view everything. How we treat our bodies is part of that story. How we feel about eating, what we want to eat, what we like and dislike, and how we eat are all part of that story. Some of it is learned…passed on to us by our families, our friends, our world. And some of it is habit…the way we’ve always done it. There are some parts of our story, what we tell ourselves, that we may not even be aware of. We make decisions based on our story, and the habits we’ve developed. Perhaps a better alternative is to become intentional in our eating.

We eat for more reasons than to just survive. We eat to nourish and restore our bodies. We can honor our bodies with the food choices we make. We can discover what is sacred to us in the ordinary. The things we do each day without a thought. What we eat, how we feel about eating, who we share meals with, and how we approach eating all shape our perspective…our story. Are we grateful for food, for nourishment, for everything that went into what we eat…the seeds, the land, the farmers, farm workers, truck drivers, grocery store workers, the sun, the rain, the person who prepared the meal…there is so much to be grateful for. Do we intentionally focus on gratitude when we eat? There are people all over the world who would give anything to have the abundance of what we eat…even a portion of it. Do we stop and notice all of that, and feel thankful, before we take our first bite?

So, maybe a change in perspective is all I really need. A shift from lack to gratitude. Recognizing that I do not lack anything just because I can’t have the weight loss injections I want. Gratitude that I can do the work. And I have done 85 pounds of the work. Intentional gratitude that I get to eat regular meals. That I have abundant food choices…including beautiful, nourishing fruits and veggies. That I get to choose…and I am not starving. Gratitude that I am not experiencing food insecurity. A deep concern for those who are. A concern that moves me to action and a determination that out of my abundance I will share…gladly and graciously.

Sometimes all you need is a new perspective…and a better attitude. Apparently, I need both. I need a perspective that teaches me loving-kindness towards others and a desire to see people be all they can be…to become who they really are. All of us fully embracing ourselves, the good and the not so great…embracing our broken and beautiful selves. Loving ourselves into the fullness of our beings. And offering others the same. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…even when they have something we think we want. Love anyway.

Symbols and Scapegoats

My wife and I recently took a driving trip to New York, and on the way, I noticed something interesting…well, unsettling. I saw confederate flags flying in Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia. Now, these were not little flags I had to search to find. These were gigantic…and they were flying next to huge American flags.

I don’t get flying a confederate flag. People tell me “It’s part of our history.” True. It’s a shitty part. People fly flags or wear symbols because they mean something to them. What does flying a confederate flag mean? What does it stand for…slavery, violence, oppression, people treated as property, brutality, racism, war, division. How about white, wealthy, male, landowners having all the control and power over the enslaved, women, the poor. Are those the things we want to celebrate? I think they should cause us to be horrified at what people are capable of…what we were, and still are, capable of and then rationalize away.

In Germany, it’s illegal to fly a nazi flag. You can’t wear a swastika, fly a swastika, and you can’t say, “Heil Hitler.” Anything considered unconstitutional. Isn’t that just part of German history? It’s not a history Germans want to celebrate or honor so Nazi symbols and flags are illegal. No long explanation or justification. It is illegal. We could learn something from Germany.

I believe in freedom of speech in this country. It’s one of the fundamental rights guaranteed by our constitution. It’s a right I cherish. And though we have freedom of speech, it is not blanket freedom. You cannot say or do anything. There are exceptions to free speech, such as, incitement to violence, true threats, such as hate speech, fighting words…there are a few others, but this covers it for my purposes…defamation or fraud also not legal. We do not have the freedom or protection, under the constitution, to say or do whatever we want. We are not free to scream out anything that comes to mind…you can’t yell fire in a crowded theater when there is not a fire. You cannot spew racist or hateful threats. That makes sense. Right? Seems simple…straightforward.

Why is the confederate flag not illegal? Why is it not considered a tragic and horrific representation of this country’s history, so we don’t fly flags or wear symbols that celebrate it. Why? Because it doesn’t stand for anything good or positive. It causes division and fuels hatred. It is time to remember and learn from our history so we don’t keep repeating it.

And what about giant American flags? What do those stand for? Extreme patriotism…extreme something. I see them in yards and at businesses. Pick up trucks fly big ones on the beds of their trucks (big compared to the size of the truck). Why? What is the message? In September, a man drove his pickup truck, with big American flags flying on it, into a Mormon church, and then opened fire with an assault rifle and set the church on fire. Four people were killed in the attack. Why…because he hated Mormons. Hmmm. There is nothing inherently patriotic about flying a huge flag.

I must admit my own bigotry of trucks with big flags on them. I am frightened of those trucks and their drivers. I perceive the owners, who I do not know…hence the bigotry…as conservative, far right individuals who are definitely not down with the gay folk. They won’t like me. They may not even think I should be allowed to live. I am afraid. It is a scary time to be a member of the LGBTQ+ community.

Yesterday I heard the Director if the FBI, Kash Patel, fired an agent for having a gay pride flag on his desk. Because it is “an inappropriate display of political signage.” Seriously!? Pride flags are not political statements. The statement they make is to value diversity and equality for all people. That is not a political statement. It’s a human statement…an inclusive statement. Now agencies within our government are combing through personnel files looking for anyone who is LGBTQ+. In case we need a reminder, it is illegal to fire someone for being gay or trans or because you think they are. This is America. The land of the free, right?

