Chasing Inspiration...

The False Belief of Persecution

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Thu, 17 May 2018 04:19:00 +0000

WARNING: I'm about to be political because I can't separate my politics from my beliefs and point of view. There may also be swearing. Skip this post if you want. I won't judge.

In a previous post I talked about misogyny and it's role in the 2016 election. Misogyny is one of the reasons that is thrown up as a reason why some of the people I know voted for our current POTUS. As I stated in that post, the reasons are more varied than these three, but these are the three reasons I have heard in almost every conversation I have had. To recap these reasons are:

Misogyny
Perceived persecution against Christians
Illegal immigration

Today I'm going to try to tackle this perceived notion that predominantly white evangelical Christians in the United States, are being persecuted. I don't think I'll change any minds, for those who believe they are being persecuted do so with fervor and not many will be swayed from their belief. I'm not trying to be derogatory. When a person's belief is linked deeply to a person's identity and sense of self it can be difficult to confront that belief because to do so can be perceived as a loss of self. If I am not my belief, then I am nothing.

That said, I've been hearing the message of Christian persecution since I was a kid living in Western Canada. I've had to parse out what this means because when I look at the USA I don't see the persecution of Christians. Let's start with a definition of persecution. According to Merriam-Webster's online dictionary to persecute is :

[to] harass or punish in a manner designed to injure, grieve, or afflict; specifically to cause to suffer because of belief. Merriam-Webster

This definition is really specific - to cause to suffer because of belief. There are Christians in this world who suffer because of what they belief, but Christians in North America are not among them. We aren't in danger of losing our jobs. We aren't in danger of being rounded up and being imprisoned. We aren't being harassed on the street for being Christians. We aren't being forced to renounce our faith. Our lives are not in danger. Our places of worship aren't about to be burned down because we are Christians, despite what people may believe was the motivating factors in the tragic mass shooting in Charleston, SC in 2015. (which was race related, in case you were wondering.)

What some Christians are experiencing is pushback. And why is there pushback? While I'm sure there are many reasons, the one that stands out to me is this habit of certain groups of Christians to want to impose their beliefs on everyone and to legislate morality. To create a Christian state instead of keeping a separation of church and state. Nothing illustrates this more clearly than these two things: the fight for and against marriage equality, and the desire to legislate what a woman can and cannot do with her body. For this post I'm going to focus on the former.

According to Time magazine, while the Supreme Court ruled for marriage equality, making gay marriage legal in all 50 states, there are states that are retaliating by trying to passing religious freedom acts that, in some cases, discriminate against LGBTQA+ couples when they apply for adoption services, or try to find someone to officiate their wedding. Or even finding somewhere to hold their wedding. Cater it. In Kansas a freedom of religion bill was passed that discriminates against college/university students and their right to take any type of action against any religious student associations that reject them as members or deny them the use of meeting space. The legislation doesn't differentiate between those higher ed institutions that are subsidized by tax dollars and those that are private. This is important so remember this.

The LGBTQA+ community is pushing back. In Colorado there is an ongoing court case between a gay couple and a Christian baker who refused to sell them a wedding cake. This case made it all the way to the Supreme Court, but the Department of Justice has already come down on the side of the baker. You can read the article for the details, or review the court documents from the original case. What this boils down to is a Christian denied services to a gay couple on the grounds that making them a wedding cake would go against his moral beliefs. He discriminated against the gay couple. Because they are gay.

Christians have been weighing in on this case since this made news back in 2012. And what several conservative Christian leaders have said is that the baker is not in the wrong. The state is in the wrong to try to force the baker to go against his religious beliefs. I've read the phrase reverse discrimination. I've heard people say this is a violation of the baker's rights. But what about the rights of this couple? Isn't the baker openly discriminating against them because they are gay?

Other examples I've been given as proof of persecution are things such as the removal of prayer from public schools and the removal of Christian icons from state buildings. And I shake my head every time. Why? Because public schools, courthouses, state capitals, and other public spaces are paid for by taxpayer dollars. Which means it falls under the separation of church and state. Either we remove all religious symbols and activities from such spaces or we allow religious symbols and activities from all religions and belief systems in these spaces. Including Muslim, Wiccan, Pagan, Hindi, Native, even Atheistic.

Push back. This case, and all the other cases where states are trying to block LGBTQA+ rights, we are seeing push back by people who want the same rights as every cis* heterosexual person or couple in this country. The right to adopt and raise children. The right to marry and form a family. The right to not have to worry about discrimination on the job, at school, in the streets. The rights we take for granted. Rights that various Christians would continue to deny because their interpretation of the Bible and of God's will is that everyone be heterosexual and maintain the gender they were assigned at birth.

