Enough Belly

I signed up to take a belly dancing class. Even from the neck up, you can tell from my pic I ain't small. I have enough belly foryou, me and a couple of other folks. Even my neighbor friend, who missed her life calling as cheerleader, motivator life coach, got a strange look on her face when I told her I was finally going to do it. I registered & my class starts in January. Like next week.

I've been watching this amazing dancer named Sadie on YouTube to prepare. Now, at 37, having had 2 children, wtih gray hair, stretch marks & all, I don't look "nuttin like 'er". I don't move like her, smile like her, resemble her in anyway. And I'm beginning to realize my secret fantasy of being a femme fatale on the level of Angelina Jolie may forever remain... a fantasy. But bellydancing is something I've always wanted to try. And I'm going into 2010 with goals, renewed energy and a determination to do things that interest me. (sidenote: thankfully, I actually have interests again. I finally shook off the moderate depression I'd been slowdancing with on & off for 6 months). So I found a hip scarf at Ross. I downloaded 20 great belly dancing songs on itunes. I have a top that's flattering, not too revealing, and cut to flatter my fuller figure. I am "read' t'go".

I don't think it'll be pretty at first. But I've seen pix of some of the women who take these classes. I'm not the first obese babe to take one of these classes... and I won't be the last.

Even fat girls want to shake what our mamas gave us...

I Wish

I wish I didn't care that people are a**holes.
I wish haters didn't get under my skin.
I wish I didn't deliberately turn away from Black American men in public - cutting off any connection before it even starts because I need to cut off even the possibility of rejection.
I wish I didn't give a sh*t when sistas cop an atittude, act ugly or look me up and down (you know how they do)
I wish it didn't bug me so much that people can be so rude.
I wish my smile and silent blessings to people I've never seen, never known, and will never see again were reciprocated.
I wish the world were a kinder place.
I wish it wasn't so easy to write off the people who are different from you.
I wish we would let our guards down enough to see how truly alike we are with one another.
I wish covering 47 million uninsured people didn't translate to taking away benefits enjoyed by others .
I wish people weren't so hell bent on destroying something good because their taxes might go up.
I wish people had a heart for someone outside their own family, community, ethnicity, religion, nationality or belief system.
I wish more people would stop and think about another "there, but for the grace of God, go I..."

Father, we make a mess of things without you. We get so tied up in blaming, hoarding, accusing, angering... We need you Lord, more than ever. Or we're not going to make it.

How are we ever going to make it?

Let Others

Let others say yours was a life well lived,
that you left something beautiful behind.

Inspired by the men and women who died on September 11, 2001 and the recent deaths of 2 HS alumni. At 37, it's a new chapter - where age mates in peer groups (at what should be the peak of their careers, many with children still in elementary school), die.

So much shifting going, so much transitioning. Sheesh, just when I was starting to get a handle on my body's changes...

No One Should Die

No one should die because they cannot afford health care, and no one should go broke because they get sick.

Agreed... 1,000%

Crushed Potential

I was waiting at the train station one evening last year when a 30-something Black man approached me. I was a zombie, staring off into the distance after a long day at work. I barely noticed him until he was directly in front of me.

"I asked damn near 50 people this afternoon for some change and didn't get not $1. I'm homeless. These mothaf*ckas got cars & houses..." - mothaf*ckas alerted me to pay attention - "... they act like it would kill 'em to give me a dollar. I don't know why I'm asking you" - actually he was demanding - "but can you spare something so I can at least get something to eat?"

Based on his hostility, he fully expected to be rejected. I couldn't retreat or escape without humiliating him so I just stood there & looked at him. It felt like there was a bubble around us. My full attention was focused on him. I thought at him, I see you. Seeing him seemed important. Not withdrawing seemed important. So I turned more fully toward him, giving him nonverbal cues of engagement.

In those silent seconds, his story unfolded as if he had downloaded it directly to my brain. It was so damned frustrating. He was trying and nobody was helping. He was so angry that people wouldn't help him. Angry that when they did, they didn't give him what he needed. Angry others wouldn't give him what they wouldn't miss any damn way. Angry that they withdrew when he approached or pretended he wasn't talking to them.