There are ICE agents acting like the gestapo raiding buildings and taking black and brown people into custody without explanation…based solely on how they look. Then people disappear, without due process or access to an attorney. And without agents knowing if they are in fact gang members, “dangerous criminals,” “the worst of the worst.” They don’t even know if they are undocumented or US citizens.

This week, a famous poem written by Martin Niemoller, has been on my mind… “First, they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out – Because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out – Because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.”

I’m terrified. Terrified and appalled by what is happening in our country, right now…people snatched off the street by masked men with guns, military patrolling the streets with semiautomatic weapons, political opponents of the President subjected to arrest, voting rights obliterated, courts under government control, people disappeared with no legal rights and no one knowing where they are…we are one step away from being Russia, North Korea, or Hiter’s Germany.

And we are not talking about mass “deportations.” Deportation is a legal process. It requires due process. You have legal representation. You know and can exercise your rights. That is not what’s happening. People are disappearing. People are snatched off the street, or in their homes, at church, or merely walking to the corner market…and they disappear. Their families and friends don’t know where they are. They have no access to an attorney. They are detained who knows where for God only knows how long. And these are not violent gang members and criminals. These are our next-door neighbors, service industry workers, farm workers, people who care for our children. the person beside you in church, the parents of your child’s best friend…your best friend.

It is time for us all to wake the fuck up! We must open our eyes and see how far gone we are already. Our country has been dramatically changed. And the more these things become normalized the more our democracy dies. Isn’t this what happened with Hitler? Someone, some group was scapegoated as “the problem.”  The Jews, then the gays…now, undocumented immigrants. If we just get rid of them everything will be fine, so the message goes. So, people get arrested…no one cares. People are sent to prisons in foreign countries and ICE facilities in other states. No one knows where. Still, no one pays attention. It doesn’t affect me, right? Until it does. Until the government is searching for anyone who looks like they aren’t from the US…until the government is seeking out LGBTQ+ people to fire…until the government is looking for someone who looks like me…until…God only knows.

Until the government ignores the courts and the court’s orders…no big deal. Until the President declares that crime is out of control, with zero evidence. California. Washington DC. Chicago. Portland. Until armed federalized military officers patrol the streets of our cities…with orders to use force, violence, against the American people. A military turned against the people and country they have sworn to protect. The framers of the Constitution warned us about exactly this…and they took steps to prevent it from happening. The Posse Comitatus Act prohibits federal military personnel from taking part in civilian law enforcement without express authorization by statute or the Constitution. This includes all branches of the military, including the National Guard if they are federalized. As they have been. If this does not get our attention, I’m not sure what it will take.

I purposely end all my blogs with my own quote, “that in the end all that matters is how we love people.” And I believe that. Hatred does not dispel hatred. Hatred inflames hatred. But loving does not mean doing nothing. Love is not passive. Love is active. Love seeks what is right and just. When we see our government spinning out of control, singling out groups of people to persecute, then love demands action. Love demands that we do something. We have to speak up and say something before there is no one left to speak. We need an action plan of what we can do to stand up for the constitution, for decency, for the scapegoated, for the freedom our country promises each of us…for the power of love.

Future generations will judge us on this moment…this period in our history. They will judge us by our response…or lack there of. Because in the end all that really matters is how we love people. Let’s love enough to act…to care for the persecuted even if we are not. Let’s show our love with action, non-violent action, because as Gandhi said, “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” Let’s follow great historic examples of love and political power…Gandhi, Buddha, Jesus, Mother Teresa, MLK. There are so many examples we can follow. People who have traveled this path successfully. People who loved even while surrounded by hatred. We can choose love and choose hope. We can create the change we want to see in the world…one loving act at a time. No matter what the question is, love is the answer. Love always wins…even when it looks impossible. Let’s do our part to make sure it does.

A New Plan

You know when you sit down to write your blog or finish it, and you have a plan…a perfectly good plan. Maybe even an interesting plan (you hope)…and instead of following the plan, which is what you’ve focused on, your writing takes you here….

When I was 29, I was in the middle of a divorce. My husband at the time had informed me he was gay…well, that makes it sound like we sat down and talked about it. He informed me by having affairs. Although he said a one-night stand was not an affair. I’m not sure the label really mattered. We were in a marriage counselors office, and the pastor of our church was there with us. I don’t remember why he was there, but he was a friend. The counselor began the session by asking a question, “Can we all agree that at this point (fill in name here) has not acted on his feelings?” I said yes right away. I can’t remember if my husband said yes or nothing. When she got to the pastor, he said he couldn’t answer the question. This is where you’d inject the Debbie Downer music. Seriously, where does a counseling session go after that. I don’t remember anything anyone said the rest of the hour. On the way home he confirmed that he had in fact had an affair…or one night stand or whatever the fuck you want to call it. He didn’t volunteer the information, but he did answer me honestly when asked.

Our separation began that day. I told him he had to go until he decided what he wanted. He didn’t think he wanted to be married anymore…at least not to me. Now if you’re thinking, “They’re both gay?” That’s true we are. I’ve written about it before. Look at my blog post “Gay by Design” and you’ll get your questions answered…or email me. I won’t go back through the whole story now because that’s not where I’m headed…at least I don’t think so. I’ve been surprised once already today.

So, we separated. He, thinking this was a short-term problem, started sleeping on the couch at his office. It was a family run business, and his mom was his boss…and a lovely person. I don’t know why he thought this would be a quick reconciliation, but he did. I was at home with a 4-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 4-month-old infant. So, I was bored. Lol…that would be hysterical, right!?