Christians aren't being persecuted. Christianity has been the dominant religion in this country for a very long time. And yet this country was founded on the separation of church and state as well as freedom of religion. This country has come to represent equality, a concept we seem to continue to miss the mark on. Either we treat everyone equally or we don't. Either everyone is allowed to practice their religion without fear or retribution, or no one is.

The older I get, the more I really wonder if certain groups of Christians are too literal in their belief in the Bible, and if that literalism is creating a culture of fear that requires a belief in persecution in order to exist. Maybe. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm naive and a heretic for even thinking these things.

Either way, I'm okay with being the person who questions these things and who sees people as good and worthy as love now because that's how God created them. Not as people who need to be saved. But that's a post for another day.

*cis refers to cisgender

Gratitudes:

Gluten free sourdough bread. If only I could figure out how to make it for myself.
Thug Kitchen. To quote their website: We’re the only website dedicated to verbally abusing you into a healthier diet. That's where the Internet bus driver just dropped your ass off.
ZZ Ward. Her music is the perfect soundtrack for my current book.

Photo by Fiona Moore via Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Billy Graham: Beloved and Problematic

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Thu, 22 Feb 2018 08:21:00 +0000

Billy Graham died today. In all honesty, I thought he passed away some time ago. When I heard the news of his passing, my first reaction was to shrug. My second was to mourn for those who have experienced harm due to his teachings.

Before you jump all over me for crapping on a beloved icon of western evangelicalism, let me state that the man was both great and problematic. He stood beside Martin Luther King Jr during the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s. He believed there was no scriptural basis for segregation, and that Christianity was not a white man's religion (source).

He held an inclusive view of God's mercy, believing that God can and will save people in different religions, not just Christianity, and without an individual's proclamation of Jesus, or at least he did earlier in his ministry (source).

There are good things about Billy Graham. There are also problematic things. While he did support desegregation, he was slow to support it. Teachings attributed to Rev. Graham are anti-LGBTQIA. His interpretation and understanding of the Bible lead to the belief and reinforcement of strict gender roles. I know, because I grew up listening to and reading about these teachings. There are some who land these on Franklin Graham's feet (source), suggesting that there was elder abuse taking place (source), and that Rev. Graham's writings and sermons were ghost written (source), and that these views were not his own.

Whether that is the case or not, the teachings attributed to Billy Graham have hurt many. No grace has been extended to those who are gay. Marriage equality has taken far longer than it needed to because of people who took Rev. Graham's teachings and spun them out of control. LGBTQIA children and teens have been traumatized by people who tried to pray the gay out of them. They were told they were sinning, and their identities were denied them. Not all of them made it to adulthood. Girls were denied opportunities that were given to boys because of how far people took Rev. Graham's message of how he believed family was to function. Some took these teachings so far that they stole the female voice.

The very name of Billy Graham has been used as the boogie man in the closet who will sneak out and punish us if we step out of line.

I'm not going to get into what loving our neighbour means. And I'm not going to wish Rev. Graham to perdition. He was a man who had a sincere belief and a platform with which to share that belief. That doesn't make him 100% right. It doesn't make him 100% wrong. It makes him beloved and problematic. On one hand he taught love and acceptance. On the other hand, the very name of Billy Graham has been used to punish and revile anyone who isn't white, cis, and male. No where have I seen documentation that Billy Graham worked to reign in these messages of hate.

Maybe I'm wrong, and there is something I haven't found. I hope I'm wrong. I hope Billy Graham loved people just as they are, and didn't try to change them or vilify them because of their gender or sexual identity. I hope he wasn't as problematic as those who use his teachings as a blueprint for Christian living seem to be.

I hope I haven't offended you, but if you're reading this and you're thinking, "Naomi, you are walking very close to the edge of fallacy here," just remember, God is larger than we could ever comprehend and maybe what we believe isn't correct or right. Are you willing to die on that hill, or are you willing to cast a wide net and expand your definition of God and love? I hope Billy Graham was the latter, but when it comes to Rev. Graham, so many of us have experienced the former.

Gratitudes:

My editor, for being understanding when I can't hit deadlines.
Veterinarians who are kind and resourceful
Virtue and Moir for being awesome

Shame

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Fri, 26 Jan 2018 08:03:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Vets with emergency hours who can talk me down when Velcro Dog is sick in the middle of the night.
Community. When you find that person/group of people who get you, it feels like coming home.
Sunshine that streams through the windows and creates little pockets of heat for Velcro Dog to nap in.

I haven't blogged in a while, and that's because I've been tearing my novel apart and putting it back together. More on that on my author blog later.

I've been thinking a lot about shame recently. I've been doing some research for my short series on what I feel are false beliefs within some flavors of Christianity. I have two more posts to write, and they will happen once my revisions are submitted to my editor.

In the meantime, I've been thinking a lot about shame. It's been a theme for me in the last couple of months. Someone may say something to me, something passive aggressive or casually judgemental, and I start to feel a fist close around my lungs. And my spirit shrinks, trying to take up as little space as possible. Any joy I felt prior to that comment leaches away.

