Musings on Mom

When we are children it’s very easy to view our mothers as a superhuman figure. She is in our young minds, flawless.  Of course by seeing our mothers like this they are bound to disappoint us. After all no one can live up to that level of perfection. 

I have long since put my mom on an unrealistic pedestal. But even now, when I am (at least in theory) a grown up type person, I still have to remind myself that she is in fact human full of emotions and needs just like other humans.

So often my mom puts her needs on the back burner, for mine. When I am having a melt down, she is one of the people who can pull me from the edge  (even if the melt down involves me yelling and making a fuss until I finally get calm). If I am in need of good and insightful advice she is who I go too. With that kind of selflessness, it’s really hard not to take advantage. It’s hard not to just assume that she is tough as nails and here just to take care of me (did I mention I’m an adult)

I guess that’s the thing about the mother child dynamic, its deeply engrained and hard to overcome. And I am not saying that we should (after all I am getting the better end of this bargain) But what I am saying is that I should from time to time crawl out of my own selfishness, and check in with my mom, and see if there is anything I can do for her. After all, it’s the very least I can do for someone who has given so much to me.

Hope... and Prepare

I have this weird reaction to change. I tend to pretend it’s not happening.  What I do is the equivalent of an ostrich putting her head in the sand (by the way that is a myth they actually don’t stick there head in the sand). Nevertheless that’s what I do. But the problem with this is change comes anyways.

I avoid it because its scares me, but the truth is, by facing it, we can often alleviate some of the fear. By arming ourselves with information, we can prepare ourselves. All right, so we can’t prepare ourselves for every possible event, but by facing things we at least feel a little less caught off guard. And that, at least for me, provides some comfort.

Square Peg, Round Hole

For the most part I love being a person in transit. I love the idea of being in change. There is something very profound about evolution.

Of course there is a down side to this. If you in the midst of metamorphosis, it is hard to actually know who you are.  And if you don’t know who you are, than you don’t know where you belong.

My feeling’s that I am an outsider are particularly acute lately. I’m not exactly sure what has brought it on. What I do know is that it's if I’m struggling to find my place in the world. I’m a little like Goldie Locks trying to discover the chair that is just right!

In all fairness, I do have a wonderful group of friends that I feel very connected to, and my family is loving and functional, at least relatively speaking. And believe me, I am incredibly grateful for that. With such great support it would seem that I would be extremely at home in my life.

I guess I’m still searching for my purpose. I’m not the first person embarking on that search, and I’m certain I won’t be the last.  And who knows maybe by searching to hard, or trying to force meaning into our lives, we end up missing the big picture. We would all probably be happier if stopped trying to make ourselves fit in. It would be better if we all could give ourselves permission to be comfortable in our own skin.

A Guilt Free Affair

In the same spirit in which I wrote the blog about lipstick, I thought about another rather silly, but important in my world substance. It’s a friend that has seen me through many a tough time.

This friend is of course coffee. It always greets me every morning. Nothing is better then a warm mug in my hands as I struggle to re-join the waking world.

Okay, okay, I know it’s a drug. And if truth be known, I am an addict. If I omit my daily cup, I will be met with one mean headache. My theory on this is if you’re going to have a vice, a coffee addiction is, I suppose, a rather mild one.

But it’s not just utilitarian need of the stuff that I have. I also have lots of pleasant memories surrounding coffee. A warm cup with many different friends as we plan our next creative project. I also can remember a drinking coffee on lazy afternoons after eating lunch as I sit with my grandfather while he would tell me about long gone relatives.

My friend recently sent be a video talking about the fact that coffee has all these lovely health benefits. So I have decided to not feel guilty about my love of the beautiful brew.

Learning to Love Awkward

I have this fantasy where I am graceful and smooth. I am light on my feet and have reflexes like a cat.

This is however, just that, a fantasy. I am clumsy, always awkwardly fumbling over myself in a grand and embarrassing fashion.  I plow my way through life leaving broken objects in my wake. My body often covered in bruises and bumps due to my last run in with, well... me.

I recently dropped a bottle of unopened red wine.  Those of you, who know me, will understand how traumatizing this was. I was left shaking as a stream of expletives came from me that would embarrass a sailor. I had just purchased it. It was still in the shopping bag when it rolled off the table onto the unforgiving floor. It did, however, leave the kitchen smelling fruit forward and robust, which was nice.

So I can dream all I want about transforming into a person who is lithe and lovely, but I know that is not in my future. So if there is coffee spilling, toes being stubbed, or toilets overflowing then chances are I will be there screaming “oh no, oh no, oh no…” among other things, and I am just going to have to make peace with that.

On Papa's Day!

When I was growing up my father and I alternately got along perfectly, and fought like cats and dogs. There were times when dad and I had long conversations about anything and everything, current events, music, or even about stuff I was learning at school. Of course we could turn around and have a full blown screaming match, complete with door slamming and tears. We knew how to push each other’s buttons.  I sometimes found him insufferable, and irritating. It was not till I was older and gained some perspective that I realized why we where able to get under each other’s skin. The reason is I am my father.

It’s true.  I have his same temperament, the same love of quirky news and bizarre facts and I can be just as hot headed. I am even my dad, right down to the slightly inappropriate, irreverent sense of humor that provokes eye rolling in my mother. 

When I was a teenager this revelation probably would have frightened me, after all when your fifteen, your parents can be so uncool! But now, I have to say, if I turn out to be half as cool as my pops, I’ll be a lucky person.