I remember feeling distant alarm, but not fear. I didn't believe he would hurt me. But I was gut-certain that he would hurt someone very badly. And soon.

I gave him $2 and wished him luck. I don't think he thanked me. I boarded my train with the bubble of calm still around me.

That encounter was a deep contrast to the young 20-something brotha who stepped to me at my local strip mall on Saturday.

He called out to me cheerily,"I like your glasses ma'am. Where did you get them?"
I thanked him and told him where.
"Where is that?"
I told him the store.
"And where is that?"
I told him the city.
"How do you get there?" I began to tell him a well known route that would take him there.
"You know what bus go there? 'Cause that's the only way for me to get there. I don't have no car, no job." He was laughing. "I get food stamps and everything."

Crushed potential.

It's the phrase that comes to mind when I see the stereotypical poor, uneducated, probably recently un-incarcerated Black man. The problem is epidemic. The stats are well known. Raised by single moms. Crime. Violence. High school dropouts. Jail. Unemployment. Addiction. Deadbeat dads. Premature death.

What happened to these men's dreams?
Was there no one in their lives to steer them?
Was there chaos in their families of origin that left them vulnerable to negative influences?
Was there a generational curse?
What are their purposes in life now?
What's going to happen to their sons and daughters?
Who is going to stop this cycle?

I don't have the answers to these questions. Does anyone?

Do you?

Being 37 Means

• I trust my gut.
• I don't "should" on myself anymore.
• I can feel drawn to man without sexualizing the connection.
• Lots of stuff is really starting to sag.
• I drop what drains me... without apology.
• My world view is wider, wiser, saner.
• I can see the bad thought habits that helped me cope as a child but now hold me back.
• Hair is sprouting where it shouldn't and turning gray in surprising places.
• For every wrong turn there are lessons learned.
• I recognize the start of a "kick me when I'm down" thought cycle and I can actually say to myself "shut up ego"... and the negative spiral will stop (sometimes even in mid-sentence).
• I laugh at myself at times because I get sick n tired of my own damn bullsh*t.
• I understand my cycle of creativity & energy.
• I listen better to the wisdom of my body.
  
• Patterns repeat in our lives until we pass the test.
  
• Knowing what I suck at (and no longer needing to forgive myself for it).
• Having faith that when a thing is meant to be, a "missed opportunity" will present itself again.
  
• The time for my next incarnation to begin is now.
  

Married to a Martian

My husband thinks he's a Martian. Literally. He believes he is from the planet Mars.

This is not a new development. He's been telling me this for years. It's been a little like pillow talk for us. He can go at it for 3-5 minutes at a time before my laughter gets a little uneasy.

I indulge him because his occasional boasting that he's from another planet is as close as he gets to being silly. When he starts up, I can see what he was like as an imaginative 12 year old boy . He is the most un-romantic, un-silly guy I know. So he gets his kicks every now & then by joking about how he's an alien because he has some mysterious 3rd band of blood (which is physically impossible, humans should only have 2, 3 bands should not exist ever, doctors are astounded when he tells them that, it's probably as rare as being born with 2 heads). If he has fun with it... well, who's he hurting?

I ordered him a book a few weeks ago about ancient astronauts. There is a vast nut wing conglomerate of believers in ancient mysteries & space-galloping ETs who are keeping tabs on us (popularized by Erich von Daniken). The speculations and "evidence" are wild! I watched a History channel show about it once. As a creative person who always wondered "what if aliens really do exist", I can definitely dig it.

But my husband? He was switched on by the book in a way I've never seen. He LOVED the book so much he didn't want it to end. The book talks about how the Old Testament heroes like Moses, Noah & Abraham who had contact with God actually came face to face with aliens.

The ark of the covenant was a nuclear weapon. That's why the Old Testament Levite priests had specific uniforms that included breast plates & helmets. That's why that one guy who stumbled & acccidentally touched the ark of the covenant died on the spot. That's why the plagues that affected the enemy group who stole the ark of the covenant resembled radiation sickness.

I can see now that it was a bad decision to purchase the book. We all want to believe we're special. But the fact that he went to another planet to find his uniqueness is... not normal. The real problem is he's a psychiatrist. So who exactly would believe me if I began to have serious concerns about his claims? These beliefs don't interfere with his ability to function in society. He doesn't talk to himself, have a tic or twitch, or need to confirm the toaster is unplugged 40 times before he leaves for work each morning.