The worst is when someone I care about, someone who cares about me, makes these comments and dismisses them because they don't understand why I enjoy certain things, -- Marvel movies for example -- or why I engage in social media. Or why I blog something for the entire world to see. Since they don't understand and their personal belief is that these things are a waste of time or worse, they feel emboldened to use shame to communicate their judgement of me.

And I deflate as shame presses in on me. My entire being feels...lost.

Shame is a powerful feeling. It encompases our entire identity.

Research indicates that when we feel shame, we globally de-value our entire sense of self. It is basically as if our physiology is telling us that (in our heads and hearts) we are a rather worthless person. (Shame, Shame, Shame)

That feeling you get where you feel you're completely unworthy and worthless - that's shame. And it eats away at the very core of who we are. So what can we do to counteract shame? According to all the reading and work I've done around shame, one of the keys is to become an integrated and authentic person.

Shame is ubiquitous in our world. Parents shame children to get them to quickly fall in line. Spouses shame each other, either to mask their own pain or to get their way. Teachers shame students. Employers shame employees. Abusers use shame to make their abuse about the other person and keep them quiet. Christians shame fellow Christians and people outside their faith. Countries shame other countries. It's an epidemic. Why? My opinion, because shame works quickly to get people to shut up and step in line. It's a powerful tool, but one that should never be used.

Shame is all about identity. It cuts to our core and makes us doubt everything we think we know about ourselves. Of course it's going to garner quick results, but it devastates people in the process. There is no building up a person where shame is involved.

I'm learning to connect to my identity and to listen to that quiet voice inside myself that holds the truth about who I am. I'm re-entering therapy with a focus on identity. And to process some of my shame triggers. It's time to untangle the threads of shame from the tapestry of my life. I need to stop shame from eating away at me.

I hope your life is free of shame. If it isn't, it's important to figure out your shame triggers and false beliefs that surround them. You can do this in a few ways:

Therapy - a good therapist is worth their weight in gold.
Read Brené Browns books, or watch her TED talks, or YouTube videos - she discusses so much more than shame. I highly recommend her.
Spend time journaling - you can gain a lot of insight about yourself through journaling
Practice mindfulness - a great book on mindfulness is Mindfulness: An Eight-Week Plan for Finding Peace in a Frantic World

Photo by frankieleon via Flickr (CC by 2.0)

Of Systemic Misogyny and Politics

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Tue, 17 Oct 2017 01:06:00 +0000

WARNING: I'm about to be political because I can't separate my politics from my beliefs and point of view. There may also be swearing. Skip this post if you want. I won't judge.

I've had some interesting conversations with people lately where the conversation has turned to the 2016 presidential election and why they voted for the current President of the United States (POTUS). I'm going to be honest, the election was brutal and I see a lot of fall out, know many people who are scared they are going to lose basic civil and/or human rights. Who have known this country I currently call home was built on racism and marginalization and the roots of this have never been dealt with. Who are not surprised when racism and Islamomisia and homomisia stepped out of the shadows and into every day life as though we were thrown back into the 50s. I wrote about these things in this post. Today is for a slightly different post.

When I have had these conversations a few things always bubble up:

Misogyny
Perceived persecution against Christians
Illegal immigration

These are not the only reasons some of the people I know voted for POTUS. They are the reasons I've heard over and over again. These have been gnawing on me, poking at my spirit until I couldn't contain it any longer and this post came spilling out. I'm going to try to organize my thoughts, for myself and for you, my reader. So I'm going to break this into three different posts.

First, misogyny. If you look in any dictionary you will see a simple and yet complex definition which basically states misogyny is a hatred of women. Men can hate women. Women can hate women. Nonbinary people can hate women. It's a systemic result of a culture and society that is based on patriarchy, which is basically a society where men have ultimate power. The USA is based upon a patriarchal societal and political system.

I'm not going to go into a historical breakdown of how governmental, social, and religious systems have evolved to create an environment where this is normalized, nor am I going to go into all the ways women have fought to change these very systems. What I am going to try to do is give you something to consider and think about.

When men make the rules they get to make them in such a way that benefits them first. They may not be consciously thinking they want to treat women like second class citizens, but it's often what happens. Why? Systemic misogyny and social conditioning. Think about it. How many women are in positions of leadership in your religious institution? How many are making decisions that impact everyone, not just women's or children's ministries? How many women represent your congressional district or state at the state and federal levels of Congress? How many women are in positions of leadership and make policy decisions where you work?

Growing up who made most of the decisions in your home? At school how many girls were encouraged to take STEM courses? How many boys were encouraged to take traditionally female courses like home economics? If you are a gamer, how many women do you game with?