All of this was taking place in Colorado. I graduated from the University of Colorado, got married, and then made my home there. I always said Chicago was a good place to be from…and I was. I went to junior high and high school in Naperville, the fastest growing suburb of Chicago at the time. Before my wedding, my parents moved back to St. Louis, where my sister and I were born and where my parents grew up. Now the scene is set….

So, I was talking to my mom one day…on the phone of course…and I was stressed. Have you ever noticed how all your children need you NOW as soon as you pick up the phone? It’s a law of nature. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but my mom wanted me to move back to St. Louis and live with them. She wanted me to move “home.” I told her that Colorado was my home now and that I wasn’t going to move. I would not take my kids away from their dad…plus it seemed like a bad idea, although I know she was offering me help. I said no and she said, “That’s okay. You won’t make it out there by yourself and you’ll end up back here.” Excuse me, what the fuck did you just say? That was what I thought but I said nothing. That moment is seared into my memory, so I feel confident that this was her exact quote. Need I say this was not the best time of my life.

I was stunned. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. In my mind I wondered if she wanted me to fail. And why would she? I got off the phone fast. I was devastated. Who says that to their daughter? Their daughter going through a divorce with 3 children under the age of 5? Why would she say that to me? My self-confidence was already at an all time low. And this wasn’t just about me. I had 3 little precious humans looking to me for security and answers to why daddy didn’t want to be married anymore. They depended on me to make everything okay for them even after their world was turned upside down. If I was okay, they knew they’d be okay. I was about as far from okay as you can be but my 3 little babies depending on me was more than enough motivation. Children take their cues from us, so I needed to fake it until I really was okay again.

So, we survived and lived happily ever after…yay. That’s not the point of the story. I’ve been reading about trauma and core language…as in what your core beliefs are that you communicate to yourself. Turns out I have a core message rumbling around in this head telling me that I won’t make it. I’ll never make it…I will always fail. At what specifically? Everything. The things that make you “successful.” In my family, a career and money were the main factors in success. A job people would ohhhh and ahhhh at and enough money to set yourself apart from others…providing a feeling of superiority. Being a “have” and not a “have not.”

Divorced with 3 babies…not a “have” for sure. A degree in psychology…but I “don’t know anything about psychology.” A master’s degree in counseling…but that wasn’t from a “real” school. A child protection worker…let someone else do that. Law degree…check. (I got one). A lawyer representing abused and neglected children…was I afraid to make money? I never even mentioned my last master’s degree. No point. Developed and ran a mindfulness program for young children…a what? So many fails. So many “not enoughs” … not even close.

I’ve heard the definition of sin as “missing the mark.” I think that may be the definition of my life according to my parents, not the sin part, but always missing the mark. Never quite got it right. Never making it…according to them.

But here’s the thing, my thoughts, my actions, my beliefs, my feelings are mine. All mine. They are my choices. No one else makes those choices for me. So, when I hear negative messages about myself, I have a choice…believe it or ignore it. Now when I was younger, it didn’t feel like much of a choice. Kids, even adults, believe what their parents tell them…because parents are supposed to know. Right? It took a long time to learn that just because they said something and they believed it didn’t make it true. It makes it their opinion. That’s all. Certainly, they’re entitled to their opinion…I wish they had not shared them so freely.

But now, now I’m a grown ass women (as my daughter loves to say) and I make my own choices. I decide what I believe about me…not my parents, not anyone else. Even though my parents are dead I still hear their voices in my head. Repeating messages of the past. The question now is how I respond to those voices, theirs and others. Everyone has an opinion. If I go along blindly with whatever the opinion of the day is about me then I abdicate my responsibility to myself. That would be failing…not making it…not succeeding. My success is not something I owe anyone, except myself. And I am the only one who knows what success looks like for me.

We become what we believe…what we think. With our thoughts we create the world. That’s why individuals can experience the same event and each interpret it differently and respond to it differently. We see differently because we think differently. We see differently because the framework through which we see the world and make sense of it is unique to each of us. We all have a story of what is real or not real, true or false, accepted or rejected. Everything we see, hear, feel, or experience goes through that story…the narration of our life…according to us.

I can be taught to believe certain things. I can be told all sorts of stories. And I can experience a lifetime of challenges or successes. Ultimately, the only thing that’s real and true for me is what I tell myself. What I believe is what I make real. That is what is true for me. I am the only person with the power to change the story that I have created about my life. Only me. I created it. I can change it. It is a tremendous act of self love to tell myself the truth…to tell yourself the truth. It requires awareness on my part. To know myself well enough to know what’s true. And the wisdom to know that what’s true today may not be true tomorrow…because I am always changing. You are always changing.

I want to be more…more kind, compassionate, loving, understanding, flexible, open, present, aware. I want that for me. I want that for you. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Love yourself enough to know yourself. Love other people enough for them to feel safe in sharing who they are. And believe them when they show you. Whatever the question is, love is the answer…always.

The Confusion of Grief or The Grief of Confusion

So, my parents ashes have been sitting on the bookcase in my living room since their deaths. It’s been a while. It became normal seeing them up there and I didn’t think about it too much. Last October we planned a boat ride, here in Florida, to spread their ashes in the gulf. Apparently, our plan was not acceptable, and my mom caused a hurricane. Her timing was perfect. Scary even. She shut down the state of Florida. We got the message.