I'm just a wife & writer. I have a pretty vivid imagination. Give me a snippet or tidbit of information, my brain just goes, filling in the blanks, piecing together a fantastic storyline that could appear between the pages of a book or in a soap opera. I'm the writer... and even I don't believe this visitors from outer space mumbo-jumbo.

This bizarre belief has been under wraps for 35+ years. Whatever happens in 2012, I sure as hell hope aliens are involved. Otherwise I'm going to have to start dosing his morning cup of coffee with my prescription of Lexapro.

Have Your High-Tech & Longevity Too

I saw Bill Gates speak once. Barack Obama, he ain't. Still, it was an electrifying experience to be in the same room with the richest man on the planet.

He talked about how computers & software could enhance our daily lives. TV could be interactive like the web, tailoring programming to our preferences. Dry erase white boards could be equipped to drill down into a network to pull data you want to present in a multimedia format during a meeting in your office. Workstation desktops could collect information about how we work & make recommendations to help us streamline.

When you're there, you catch the vision. You believe with technology, we have the ability to make ordinary humans better than we were before. Better, stronger, faster. Hell, let's all be bionic!

No offense Mr. Gates - I think you're amazing, I love the work you & your wife are doing through your foundation. But frankly, I don't want my couch telling me I gained 6 pounds over Thanksgiving & autotuning my TV to Denise Austin's workout because I need to get off my oversized arse.

I try so hard these days not to be a cynic, but I don't think we can ever have all the benefits of a high-tech society without the drawback of a high-speed, high-intensity, high-pressure, instant gratification culture that goes along with it. Be honest. Does anyone really think the benefits of technology can ever outweigh good old capitalist greed it's attached to? and how can technology help us dial back a puritan work ethic that drives American employees into burnout? If it exists, I'd like to see it.

It's a fundamentally optimistic way of seeing things - that we can live better, longer, overcome our dis/inabilities. This optimism was best captured by the dean of a local school of public health who facilitated a discussion in a class I took last year. He was so enthusiastic about how so many of the world's health problems could be solved with a public health approach and the right use of technology.

But look at the cultures we want to emulate because they live the longest (www.bluezones.com). The lives of these people tend to be the simplest. They tend to rely the least on technological advances. They do things like walk everyday. Grow their own food. Eat diets loaded with fresh vegetables and fruit. Hang out with their family, go to church on a regular basis & talk to their neighbors. They're embedded in a community with many sources of social support. As a result, they live longer.

High-tech industry & culture is driven toward growth, always increasing, always plunging forward to get the jump on the next great thing. There is a season for working at that rate. But it's not something that should last forever. Endless growth. What in nature grows endlessly? Cancer cells. Cancer is the proliferation of cells that just keep dividing endlessly. They no longer function, they just keep dividing & growing.

Can you have it both ways? Can you have your high-tech and longevity too? This would mean living simultaneously at both ends of the technology spectrum. If this "magical" universal "shift in consciousness" actually takes place in 2012, and sustainable agriculture, economics, communities really takes hold... sure. It could happen.

But at this very moment, (to quote NuNu from one of my all-time fav flicks "ATL") "not gon' happen... neva".

They Want Their Country Back

Obama didn't lie when he declared to the world on 11/4/08 "Change has come to America."

The web definition of conservative is: "resistant to change". The 2009 remix on conservative playing at healthcare town halls near you is: "resistant to change & highly pissed."

My honest reaction to these outbursts? Somewhere between laughter & pity. But these aren't a bunch of Joe the Plumbers looking to milk their 15 seconds of fame. The anger behind the mayhem is from-the-gut honest. Anger like that metastasizes. It elects Republican presidents like Reagan and George W. Bush to 2 terms in the oval office. Anger like that needs to be watched carefully.

Conservatives are crying out because they're losing "their" country - an America that reflects their values, their culture, their skin color, their religion.

They're right.

Let me break it to them gently: getting disorderly @ these meetings can't abort the end that's been building for decades. After the 2010 census numbers are crunched, the inevitable future so many conservatives fear (maybe even hate) will be confirmed:

21st century America is brown, bilingual & speaks with an accent.