When you're together with the "guys" what type of language do you use? Do you mock women? Is the language you use when referring to women language you wouldn't use if a woman was present with you? Do you tantalize with tales of sexual exploits? Do you use terms such as pussy as a put down toward men? Are you aware this type of speech is derogatory and actually puts down women?

If you identify as female are you competitive around other women? Do you judge women who are different than you as being less? Do you consider women who choose to not have children as not living up to their biological imperative? Have you engaged in "mean girl" behavior? Do you believe that women have no place in leadership? In the sciences? Sports? When you are out with your female friends does conversation often turn to tearing down a fellow woman of your mutual acquaintance?

If you're a parent, do you treat your daughters and sons differently? Do you tease your daughters about being sensitive (or your sons for that matter)? Do you tell your sons to man up, that real men don't cry, don't throw like girls, aren't sensitive? Do you encourage all your children to learn more about the things that interest them, even if these things aren't traditionally male or female dominated? Do you teach your sons how to sew, cook, and clean, empathize? Do you teach your daughters how to change their oil, do yard work, build things? Do you divide chores along more traditional gender lines? If your daughters are athletically included, to you encourage them to play sports? If your sons are artistically inclined, do you encourage them in the arts?

When women shares stories of sexual harassment or assault, do you point out ways she contributed to her own assault? Do you laugh it off? Do you wave of predatory male behavior as boys being boys? Do you wittingly (or unwittingly) teach boys that no doesn't really mean no? That women really mean try harder? That male aggression in relationships is appropriate?

Do you believe that a woman does not have what it takes to lead a country? That a man, no matter his character, would be a better fit than a woman because a man would be able to make the difficult decisions without emotion or sentimentality?

You may want to think about your answers and the beliefs behind them. Especially any beliefs that seem to place inequality between men and women. Or make women seem less somehow than men. Are these beliefs you have because it's always been that way? Because it's what you've been taught at home, at school, by your religious leaders? If the answer to this is yes, congratulations, you've just uncovered some systemic misogyny. And now that you're aware of this, you can do the work of soul searching and research to determine if these are beliefs worth holding.

How is this playing out in light of the 2016 election? Many men and women voted for a man who had never held political office before in his life over a woman who, politically speaking, was far more qualified for the office of president. The reasons for this are varied - racism, fear, misogyny, greed, to name a few. But misogyny did play a part.

The other way we are seeing this play out is with the ACA health care repeal bill. Don't believe me, check pages 196 to 209 of the Congressional Record for the latest Senate amendment to the proposed bill H.R. 1629 - American Health Care Act of 2017, submitted on 9/13/2017 by Senators Cassidy and Graham. If you're able to slog through both the bill and the latest proposed amendment (which I believe was voted down by the Senate), and if you've read the latest executive action you'll notice that a woman's right to birth control to be covered by health insurance provided by her employer is at risk. You'll also notice that there are broad restrictions proposed for reproductive health. Specifically female reproductive health.

Birth control, maternity care, new born care, the ability to use Medicaid to cover family planning and reproductive health services at Planned Parenthood (which does not and never has included abortion). Notice that these directly impact people who have a uterus? To some degree this impacts anyone who may have children, male, female, nonbinary. But by and large if you have a working uterus these impact you. Why? Some have said it's because not everyone should have to subsidize another person's birth control. Some have said it's because these types of services impose upon their religious beliefs.

To the first I say, you have no idea how insurance works. We all pay into the insurance pool. This is how it works for homeowner's insurance, renter's insurance, auto insurance. We all pay our premiums and we all hope we don't have to use our coverage to cover an accident or a fire. Someone will need to use the monies paid into the insurance pools, and we hope to god it's not us. So just because you're a sixty year old man who is no longer planning on having children doesn't mean you don't have to pay into a pool that covers individuals who are using birth control for family planning or to regulate health issues. If that were the case, I would want to opt out of paying for your erectile dysfunction medication. No one ever died because he couldn't have an erection, after all.

To the second I say it's more complicated than imposing upon your beliefs. We live in a social system and it is to everyone's best interests that everyone within this system be given access to what they need to be healthy. This means offering the broadest health coverage that can be offered. And educating yourself on the medical benefits as well as societal benefits of these types of services. For example, birth control is used for treating severe acne, regulating menstrual flow, treating health conditions such as PCOS and endometriosis. Access to birth control can lead to fewer unwanted pregnancies and better quality of life for women and nonbinary people who live in poverty.

Also, did you know that there wasn't a single woman or nonbinary individual on the committees in the House and Senate who wrote the new healthcare bill and who penned the current amendment? Not one single woman or nonbinary individual who has a uterus. Our health care decisions are being made by men. And the message I walk away with is that women matter less. This may not be their intent, but that's what's being perceived. Because if men and women were truly equal in all ways there would be an equal number women to men involved in making policies that impact all people. There would be no need to debate which services should be mandatory in health care coverage because services that impact women would be just as important to the the services that impact men, that impact nonbinary people.