Frightened by the events of last year, we developed a new plan and successfully implemented it last week…with no natural disasters…people of the world are relieved. My wife and I drove to New York to visit my sister, brother-in-law, nephews, their wives and children. We enjoyed the drive mostly because it was nine hours less than a drive to Colorado and we got to drive through lots of states I had never been in. Turns out there are many states to go through between Florida and New York…the obvious ones, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia…and then there were a bunch more, Maryland, Pennsylvania, DC, Delaware, and New Jersey. There are so many states crammed into a ridiculously small area.

My sister planned a beautiful memorial for my parents, including food, their favorite drinks, a tent to stay out of the sun and great people. She really did it all and I’m so grateful to her. My nephew created an amazing slide show along with a playlist of my parent’s favorite songs. Everything was perfect.

Listening to everyone’s stories all week, I felt like an outsider looking in…separate from the people who belonged, who really knew my parents. So, I watched and listened. I tried to figure out what I was feeling. Sad? Guilty? Relieved? Numb? I thought numb was the right one. I felt so confused. Aha…that’s the one. Confused. Confused not by how I felt but by how I didn’t feel. I didn’t seem to feel what everyone else felt…a deep sense of loss. I didn’t cry. I was just quietly befuddled.

My nephews and brother-in-law spoke beautifully and emotionally, about what my parents meant to them. They said they received unconditional love and support from my parents…really? My nephew said that in my parent’s eyes he could do no wrong…seriously? That was not my experience of my parents at all. I experienced love based on performance and my performance was never good enough. And in their eyes, I did everything wrong. They rarely seemed happy with me. I felt confused. Perplexed and defective somehow.

It turns out my parents, especially my mom, could love, just not me. Other people spoke about their unending love. That confused me…and hurt. Why couldn’t my parents love me? What was so wrong about me? Still, after all this time, I asked myself, why does it matter? Why am I stuck in this place…this place of believing I’m not enough. When I was in my 20’s, I told my mom that I felt like she was disappointed in me and in who I was as a person. Her response was, “You don’t need my approval.” I said everyone wants their mom to be proud of them. She didn’t say anything else. I was devastated by that conversation. I had prepared for months to talk to her and share my feelings…which took a shitload of courage to do. For most people, it may not be an act of bravery to have an honest discussion with your mother but for me it was. It was huge…HUGE!

She confirmed all my fears by her words and then her silence. She destroyed me. More accurately, I let her destroy me. I risked emotionally opening to her, and she used my vulnerability as a weapon against me. I sat in my bathroom and sobbed for hours after our conversation. Too bad I didn’t learn from that…or maybe it’s good I didn’t learn. I didn’t learn to harden and build walls to defend myself. I believe that what doesn’t kill us can make us kinder if we allow it to. I am committed to softening my edges, not reinforcing them. My mom once told me it would be hard to be mean to me because I’m so kind. That was nice…for a minute. That’s all it took for her to tell me she hated my fucking guts, that I wasn’t a mother because I got divorced and gave my kids away, that I was the bad seed…it went on and on. I mistakenly reminded her of her comment on my kindness…she said nothing. The weight of that silence was hard to bear.

After the memorial I talked with my cousin about her feelings when her dad died. She had a complicated relationship with him like I did with my mom. I guess I was checking to see if I was crazy for feeling confused. I wasn’t. I brought my sister into the conversation and told her what we were talking about. I said we were discussing not being the favorite child and she agreed and said I wasn’t…she was. I told her about feeling like nothing I did was ever good enough. She said that it was true, nothing I did was ever good enough. So, there’s that. I appreciated her honesty. It was helpful to know what I felt and perceived were real…not just something I made up in my head. The affirmation was helpful, and painful. It might have been difficult for my sister too…to confirm something that she knows is painful for me. But it helped. It’s always good to find out you aren’t crazy.

So, I’m confused. Duh huh? I don’t know how to feel about my parents and their deaths. I know what I think I should feel. I should be sad and grieving. I should feel what everyone else feels. But really, I think it’s more important for me to be able to feel my own feelings and to feel the words that I say. Seems obvious, and it may be, but it ain’t easy. It’s scary to admit confusion about your parent’s death. To admit you don’t feel as sad or miss them like everyone else does.

So, is it confusion about grief or is grief causing my confusion? I’m not sure it matters to anyone, except me. I’m confused by how strongly other people feel the loss of my parents…the loss of their love and the loss of the wonderful relationship they had with them. I don’t feel like that at all…and that’s confusing. I feel like I should and that I’m a bad daughter because I don’t. I feel guilty for not feeling the right things…not grieving the right way. Whatever the fuck that means. But here’s the thing, I grieved for my parents for 12 years. For12 years we had no contact, before they lived with me in Florida. I grieved the loss of them from my life, and I grieved for what I wanted from my parents that I never got. I grieved that nothing I did was good enough, not the schools I attended, the degrees I earned, or the jobs I held. None of that was good enough because I wasn’t good enough. I craved unconditional love, understanding, kindness, acceptance…and their pride in me. Just because I’m me. I got none of that.

So, maybe it’s not so confusing. Maybe I’m done grieving. Maybe not. Living with my parents stirred up a ton of shit. There might be more to grieve or just more to let go of. You can’t let go of something unless you know what you lost. Maybe that’s where I am, coming to terms with what I lost. Most of what I lost happened years ago. Although now I’ve lost any possibility of things turning out differently….a better outcome. Maybe a happily ever after. The memorial brought up some new feelings of loss…of being defective somehow. Still, they were my parents, and I longed for them to love me, and maybe even more, to like me. Really like me. But I don’t think they did.