Just Breath!

There are times when my anxiety level rises, and the way I deal with it is to snap at the people in my life. I become angry and illogical. Every solution a friend offers I see as a way that make the situation worse. It is a terrible way to deal with my stress, and usually makes those who where trying to help me want to turn and walk away. And I wouldn’t blame them. In truth it makes me feel like a wounded wild animal that has their paw in the trap, baring my fangs at those trying to fee me.

I don’t want to be the person who deals with stress in such an unproductive and volatile way. And right now I am going through some life changes that have me feeling frightened and insecure (or should I say more frightened and insecure than usual). Because of this I am find myself rather irritable and irrational. I don’t like the person I become in these situations. I want to transform into someone who handles stress in a healthy way.

What I want to do is learn to breath through it. I’m trying not to work myself up over things that have not happened yet, and may not ever happen. Most importantly I am trying not to bite the hands that are offered up so graciously to me in the spirit of help. 

Red Roots

In the spirit of needing to “just write”, I have decided to write something frivolous and fun today. I want to write about red lipstick!

So I have a love of red lipstick. It’s my favorite. Despite the fact that it often makes it’s way onto my teeth and it is probably full of toxins and chemicals that I would be horrified to apply directly to my lips. But I love the stuff.

Why do I love it? Well there is the obvious reason. I like the way it looks. Red is a great color, and it looks good on me. Simple.

But that’s not the only reason. I am a bit of an insecure fraidy cat.  Red is a bold color, and to wear red lipstick you’re basically demanding people to look at you. It’s not a meek choice in cosmetics. And though I often am uncomfortable in my own skin, I feel like a girl who wears red lipstick is not, and I like feeling like that girl. Perhaps it’s my “fake it till ya make it” moment!  And I have to say when I see myself in the mirror sporting with deep crimson lips I do feel slightly more powerful.

Of course this is one more reason I wear it, and this one is closes to my heart. It has to do with family. This seems strange I know. But you see I had a great great aunt name Beulah.  And from everything I hear, the woman was fierce. She was independent, eccentric and interesting. She traveled a lot before finally settling herself in San Francisco; a city that I am sure suited her temperament perfectly. She also never married, which I assume was a super big deal in those days. And one of the things that Aunt Beulah was known for was her love of the color red. In fact there was a story that she would tell about how she was engaged to a man, who told her that when they got married she would no longer be able to wear red.  Upon hearing this, she immediately gave him back his ring and told him that she could not marry him if that was the case.  Though my grandmother says that she thinks the facts of the story might have been funneled through Beulah’s ever-creative imagination, I like this story and it has stuck with me. I guess when I don the red it makes me feel closer to this strong woman. I like the fact that when I am wearing red lipstick it reminds me that I am her descendent, that she is part of the roots that I grew from and that the fierceness she possessed is in me too!

Girl With Goals

I’m feeling ambitious this summer. Like the beginning of most summers I am optimistic about how productive I will be with my time. Of course I often end the summer with a bit of self-disgust as I tally up the hours that I grotesquely wasted.  But I am optimistic at the moment and I hope to achieve some, if not all, of my lofty goals.

First goal, I plan to work on my health. Last quarter descended into a hole of sedentary homework doing, and vile junk food consuming. Like I have said before, remember the papas , my health has in the past few years become an important issue to me.  Now again let me be clear, it is not about trying to conform to some ultra thin idea of beauty, what it is about is feeling healthier and stronger, that’s what is important to me.

Next goal, I want to go through some of my earthly possessions, and purge. I have become quite the pack rat over the years and it’s kind of sickening. So in the spirit of transformation, I want to sort through my things and get rid of the excess. A side note, it is sad that we live in a society where excess is the problem.  But anyways this is going to be quite the task for me because I am on the just a few possessions away of being a hoarder, so I will essentially be trying to de-program myself. Should be cake right?

Most important goal, I need to write! I need to write and write and write until I can’t write anymore. I need to complete first drafts of some scripts, and rework some existing ones. I also have a contest or two that I want to enter my work into. If I am gong to try to make writing my vocation then I need to be doing it. I need to write. And that includes checking in here, because after all this blog is a great way to stretch that writing muscle!

Summer Yo Yo

I know, I know, it’s been a while since I have checked in. The only excuse I have is that it was a mad busy quarter for me, leaving me very little time to breath, save write on my little blog here. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I actually cried a few times from exhaustion and stress during this crazy quarter. Here is the thing, assignments aren’t really anything to cry over… but alas I did, and it was shameful. I am back though. It’s summer and I can breath!

Once again I find myself spending the warm weather months in my parents guest room. I have for the past couple years lived on campus because, well, I am the carless wonder with the phobia of mass transit.  So as soon as the school year ends I am kicked out of the dorms, and my parents being the generous people that they are, allow their not-so-baby-bird to come home for a season. 

As kind as it is that my parents let me do this, I would like this to be the last time yoyo back to my hometown.  And sense I am feeling a bit more confident with the metro because of my crazy spring break trip, Girl literally in transit, I know it’s time to move off campus in the fall! It’s scary (because I am still the girl who is afraid of her own shadow) but that’s okay, because I am all about change right now. We change and we adapt as a way to survive. And that what I want to do, I want to survive and even more important I want to thrive. 

So here is to my last summer camping out on in my parents guest room. I intend to enjoy it while I can, cause if all goes as planed, I will be in a crappy apartment of my very own in the city.