These are all symptoms of systemic misogyny. I'm not immune to my own internalized misogyny and have had to take years to unpack my beliefs. Am still unpacking my beliefs and values in light of what I learn. I know this, however, for politicians to serve everyone in this nation equally, systemic misogyny needs to be routed out and replaced with true equality. We aren't there yet. I thought we might be getting close but now, not so much.

Gratitudes:

Timothy Omundson for his amazing acting, dancing, and singing. I watched two seasons of Galavant just to hear you sing!
The quiet in the house right now. The only sounds I hear are the furnace and the clack of the keyboard as I write this post and the stillness and quiet is like oxygen to a starving soul.
Unexpected gifts, be they words, pictures, tokens, time. I am honored every time I receive one.

Photo by elenghan via Flickr (CC by 2.0)

Of Blogs and Habits

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Tue, 12 Sep 2017 00:19:00 +0000

I'm a sporadic blogger. I've come to this conclusion many times over the last decade. While we were on vacation last week I brainstormed things that could help me blog on a more regular basis.

Write a series of posts on a single topic, where I sit down and write all the posts at once and schedule them out one per week.
Post daily gratitudes and a picture representing the gratitudes.
Blog about the book I'm currently reading - as in blog my reactions to the book, kind of like live tweeting during a TV show.
Link to interesting websites/blogs/articles I've read and share why I thought they were interesting
Do nothing and blog sporadically and never really develop my blog beyond what it is

I love all these ideas, especially the last one since it doesn't require any changes on my part. However, I also know my weaknesses and ever since I've quit my job my internal locus of control has been AWOL. Even if I use my calendar to schedule tasks, I have become very good at ignoring them.

That said, if I'm going to make any type of money as a writer I need to make peace with deadlines and task lists. Earlier this summer I brushed off my Pomodoro Technique notes and purchased a timer for my iPad. This has been helpful for focusing on writing in twenty-five minute sprints. I used to do #1k1h drills where the goal is to write 1000 words in an hour. That worked great when I had an hour lunch break at work and wanted to get in some writing. It's not as doable now. The dog won't let me focus for more than about 25 minutes at a time.

So maybe I need to take my Pomodoros and organize my tasks into 25 minute buckets and use my timer. And offer myself rewards for making task goals as well as writing/publishing goals. Hmmm, maybe.

And all of this is a way to say I hope to be blogging more often! Don't get too excited. ;-)

Gratitudes:

My laptop, which continues to plug along with no issues even though she is almost five years old.
Crisply flavored green tea, the perfect early autumn afternoon beverage.
My dentist. He's gentle and kind and funny and I adore him!

Photo by Jussi Linkola via Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

In Which I Have PRIDE

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Wed, 28 Jun 2017 22:44:00 +0000

I've been thinking about combining this blog with my blog on my author website, but I hesitate to combine the two because, well, I rather like the title of this blog. And the fact that I can blog about whatever I feel like, not just things I think will appeal to readers or fellow writers.

It's PRIDE month and that causes me to think about the various spiritual leaders and teachers I've had in my life and how being LBGTQIA+ was viewed as a sin. A bad thing. Something people need to be saved from.

I have so many LGBTQIA+ friends and acquaintances in my life and when I look at each and every one of them I don't see sinful or bad or people who need to be saved. I see compassionate, caring, and amazing people. I see my friends. I see people who are just like me. I see glimpses of God.

It feels as though there is this belief within certain Christian sects where it seems they get to pick and choose who benefits from the great commandment. Specifically loving their neighbour as themselves. Our neighbours are not just the people who live down the street. Our neighbours are the rest of the human race. If it was important enough for Jesus to paraphrase Leviticus 19:17-18, then I think it's important enough for us to take it seriously.

We need to love ourselves. We need to love our neighbours. Do we do that by telling our neighbours they are sinful and wrong and in danger of going to hell if they don't stop loving the people they love? I don't think so. I think we show people we love them by showing them compassion, but not judging, by not worrying about whether they are hell bound or not. It's not our call, and if we spent less time worrying about hell maybe we could spend more time worrying about the dignity and welfare of other people. More time getting to know people as just...people. More time seeing the beauty that resides within them.

It's PRIDE month and all month I've celebrated with joyful exuberance my friends who are LGBTQIA+. And I have been angered by the machinations of those who will not see these amazing people as people worthy of the same civil and human rights as any straight person in this country has just because they are straight. I love my friends. They are not less. They are not sinning. They are not somehow broken. They deserve a world where they can be exactly who they are without fear of recrimination. Or worse.

I haven't believed that God is displeased with the LGBTQIA+ community for a long time. I don't know if I ever believed it. As PRIDE month comes to a close all I can believe is that God loves people in all our messy glory. And so should we.