None of that changes my foundational belief that in the end all that matters is how we love people. I really tried with my mom and dad. I did my best. My best may not have been good enough, but I tried. Rest in peace mom and dad…I did love you. I hope you knew.

Missed Opportunities

I was talking to my sister the other day, and I don’t remember why, but she asked me if I remembered a book we had as kids that was about a girl who wanted to be a ballet dancer. She wasn’t able to be a dancer because she had some sort of health problem. My sister didn’t remember the health problem…I didn’t remember the book. That is until she described a page where the girl was kneeling on the coach and looking out the window as her friends rode their bikes. But she couldn’t join them. I remember that one image. I remember that she was sad.

My sister wondered why my mom would have picked that book for us. The 60’s was not exactly the age of disability awareness and inclusion. I don’t think she was a champion of disability rights. Or that she was particularly sensitive to the needs of the disabled. She used to refer to my dad as a “cripple” …sooo…. However, my mom had a heart problem from complications of rheumatic fever as a child. She had a damaged valve and because of that she was limited on her physical activity as a child.

So, I wonder, could she have given us the book as a window into her life as a child? I don’t have any idea…and I never will. If she was sharing herself with us, she needed to provide more information. I’m guessing for my sister and I it was an interesting book, and we had varying degrees of sadness for the little girl. My sister would have been the one to remember the ending, but she doesn’t. It may remain a mystery…unless I track down the book. Look out google.

My mom loved sports. She liked football and college basketball, but she LOVED baseball. She loved the St. Louis Cardinals. We lived in Chicago when I was young, and I remember going to Cardinals v Cubs double headers as a kid. My mom was an encyclopedia of baseball facts. She remembered games, players, coaches, managers, owners, playoffs, trades, botched calls, and specific plays. She was a wealth of knowledge. I remember Ozzie Smith because he was my favorite Cardinal. And hot dogs were the best at a baseball game…kind of grosses me out now but I was young. For my mom’s 90th birthday we took her to a Cardinals game against the Rays, here in Florida, and she had a hot dog…mustard, relish, and onion. She was happy.

My mom would have loved to play sports, but she couldn’t because of her heart. When she was young there were not many options for girls. Schools didn’t have competitive teams. She might have been happy to play baseball on the playground with the boys, but she couldn’t. She must have been so frustrated. I also love sports. My opportunities to play were nothing like today but I played basketball, softball, and swam competitively. I can’t imagine what I would have done without those sports. I did play football with the boys in the backyard, and I had a basketball hoop that I was at all the time. I wanted to be Oscar Robertson. There were no women players for me to look up to at the time. I would have given anything to play in the WNBA.

Maybe my mom identified with that little girl in the book. Always being the one on the inside looking out. Wanting so much but never having the chance. Maybe that’s why she bought it for us…because she was that girl.

When I graduated from law school my mom told me she always wanted to be a lawyer. What?! I never knew that. I don’t remember her ever talking about a career she wanted. I figured she wanted to be a mom…and to devote herself to her amazing daughters. Right?! She told me she always wanted kids. My dad said if it wasn’t for him, they would not have had any children. I don’t know what was true, and I never will.

I worry that my mom felt like her life was filled with missed opportunities. Or that it was filled with second choices…or third choices. I guess I don’t need to worry now but it’s sad. It’s sad to think of all the frustration she must have felt. It’s sad to be one of the daughters who may not have been her first choice. And it’s sad she didn’t fight for herself. I know opportunities were not the same but there were schooling options for her, especially as we got older. She had choices. They may have been limited but she had them. I wonder why she didn’t advocate for herself. Maybe she did and I just don’t know. She was pretty vocal about what she felt she deserved and didn’t get. Or in what ways other people didn’t give her what she wanted, so I feel like I would have heard.

I wonder what it would be like to feel like your life was a missed opportunity because there was so much you wanted but it was all just out of reach…and you believed there was nothing you could do about it. I don’t really know. I have limitations in my life due to disability and chronic pain, but I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on life. I’ve been married (more than once), had children, gone to school, earned advanced degrees, experienced multiple careers, and met many wonderful people. There are things I cannot do but those are not the things that define my life. My life is full of experiences and opportunities and lots of people I really love. There may be things I would have done differently, but I consider my life well lived…well living…I’m not dead yet.

I’m sad for my mom today. Sad to think she didn’t have the chance to reach her full potential. Or to become fully who she was meant to be. And sad because she missed the chance to feel proud of herself. Proud that she had done something that really meant a lot to her, because being a wife and mom were not those things. I think in the end those missed opportunities weighed on her…on her self-esteem.

All that makes me eager to follow my dreams, even when they seem like a fairy tale. To take chances and try new things. To bring awareness to all the areas of my life. To live intentionally. To make my choices where I have them and not be content to let life happen to me. Seize the day and all that shit. And to love freely, fully, generously, and always. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Becoming Who I Am

I’ve been thinking a lot about purpose…my purpose, other people’s purpose, the country’s purpose, the world…so much thinking going on in this head of mine…all the damn time. I believe that my purpose is to become who I am. That’s my mission. Become fully who I am. I think that’s everyone’s purpose. Their personal purpose. People can have other purposes other goals. Purposes bigger than themselves. My beyond myself purpose, as in what I’m meant to do, is to help people heal, have healthy relationships, and become the best version of themselves. To use my pain to help others in pain. To turn traumas into triumphs…that’s super corny. How about…to use every experience, good or bad, for an evolution. An evolution into our complete and beautiful selves. Life can be so hard but even in the difficulties there are opportunities to learn and grow…for transformation. Like a caterpillar reduced to goo in order to become what they are meant to be, a butterfly. The butterfly is in there…waiting to become. We are all waiting to become.