It has a Black President. It actively intervenes in the markets to prevent the collapse of mega-companies whose failure could trigger global catastrophe. It participates in a world economy increasingly dominated by developing Asian countries. It doesn't "call the shots" the way it used to. The America you long for is never coming back.

Conservatives, if you learn nothing else, learn this one truth before you die: Change is the ONLY thing that is guaranteed. All empires rise & fall. The world is changing. America can evolve to adapt or die. (It's evolving anyway. Adapting is a choice.)

Conservatives, your children will have the privilege of witnessing first hand what many of your parents went through as new immigrants to America. They'll live among a fresh wave of immigrants assimilating into America, beginning their pursuit of this American dream, enriching our society with their experiences & their culture.

If the truth is too devastating to accept, I urge you to pray the serenity prayer to help you deal. Maybe one day you'll see the beauty of this new evolution in 21st century America.

Weird (oh)

The problem with "New Age" spirituality is that it's weird.

You don't have to wander far before the stuff gets spooky or just flat-out ridiculous. Animal psychics, mediums channeling 3,000 year old sages, aura diagnostics, magnets, angels, fairies, spirit guides. Once that fairies door opens, leprechauns, werewolves & UFOs can't be far behind.

As a spiritual seeker, I've dabbled. Mysticism is a strong leaning in me. I believe in the interconnectedness of all things. When you add quantum physics & the boatload of phenomena science has yet to explain to the mix, there's stuff out there that frankly blows my mind. It appeals to both the scifi geek & deep prayer/trance meditator in me.

I picked up some crystals once because they're beautiful rocks. What's the harm in having something pretty to remind me to stay positive & not neglect my creativity? I meditated with the crystals in my hand. I even positioned them on my "chakras" a time or two. Frankly, I did notice "something" (tingling, internal pulling). But was it "crystal energy", the power of suggestion or my body reacting because I've got a cold rock sitting on my sacral chakra?

So how'd I end up with this interest in "new age" spirituality? I've been experiencing mysterious & persistent time prompts on a regular basis for 2 years. Coincidentally glancing at the clock at exactly 1:11 or 2:22. Waking up at exactly 3:33 or 4:44 or 5:55 almost every night. When I noticed it recurring, it "went viral" & I started seeing triple numbers everywhere (license plates, receipts, digital recorder, headlines, online, books). What do you call it when you have dozens of "coincidences" repeating like that month after month? I call it a pattern.

I Googled 777 synchronicity and got a hodge podge of weirdery. Some of it's cool (realizing how many people are experiencing the time prompts). Some of it is asylum stuff. Some people assemble around the world at sacred sites to dance & meditate to open the otherworldly "gates" on earth so we can reach the "critical mass" of earthlings who are spiritually awakened. In 2012 (12/12/12 @ 11:11 am to be precise), an evolutionary leap in human consciousness will take place (aka "the shift") . Those of us who are "awake" will "ascend" to another realm of consciousness. The spiritually unaware may be stuck here in a post-apocalyptic hell on earth.

I don't believe spirituality is one size fits all, so I'm pretty tolerant when it comes to people's religious beliefs as long as harm against others is not advocated. While some of the new age stuff "rings true" to me because of my spiritual experiences (I've seen stuff that should not be possible), most of this stuff just goes too far. Like the Christian who "cherry picks" scripture to live by, I navigate the New Age seas by hanging onto the stuff that's useful (affirmations, visualizations for healing) & ignoring the rest.

Since I only believe "a little bit" in the New Age weirdery, I like to think that makes me only "a little bit" weird. (those who knew me as "a little bit weird" to begin with... you just hush!)

Photo 1 by Gavin Andrew Stewart
Photo 2 by vramak

The Missing L

*** you are entering the tmi zone ***

My libido went MIA about 4 months ago. I started catastrophizing, envisioning the worst case scenario. Are my ovaries ok? Maybe I'm perimenopausal. But I'm only 36! If it was just stress from the job I quit 4 months ago, things should be back online by now, shouldn't they?