Gratitudes:

Iced tea, refreshing on a hot day.
The cooler summer weather.
Opportunities that seem to come out of nowhere.

Photo by Mattia Belletti via Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

Wonder Woman: Separating the Artist From the Art

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Thu, 08 Jun 2017 04:00:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Thunderstorms, which would be infinitely more enjoyable if Velcro Dog wasn't freaked out by them.
Writing "The End" at, well, the end.
Friends who believe in you enough to carry that belief for you when you don't believe in yourself.

Edited on 6/15/2017:
A reader passed on two more articles that may counterbalance the Salon article linked to at the bottom of my blog post.

I also encourage you to read her reply to this blog post as it offers some excellent points regarding why there is a rise of banning films containing Jewish content, the impacts of censorship, and the rise of antisemitism . While my post isn't about Wonder Woman, censorship, or Zionism, they were my jumping off point, perhaps the wrong jumping off point. Yes, we need to make space for people to experience something differently than we do, but we do not make space for hate. And we, I, need to educate ourselves on the issues we use as jumping off points or main thesis in our opinion pieces. This was absent from my original post, for which I apologize.

This weekend I saw Wonder Woman. The movie was wonderful. The action was spot on. The sacrifices made sense. The women were bad ass. And Diana Prince is front and center. As she should be since this movie is her origin story.

I know there has been at least one other superhero movie which featured a female superhero (Elektra for those who are wondering), but Wonder Woman is a female superhero icon and watching this movie made much younger me so very happy. I grew up watching Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman fighting crime on a weekly basis. I wanted to be Diana Prince. Even made myself bracelets and a diadem out of tin foil. This movie was important. It was long past due.

I know people who did not love the movie. Some because of the pacing. Others because it changed Diana's origin story. Still others for a myriad of other stylistic reasons. There are those people who, however, disliked the movie because of the lead actress. Gal Gadot is an Israeli actress. This is why the movie to be boycotted and banned in Lebanon and other countries. Gal Gadot is also seen as a Zionist, in part because she openly supported the Israeli attacks on Gaza in 2010. Some people look at Ms. Gadot and see these things and can't see past them to Diana Prince and Wonder Woman.

This post is not to debate Gal Gadot, Israel, or Zionism. It's not to debate intersectional feminism. It's not even to debate the movie itself. No, this post is my attempt to answer this question: Can we separate the artist from the art?

The answer is both yes and no. Yes, art can stand alone and speak to us as itself. No, because sometimes the artist has imbued so much of themself into their art that a person may not be able to view the art without overlaying the artists upon it. In other words, it's personal.

Why do we forgive certain celebrities for the pain and suffering they cause, but hold others in contempt forever? Maybe it's because some actions don't hit us where we live, while others eviscerate us, even if we weren't the target. Beliefs matter. Actions matter. And when we feel we are being ignored, attacked, gutted by the actions of someone we don't know, maybe that's because those actions trigger something deep within us.

Example time. These are from my real life, and while none of these examples are the political and ethical tripwires that are being discussed thanks to the lead actress in Wonder Woman, they both have left long term scars upon me.

I once knew a romance author who wrote some amazing stories. She was a bit of a pioneer with sex positivity back in the 90s. I got to know her online and we had some wonderful discussions. She started a web board, as was what authors often did in those days before Facebook and Twitter, and asked me to help moderate it. I was happy to. I loved her books. My interactions with her had been positive and informative. I wanted her social media presence to succeed. Until the day she threw a friend of mine under the bus in a very public and humiliating manner.

I cut ties with said author and her board. I couldn't support this brand of bullying (which is what it was). I haven't read a single book of hers since. Not because she's a horrible storyteller. Her books were beautifully written. But when I tried to read her beautiful stories, my stomach would clench and I would be thrown back to that day when she humiliated my friend. I couldn't separate the writer from her books. I still can't.

On the flip side, I am a fan of another author who also writes beautifully and I love her books. I had the chance to meet her at a conference. I happened to be in one of the public bathrooms when I overheard her complain about some of her fellow authors. It wasn't her best moment, and I left the bathroom feeling less sanguine about her as a person. I still enjoy her books, though I don't care if I ever meet her in person again and I'm less likely to recommend her books to others.

I've thought about why I feel so differently about these two authors. They both said hurtful things in a public forum (public bathrooms are public after all). They both write wonderful books. Why am I still able to appreciate the books of one and not the other? My opinion, it's because the Author A did something that hurt me personally. You mess with my friend, you mess with me. You don't apologize for hurting my friend, that hurts me as well. Author B was cutting in her words, but while she presented herself poorly, she didn't hurt me or mine.

Can we separate the artist from the art enough to enjoy the art as something that stands on it's own? Yes and no. It all depends on what triggers you deeply and personally. If the artist, actor, author, celebrity does something that affects you so deeply you can't help but think of that every time you come across said artist/actor/author/celebrity, then it's not very likely that you'll be able to set aside your distaste long enough to enjoy the art that individual produced.