Now to become who I am, I have to know who I am. I often say that in order to be loved we have to be known. And to be known we have to be seen. We don’t let people see who we are unless we trust them. Trust that they can accept what they see and that they can handle us with gentleness…like you would a baby. When I worked in child protection I had to remove a baby from his mom because of substance abuse. The mom brought her son into me voluntarily because she could she knew…she understood what her son needed. While I was waiting for the foster parents, I held that infant in my arms. My workplace tended to be busy, kind of loud, and fast paced, but I couldn’t be any of those things with an infant in my arms. I told coworkers we should all hold babies everyday. We couldn’t hurry or raise our voices, if we had to focus on the baby first. Everything else would be secondary. Everyone who worked there would have been less stressed and a better human because of it.

Now back to my point…although I do love babies. That is not my point. Just as we want to be handled by other people tenderly and gently, like a baby, we need to offer that same softness to ourselves. I never want to scare or startle a baby. It would be cruel to make them cry intentionally. But I can be cruel with myself. I am not going to let anyone else see me and know me if they are cruel to me. I will keep myself hidden and you will see a shell of who I am. I will protect myself. I do the same thing dealing with myself. I don’t always see fully or know myself because I am harsh with me. I am impatient. I expect myself to know everything and be perfect. How’s that going for me? Not great. But what would I see with tenderness? With unconditional acceptance and love? If I handled my fragile heart like I did that baby in my arms.

I love to read, and I am usually reading 4-5 books at a time. I have categories of what I read, health, politics/history, spirituality, abuse recovery/personal growth, and something just for pleasure. Well…I read all the books for pleasure. For a long time, I thought I’d come across THE book, the one that would answer all my questions and make me feel whole and complete. It would fill in the holes I feel in my life…not my life so much as my person. Gaps in my development…gaps I perceive. Holes where I feel something lacking…something missing.

I have not found that one book. The one with the answers. The one that shows me how to put the puzzle of me together into a final picture. Nothing more to do because it’s complete…I am complete. All the pieces are there, and they fit so neatly. I will never find that because no such book exists. The answers for me and about me, are already here. They are in me.

When I read books for personal growth I am not putting something into me to make me better. Make me more. I am awakening something already there. Something hidden or buried. Unattended. Neglected. I am realizing nothing needs to be added for me to be complete. Something needs to be freed. So much of who we are gets buried. Buried by time. Buried by trauma and pain. Buried by loss, fear, or neglect. Or by refusal…refusal to accept or understand. Or buried by success, wealth, power. Whatever we experience that causes us to forget or reject who we are.

In our search for ourselves we take on false identities because we learned from an early age that what we see before us is not enough. Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not healthy, skinny, funny, determined, capable, or whatever enough. We seek an image of who we think we should be. Who we believe we need to be. An image forced upon us. I cannot find me in a coerced image. I will not love me if I don’t know me. And I will not know me if I don’t see me. I cannot see me as long as I force an ideal upon myself. An ideal I know innately is not me…and never will be. I am seen when I allow my broken and beautiful self to be uncovered. My perfectly imperfect me.

Love demands that we become who we are. Who we are meant to be. To come fully into our isness…or my meness. To fully inhabit the person that is me. We must see ourselves as we are…all the damage and imperfections. See ourselves with kindness. With compassion. See so we can know…so we can love. See without the external cosmetics I use to disguise the flaws…the parts that scare me. Me without fear. Me without conditions. Me with complete acceptance. Me in all my messiness. The broken and beautiful me. The me that steps out of the goo of transformation…and is ready to fly. The freedom found in just being me.

We already have everything we need. We can stop the search. Relax and appreciate the goo. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…that includes ourselves. In fact, it begins with ourselves. Let’s give ourselves a big helping of love and see what we can see.

What Love Demands

When I think about love and celebrations of love, weddings top the list. My wife and I got married 13 years ago, after dating for 3 years. 11-11-11. We planned our ceremony carefully. This was before gay marriage was legal and we wanted our ceremony to be meaningful…not just for us but for all the attendees. If it’s always been a given that you can marry who you want to, I’m not sure you understand what it’s like when you can’t. I didn’t think I’d see gay marriage legalized in my lifetime…but it was and even on my birthday. Our wedding was a chance to show people that our marriage would be much like theirs. We just wanted to be recognized as a legal union, a legal family, with all the rights and responsibilities associated with it.

I heard P!nk say, in an award speech, that she couldn’t believe that people were spending money to ban love. She said she didn’t want there to be gay marriage, she wanted happy marriage and lasting marriage. That makes sense to me. Pretty simple. Work at your relationship. Grow your relationship. Commit to your relationship. Stay in your relationship…although I realize that is not always a safe or reasonable possibility…but when it is, stay.