Maybe the reason is I'm out of shape, so I started doing "everything right". Eating right (lean proteins, lots of veggies, dialing back on the caffeine & dairy). Hitting the gym at least 4 days/week. Chugging H2O like a camel with empty humps. Vitamins. Flax seed. Fruit & vegetable juices. The works. Still, I got nothing but flatline from the waist down. Last week, I thought dammit, this has gone on long enough. I want my drive back!

So I went to see my GYN. Dr. J is a handsome, affable, charming, 50-something Jewish man. He brings this 400 watt energy into the exam room when he enters. He's the kind of person you're instantly comfortable with (BIG plus because you don't know him so well and you have no panties on under that paper lap sheet). You can't help but like him.

He chats me up while he does his thing, examines my boobs, takes a peek, takes a probe, takes a sample, then asks if he can get personal. Do I still love the guy or is he a schmuck? This problem is VERY common in his patients - most times, it's not hormonal, it's emotional. I explain yes, there's still love there, but we've been together 15 years. Might be a simple case of "the thrill is gone". He refers me to get a mammogram, sends me to get my blood drawn, and promises to call me with the results of my hormone levels in 10 days.

It took all of 8 minutes.

The thing is, other than stick his finger in my butt, he didn't DO anything. But sure enough, my libido has been miraculously resurrected (it's not 100% back to normal yet but the desire is at least there).

Hmm. Is there a secret "on" switch "back there" no one ever mentioned before? Unless you count the speculum insertion, there was no G-spot action. So what exactly was "the fix"?

In my experience, most docs are technicians not healers. Energetically, something goes on in the presence of a true healer so "healing" takes place. Call me crazy but I think my GYN is a true healer. Because he managed to jump start my libido in under 10 minutes. And all it took was an old-fashioned "digital probe"! It reminds me of something I read a long time ago about how Victorian era doctors used to "cure anxiety" in women with pelvic "massages" (vibrators were a popular curative advertised in women's magazines).

The moral of this story & my heartfelt advice: If you ever experience drops in your drive and your GYN is a true healer (& good looking to boot)... keep him, girl, keep him!

All Kinds of Peculiar

At some point, I suppose I'll fully embrace the fact that I'm different. If not for the fact that I'd feel ridiculous using the word "exotic" to describe me, I'd be all over it as a first response to "Tell me about yourself". Growing up, I didn't feel exotic or unique. I mostly felt peculiar.

WAIT... HOW DO YOU PRONOUNCE YOUR NAME?
My names (all 4 of them) are a never-ending saga through the badlands of Peculiarity. My first name is a creative (weird) variation on my father's first & middle names. This name has been more burden than blessing since my earliest brush with institutionalized learning. At the beginning of each school year, I dreaded roll call because teachers always mispronounced my name (and a few were flat out shocked when a girl answered "here"). Once, a service desk rep @ my alma mater chortled in my face, "That's a cracker white boy name!" (gee thanks).

My middle name is Hawaiian. It's such an odd combination of consonants & vowels, I refuse to utter it aloud unless pressed. There are people who've known me for decades who still don't know what the middle 'K' in 'JKK' stands for.

My last name, even though it's only 4 letters, is always pronounced wrong. Not your typical American surname, but you'd think it was written in hieroglyphics the way Americans stumble over it. Why, after all this, would I go and marry a foreigner whose last name is (you guessed it) hard to pronounce?

Well, I'm on a roll, can't stop now, can I?

THE INTROVERT DISADVANTAGE
For creative introverts (like me), solitude is almost seductive in its appeal. I have a high need for uninterrupted alone time so I can recharge (read, write, meditate, stare at the wall, daydream). This is as true now as it was when I was 10. Try explaining to a family full of extraverts that you spent 5 hours on Saturday afternoon in your room alone reading (Reading?! [pure incredulity] Yes, reading! [indignant & defensive]) and you get the not so subtle hint that there's something wrong with you.

Introverts are a frequently misunderstood minority in this society. They are often labeled "sneaky" or "strange" because they enjoy being by themselves. "The Introvert Advantage" tries to explain introversion. My husband is a shrink - he could barely contain his laughter as I described the book's position that we introverts are just "wired different" than extraverts & there's nothing wrong with that. In his professional opinion, "you just described someone who's mentally retarded" (introvert advantage, my ass!).

My tendency to seek seclusion & my love of solitary activities stood out since I was a child. The seeds were planted early that I was not normal but peculiar.

HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL 147: THE PECULIARZ
Who doesn't feel peculiar in high school? High school is all about belonging (or not). For me, it was just another exercise in all the ways I different from the norm (the norm being my older sisters, who I am nothing like). When compared to my older sisters, I was the "un-Cola" to their "Blind Taste Tests Prove Their Brand is Best."

How many ways did I not fit in, let me count the ways... My sisters' friendly chattiness to my silent aloofness. Their athleticism to my obesity. Their popularity to my invisibility. Their identical twinness to my "younger sister who looks nothing like them"-ness.

Put it all together, stir it in a pot, simmer on low 3 or 4 years, wuddya got?
Peculiar stew, comin' right up, enough to last a few decades & it's steamin' hot!

FULL CIRCLE (OR THE EDGE OF ONE)
As a child & teen, I internalized many messages about my differentness as innate liabilities I had to overcome. That internalization fed a global sense of shame that bled into other areas of my psyche, contaminating my self-esteem, self-efficacy & self-worth for years.

Today, I recognize some positive side-effects of internalizing the message "you're not like everybody else." I'm most at home on the margins of a group. I feel comfortable among the foreign-born whose daily experience in America is likely filled with reminders of all the ways they diverge from the predominant cultural norm. These days, I deeply appreciate the ethnic cocktail that gave me a face & complexion that can blend in among any number of different cultures & countries on the planet outside the US.

A healing truth dawned on me one day when I realized: my place is to be "out of place."

Maybe I'm meant to be one of the ones who never fits in. The periphery is where circles overlap, the margin is where you build bridges. Hey, I bet Barack Obama had a similar experience (and my name is every bit as "unusual" as his). Now, if only I had the President's gift of gab... that'd really come in handy out on those edges.

Roadtrip from Hate to Healed (bring lots of wire)

I'm not a fan of Essence magazine. In fact, I hate it.

Hate is a strong word. I don't like to use it & discourage my kids from ever saying it. But hate pretty much sums up how I feel about the magazine. It tries so hard to cover everything from mortages & Mugabe to mammograms & Mac cosmetics. I get irritated every time I flip through it. Be serious & substantive or be fluff & gossip. But please don't be try to be both at the same time! It's bipolar.

That being said, you can imagine my surprise when the Aug 09 issue of my least favorite women's magazine leapt into my shopping cart @ Target yesterday. Idris Elba is on the cover - that alone was worth the cover price - but the reason I forked over my money was the article "Black Women Behaving Badly".

It was a carefully-worded piece on a subject that has a lot of sistas fired up: Why Black women hate on each other. It said the main reasons sistas hate are: low self-esteem, lack of self-acceptance & lack of self-love. Just imagine how different things could be if sistas began to think more positive & acted less demeaning toward others.

Oh. Is that all? abracadabra, alakazam, hateful thoughts - be gone!

I'm disappointed the writer didn't go into how much work it takes to reprogram your demeaning thought patterns. (in fairness, I'm sure space constraints forced editors to remove chunks of good stuff). If you're contaminated by decades of negative thought habits & you weren't naturally upbeat to begin with, the transformation from hate to healed would be like an Extreme Brain Makeover.

Thinking loving thoughts isn't a "hat" you just put on. It could take years to figure out why you think like you do. And then to make yourself stop? There's a reason people stay in therapy for years.

Thinking different literally rewires your brain - you're telling it to stop using the pathway it has always used & take a route it doesn't know, doesn't trust & never heard of.

Me to Brain: Connect the dots the way you always have, just don't take Cynic Parkway anymore. Take Goody-Goody-Gumdrop Lane instead.

Brain to Me: The quickest, shortest route is Cynic Parkway.

Me to Brain: I know but you have to take Goody-Goody-Gumdrop Lane from now on.

Brain to Me: That doesn't make sense. I can get everywhere I need to go on Cynic Parkway. Goody-Goody-Gumdrop Lane isn't even a route in my GPS.

Me to Brain: We're not taking Cynic Parkway ever again no matter how quick & convenient it is.

Brain to Brain (under her breath): I'm going the way I know - I just won't tell her. She won't know the difference.