And because it is so very personal, I think we need to create room for people to both love and hate the art while they love or hate the artist. And we need to listen when someone shares a view that is not our own. If someone feels strongly that Wonder Woman is not the feminist win for all women, we should listen to understand why. If someone boycotts the movie because of their perception of said actress' political leanings, then we need to create space for that. Even if we don't agree with the boycott or the reasons behind it.

I leave you with this final article regarding Wonder Woman, a thoughtful opinion piece about the potential implications of the movie: The confused, confusing nationalism behind “Wonder Woman”

I Met Charles Today

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Wed, 31 May 2017 01:35:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Gluten free vegan cupcakes that are fueling my current story. And my belly.
My husband. When he gets it right, he really gets it right.
Foxes on Twitter. Seriously, check out @hourlyfox on Twitter!

I met Charles today.

He was standing at a heavily travelled intersection near my home. An intersection I use at least once a day. An intersection where I often see people standing with homemade signs asking for a meal, money, a kind word. I'm often in the wrong lane to talk to anyone standing in the median, but today I saw Charles. And I was in the left turn lane right next to the median.

Charles is a large man. His sign looked worn and he looked tired. He had set a beat up backpack down at his feet and stood there, patiently, waiting to see if anyone of us who were stopped at the light would wave him over.

I had just purchased groceries, but they were in the trunk so I couldn't offer him any of the food I had purchased. But I had money. I pulled out a twenty from my wallet, rolled down my window and waved to him.

Charles limped over and when he took the cash from my hand there was a hesitancy in his reach. He canted his head in a way that made me think he had trouble seeing out of one of his eyes. I reached further out of my car window to make sure he had a good grasp on the bill, then I told him I hope it could help.

He was profusely grateful, blessed me. Told me to have a good day. I asked him if he needed more. I could come back with sandwiches and water or soda. Did he have somewhere to spend the night? Did he need a ride to a shelter? Cab fare? He told me he had somewhere to stay. What he didn't have was food for meals. And thank you for the offer but he wasn't going to be at this location much longer.

I don't know Charles' story. I don't know what events in his life coalesced to create a circumstance where he found himself standing on medians in intersections asking for money. I wish I had time to ask him, but our time was short as the light turned green and I had to drive away.

It's easy to look at people like Charles and assume they are lazy or on drugs or scamming everyone. I'm ashamed to admit in my younger years I made such assumptions. Then I met a woman at a downtown bus stop on November afternoon. I was off work early and waiting for a bus to take me to my park and ride. She was sitting in the shelter trying to stay warm. I had a crazy expensive cup of coffee and she looked tired and hungry. So I asked her if she wanted my coffee, set it on the bench beside her.

Charles reminded me of her. She was hesitant to take what I had offered. It was like life had held up promises of salvation only to yank them away at the last moment far too many times. I asked her if she worked downtown. She shook her head. So I asked her if she was warm enough. I could see her shivering. I was getting on a bus to head to my nice warm home. I was wearing a warm coat, warm clothes, a hat, scarf, gloves. She was dressed in tattered jeans, a lightweight sweater. Nothing else. So I took off my gloves, hat, and scarf and set them down next to the coffee.

She took my offerings, wrapping the scarf around her neck and put the hat on her head. The gloves sat on her lap as she wrapped her bare hands around the coffee cup. Breathed in the warmth and the scent before she took a long sip. Then she started to tell me she had lost her job six months prior, and with only a GED she was finding safe jobs that paid more than minimum wage difficult to find. She had just lost her apartment and was living with friends, but didn't think she would be able to stay long. When she lost her apartment, she lost most of her belongings because the landlord was holding them.

Homelessness and poverty are epidemics right now. In my experience most people don't want to see it. We see the homeless and the poor as other, as somehow less deserving. Or as an abstract concept. Most people don't want to believe homelessness or poverty could happen to them. I don't know about you, but my family is separated from homelessness by narrow gap. We have savings. My husband has a job. But I can't work right now. And the bank still owns a portion of our home. If A were to lose his job and not find one for some time, if medical expenses grow the way it looks like they may grow, well, we could use all our reserves. And if not become homeless, we could fall deep down the well of poverty.

And I know the well of poverty. I've lived in various flavors of poverty a few times in my life. My dad lost his job in the early 80s and I remember mom using food stamps to get groceries. Dad going door to door selling Watkins. Dad working in bush operating (and fixing) feller bunchers so he could provide for us. Mom and dad talking about the money we didn't have, certain they were being quiet enough that we wouldn't hear. Listening to the hushed tones of relatives who talked about the poor relations and realizing they meant us.