Relationships can be hard. I think generally they are hard…or have difficult periods of time. They are hard because you’re bringing two separate people under one roof to live together and share a life. There’s a lot of negotiating and compromising that has to occur on a daily basis. My wife has spent the last two and a half years traveling back and forth between Florida and Colorado for work. She retired at the end of November and is now in Florida permanently. No more 8,10, or 12 week separations. It’s such a relief. But, for all practical purposes, we’ve lived separately for 30 months. That took a toll on us and our relationship. We have had to learn to live together again. To be a partners again. To be us. We had two and a half years of getting comfortable living on our own and doing things our own way. Rebuilding and growing takes effort and work. Love demands effort.

I just read a book by Martin Luther King, Jr. called Where Do We Go From Here. There’s a section where he talks about how he had chosen love because hate was too big of a burden to bear. One of my favorite quotes of Buddha is, “Hate cannot dispel hate. Only love can dispel hate. This is the law ancient and inexhaustible.” I believe that is true. I think we can see in our own country the hate that is building more hate on a daily basis. It feels dangerous to me.

Love takes effort. Hate does not. Hate is easy. It is easy and cowardly. Instead of learning about what we may not understand, we hate. Hate takes zero effort. Hate creates more hate. That got me wondering, besides effort, what else does love demand? If I declare that I love you, what does that love demand of me? What does it demand in loving my wife? What about my family? My neighbors? My enemies? My country? The earth? Now I’m not asking what any specific person demands of me but rather what does the word, the concept, the emotion, the practice of love demand. That’s the question I’m thinking about. That’s the question that confronts all of us.

Now this would be a great place for me to tell you the answer…but I don’t have one. Not a complete one anyway. Love is a verb. Love is active not passive. It’s not a place to fall, it’s something we actively create. All religions talk about love, about the work of love because love demands effort. Jesus said that we are to love our enemies and to treat others like we want to be treated. In the Dhammapada, Buddha said to consider others as ourself. He said, “Hatreds do not ever cease in this world by hating, but by love….Overcome anger by love, over come evil by good. Overcome the miser by giving, overcome the liar by truth.” The Hebrew Bible says that we should love others as we love ourselves. Muhammad said that the ideal marriage bears the fruits of love, mercy, and tranquility. I think those qualities apply to all relationships. Hinduism says that love is unconditional, selfless, and without expectation of anything in return. I could keep going but it seems pretty clear that all religions speak about the necessity and importance of love.

Love is critical to healthy relationships and to our mental health. Love can heal us. Hate can destroy us. Hate is easy but it’s also toxic. Toxic to myself and anyone in the line of fire. Hate is the easy path. It’s easy to find a scapegoat to blame for any issue you can think of. Any grievance…real or imagined. Anything we don’t like. It’s always easy to blame someone else. Blame them for my lack of love. I gave X and you failed to give Y in return so I’m done with you. I have Z and you want a piece of it so I’ll remind you how unworthy you are and the hate begins to grow. If I love you, what’s in it for me? We’re transactional in our love, not unconditional. I am loving when it benefits me. If I can’t get what I want from you I leave, and if I wanted it enough, I’ll hate you for it. Hate is so fucking easy…and there are so many opportunities to hate. And sometimes I really want to…but it’s too big a burden.

Maybe love demands its own existence…understanding how crucial it is for our survival…for our own tranquility…our own sanity. Love takes effort. Love demands honesty.

Love demands that we not take things personally. Our ego takes things personally…mine definitely does. It assumes that everything happening around us is happening to us, because of us. Our ego demands we see ourselves as the center of everyone’s universe. We think that whatever is said to us or done to use is because of us. It’s personal. If we can get out from behind our ego’s perspective, we can see that what other people do is about them, not us. I am not the center of anyone’s universe…so sad. 😏 People make decisions for themselves, about themselves, and thinking of themselves. I am not saying that we aren’t able to think about others when we make a decision. Of course we can and we do…sometimes.

I heard this quote from Don Miguel Ruiz Jr., and he said that I am responsible for what I say but I am not responsible for what you hear. We have our own histories, perspectives, wounds, and agreements. Our history shapes who we are and the beliefs we have about other people and the world. Our perspective is our own point of view. And we all have stories we tell ourselves and those stories are shaped by agreements we’ve made. We were all taught what to believe and when we go along with it, that becomes an agreement we have made with ourselves. The agreements that we incorporate into our lives shape everything we do and believe.

We made the agreements, essentially contracts with ourselves about our beliefs. We made them and we can break them. We can make a new choice. I think love demands wise choices…evolving choices. Love takes effort. Love requires honesty. Love demands that we not take things personally. Love demands a bigger view…one without me at the center.

Maybe love demands love…demands love from me. Love toward myself and toward others. Those who are easy to love and those that are difficult…even those who seem impossible. Maybe love demands a wish. May we all be filled with all the love our hearts can hold. And may we freely give our love out of our abundance. Because in the end, all that matters is how we love people. So let’s love deeply and generously.

Don’t Assume Because…Well, You Know

So, here’s the thing about going to therapy and trying to work through the crapola of your life…you find out shit that’s hard to swallow. I’m a bigot…maybe not exactly a bigot, which Merriam- Webster defines as, “An irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics; an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge, a preconceived judgment or opinion.” Currently, I’m not sure my attitudes are irrational or that my opinions are formed without sufficient knowledge…but then that’s my own perspective.