It took years, but I finally rewired my own inclination towards negativity. I'm a liar if I say I did it on my own. The part of my brain that was addicted to negativity shut down one night (not unlike E. Tolle's account). Then God (love, light, peace, gratitude, awe, hope, beauty) poured in.

So what does it make me when I say I hate that the article I read in a magazine I hate didn't go far enough to cover the hard work it takes to heal from your hate.

"Hello. My name is J and I'm a hater..."

The Nitty Gritty

Who am I, How'd I get here (& why should you care)?

I'm a mom-on-pause. (no, not as compelling as "mom-on-crack" or "mom-on-Prozac", nor as sexy as "PTA Prez by day/stripper by night"... but that's me. Normal.) Two years ago, I arrived at a mid-life whateverucallit. I was 11 years into a career that didn't fit. My soul was saying I need beauty - I need peace. My mind was saying to hell with this!

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping away. Things were left undone (unfinished business is a recurring theme in my life).

I'd been an admin assistant @ D+E almost 4 years. Like most professional services firms, D+E's culture values control freaks. But I'm the anti-control freak. And on many days, I felt like I was an inch from a meltdown.

A life spent behind a desk at D+E was safe. But for me, that life would be an utter waste.

I decided I would not waste this life.

Doors were closing all around me. (I don't mean the firm's doors were closing, mine were). One by one, my reasons to stay - those precious ties to my friends & co-workers - were plucked away. All I had left was a place, culture, team where I was a mismatch.

Now, I ain't no punk. I gave birth twice all natural, with absolutely no pain relief. The OB even gave me an episiotomy without any anesthetic (ok, that did make me scream). My pain threshold is pretty high. But when it comes to emotional & psychological turmoil - my theme song is the rap classic "I'm lookin' at the front door." Not fitting in was painful for me. (do we ever really get over the high school fear of being the outcast?)

The writing was on the wall. It was time to get off the train. So... I jumped.

I landed here. Regrouped (somewhat). Balanced (sorta). The future is taking shape (in a way). But, I'm still the same old piece of work.

Part of me wants a shortcut to get wherever I'm going because the long way will be painful. (endurance - my lack of it - is another recurring theme in my life. It's a test & I'm sick n' tired of flunking). The long way will eventually earn me the Masters in Public Health. But first I have to get through the GRE, biostatistics, hours & hours of agonizingly dry journal articles. Eventually, the long way will deliver a purpose driven career in a concentration of public health that doesn't exist (yet)... spiritual health promotion.

I want to develop & implement programs that can transform public health into a science and art that works to heal the public (get it? Public Health --> Heal the Public). Not surprisingly, storytelling, creativity, spirituality & collaborations with faith communities would be a key part of this undertaking.

I'm sure I haven't answered the last question of this post (which is why it's in parentheses): why should you care?

I guess there's no reason you should care... unless you're at a similar place... or you've been-there-done-that... or you have nothing better to do.

Don't worry if the latter is your reason - you're in good company, if I do say so myself.

What's In A Purpose?

Oprah said, "tell a story so people feel something... people don't do anything until they feel something."

As a writer, the truth of that statement was like a mandate. I love nothing better than to hole up in a room for hours with a great book. That was how I spent most of my teens & 20s. But in my 30s, my love for fiction was replaced by a love of new discovery.

Questions
I ask lots of questions. I want to know where you come from, what language you speak, how you feel about God, what's your ethnicity, (if foreign born) how do you see America, Americans, the American way of life, how did an experience change you, how do you understand an event in light of your spiritual beliefs?

I don't want to read words on a page so much as I want to read YOU.

I'm looking for the all the ways we can connect even though we're so different. Especially because we're so different. That diversity of experience & perspective is thrilling... like the old thrill of starting a new novel.

Healing
Six years ago, I was healed of depression. But there are negative thought habits that I've been working on in the years since my "transformation". My healing is ongoing. It involves reviewing my life story to see how & why I came to believe what I believe.

Stories
Stories are a recurrent theme for me, connecting me to healing... to others... to meaning & wisdom... to my passion... to beauty... to my community... to my authentic me... and ultimately to God.

Now, all I want is for others (who need it) to be opened ("unlocked") the way I was.

So the answer to the question (& the reason for the blog) is simple: stories & healing.