I see myself as an open minded and accepting person, but that’s not all of me. I make assumptions about people based on my assessment of them, especially politically. I look at you and draw conclusions based on what you look like, where you live, what you do for a living, and what I think about all that…what it means to me. These decisions lately seem to be political…political assumptions. I do have an abundance of preconceived judgments and opinions.  And in case you’re wondering, I am always positive that I am correct. I take my assumptions to be fact…I’m not so proud of that. The political climate in this country is scary right now, and there is no shortage of actions to make assumptions about…it’s been a busy three weeks for the president…horrifying might be a better word for the chaos that has ensued. 

When I write a blog, in the back of my mind, I wonder how it will be received. And I make assumptions. Assumptions about who you are by how you react or respond…or how you don’t. When I write about being gay or about LGBTQ+ equality I assume that if you’re a republican you won’t like it. You won’t read it. Or if you do read it, your response will be hateful and mean, cruel even. I wrote about assigning genders and suggested the use of the pronouns they/them for everyone…so that no one is misgendered. It was not well received…forget “well” received…it wasn’t received at all. Almost no one read it…or they didn’t admit it if they did. With my keen insight I concluded that people didn’t like it because they’re republicans or more specifically Trump republicans. I used the wealth of information at my disposal, which was none, to come to this logical conclusion…I thought it was logical…to me it was logical. I think that qualifies as bigotry.

Sometimes people surprise you and what you’ve assumed is not true. And it’s possible I didn’t really have anything to base my opinion on except my own biases. I assumed that because you did “this,” it automatically meant that you thought “that.” If you voted for Trump then you would agree with him that there are two genders, no matter what anyone tells you about their personal experience or what the medical community is saying. I’d go even further to conclude that you hate LGBTQ+ people because you believe it’s a sin to love someone of the same sex. And maybe you have forgotten that our country was founded on religious liberty. Escaping the Church of England so you could believe or not believe as you see fit. I might determine that you have no heart because you don’t believe in the aid programs that help people survive in this country and in countries around the world. Who takes away aide knowing that children will starve? I consider that inhuman. Not caring about the basic needs of human beings, especially children. That’s a hard one to justify, especially when it’s less than 1% of the national budget. 

We all know that making assumptions isn’t a good idea…because when you assume you make an ass out of u and me…remember that little ditty? When we assume what we do is stop receiving and absorbing new information. I think X, and you look like X and talk like X so you are X, even though you tell me you’re Z. But I think I know better. That’s some arrogance there…thinking I know you better than you know yourself. Of course there are exceptions to everything. When we remain locked into our assumptions we stop learning. We think we know everything, when we may in fact know nothing.

The other night I was watching tv with my wife and I got up to use the bathroom and get some water. When I was in the kitchen my wife asked what I was doing. I told her “Getting water” and she said, “I thought you were going to the bathroom.” I replied that I already went, and she said, “No you didn’t.” I told her, “You can disagree with me on almost anything, but not whether I went to the bathroom.” I know my bodily functions better than you do. In this country people argue about gay and trans folks…is it ok to be gay? What about being trans? They don’t understand it. They don’t get being gay or trans or bi. And my immediate, compassionate response is, who the fuck cares! It’s not about you. Other people are the experts on themselves. They don’t need outside critiques from the strangers…or even from people who know them. Life is hard enough on its own without us pitting ourselves against each other. What good will come of that?

People who are not gay or trans like to inform us that being trans isn’t real and neither is being gay. I had a therapist tell me that I was not a lesbian I was just looking for my mother’s love. Now I can promise you that what I want and need with a woman is not what I wanted or needed from my mom. I’m not confused. I’m gay. Trans people aren’t confused. They are clear on their identity. We know who we are. And in case you’re thinking “we just have to agree to disagree,” nope. You can disagree with me about my political views, my spiritual views, my belief that bulldogs are the best dogs, or the Dallas Cowboys. You do not get to disagree with who I am. There’s no agree to disagree on that. You do not get a vote, or an opinion, about my identity. 

Hate is ruling our country right now. No one is even trying to hide the hostility in their use of words and actions. Martin Luther King, Jr. said that he chose to love because hate was too great of a burden. We underestimate the burden of hate…the power of that word. Words have meaning. Words have power. Those are prophetic words for us now in this moment. And we should all be reacting as if our hair is on fire…because it is! Our nation is being systematically destroyed. It’s time to speak up before the world ends…at least the world as we know it.

I have grave concerns about our country right now. Our world as we know it seems to be ending and it’s terrifying. Unfortunately, our country is set to repeat all the atrocities of the past. And yet I know that hate is not the answer. It might be an easy answer…us against them…but it’s not the best answer. It never will be.

We are all encountering the burden of hate and we have decisions to make. Decisions about who we want to be as individuals and as a nation. Do we want to be consumed by hate or do we want to fight for a higher principle? A higher morality than hate? Are we willing to let go of the burden of hate and choose love? I am not talking about sentimental warm fuzzy feelings. I am speaking about a love that demands action. Love that demands we release the burden of hate. A love that demands that we find a path forward that includes everyone…not just billionaires and their white supremacist cohort.  

All these folks running the government now claim to be Christians…just one of the many reasons why I am not one. They claim to love the bible so let’s try this, “Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly.” Can we try that? There isn’t much to add to that except, love generously and fiercely. And don’t stop trying to find me here, or trying to find each other, even with all the chaos. Now is not the time to give up on love. Live each day so that you can say, I did not give up on love today. I won’t give up on love today, even when it’s tempting. Don’t you give up either. 

And always remember that in the end all that matter is how we love people. Love will win. It always does.