I remember being on my own for the first time and having barely enough money to afford my car and the room I rented. A was finish college and had a plan at the cafeteria and would often let me use his plan so I could eat. I made $800 gross a month working full time as a live out nanny and counted myself lucky to have a job and a place to live. When we were first married, I had left Canada to live in the United States and couldn't work until I got my green card. A had a barely better than minimum wage job. We purchased a mobile home almost as old as we were because we could afford the lot rent but we couldn't afford an apartment. And we made it work.

It took until I met that girl at the bus stop for me to build empathy for people who live in a cycle of poverty. And it took even longer to try to understand why that cycle exists in the first place.

I don't know if I'll ever learn Charles' story. Or learn of where his life takes him. I hope Charles is okay. I hope he has what he needs to sleep well tonight. Food, shelter, safety. I hope he is able to connect with the right resources for him. I hope others treat him with care and compassion. He's a person with a story. He deserves dignity. I hope he has more of that then he has judgement.

Photo by Rob Walsh via Flickr, CC0 1.0

Ups and Downs and Loneliness

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Sun, 28 May 2017 16:25:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Good friends who always seem to recommend the right books at the right times.
Tea Runners subscription tea service because OMG THIS TEA IS AMAZING PEOPLE!
Ylang Ylang essential oil diffusing through my house.

I'm gonna be honest, I've had a lot of ups and downs lately. Some of it I blame on the weather and the stupid ass spring we've been having. March was warm like April. April was by turns hot and cool with rain. May, I don't even want to talk about it.

While I can use weather as a gauge for how intense my pain and/or brain fog will be, weather isn't the only thing that can cause me to flare. Here is a short list of other things that contribute:

Eating foods known to have inflammatory properties such as the nightshade fruit and veggies, dairy, gluten/wheat, sugar, artificial sweetener, etc.
Stress. Any type of stress.
Over exerting myself.
Sunshine. I'm basically allergic to sunshine thanks to some of the meds I'm on, so spending time in the sun wears me out and can make me feel sick.
Poor quality sleep.

The worst thing about all of this? The fact that making plans to see people must be tentative or last minute. So I spend a lot of time in the house with Velcro Dog, practically counting the minutes until A gets home. It's lonely. I feel like I've lost people in my life because of this. Or, I feel as though I'm now THAT person who always cancels last minute and if I'm going to get together with someone it's going to be because I reach out first.

It's exhausting being the person to reach out. You know this. I know you do. You have people in your lives who you wouldn't see unless you reach out time and time again. Sometimes you sit and wonder if it's worth continuing to reach out. And sometimes the answer is no, it's not worth it.

I'm not judging anyone or looking for sympathy. We all have people in our lives who are THOSE people. Sometimes we are THOSE people. We all have to take care of ourselves, and sometimes that means letting some relationships fade.

That said, if you know someone who has physical or mental health issues that make it difficult for that person to get out and be with people, maybe shoot them a text to see how they are doing. Send them an email. Reach out via Facebook. Reaching out doesn't need to infer getting together. It's asking how someone is doing and meaning that you truly want to know. And listening.

I'm writing this to myself as much as to the world at large. I haven't been the best at reaching out much at all this year in general. Whether it's because I'm just tired of the whole dance or whether it's because it's been a crappy year so far and I'm not in the best headspace most of the time, I don't know. What I do know is that by not reaching out to people I genuinely care about I'm part of my own problem.

Well, if you've made it this far, thanks for sticking with this post. It's not my most cohesive writing. And I'm seriously NOT looking for sympathy. I'm a big girl. I'll figure my life out. It's more a friendly reminder that sometimes there are real reasons for people to be less active, or to seem to fall off the face of the earth. And this doesn't mean they are upset with you or have become hermits. So if someone crosses your mind, reach out. Let them know you miss them, that you're thinking of them. And if you're feeling it, ask them if there is anything you can do to help. Of if they would like some company.

This has been an incoherent rant by Naomi, sponsored by Insomnia. When you want to feel really bad about yourself, choose Insomnia. The better self-confidence inhibitor!

Photo by Danilo Virotta via Flickr (CC Atribution-Sharealike 2.0)

Provocative Thought Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Wed, 15 Mar 2017 15:21:00 +0000

I'm going back to something I started several years ago here at Chasing Inspiration. I'm bringing back Provocative Thought Wednesday! And yes, I can see you rolling your eyes over there. Stop it!

I'm a big fan of Michael Bungay Stanier and his coaching methodology of Get Unstuck and Get Going...On the Stuff That Matters. I have found myself stuck a lot in the last months on various things with my life and had a duh moment when I looked at this little book on my desk I use with clients. I can use the same method with myself! I flipped through Get Unstuck, found a quotation with some thought provoking questions and let my brain noodle on how that quotation and those questions might apply to my issue at hand. It's not the full coaching I do with clients, but it was enough to get me out of my head and into an action plan.

So, on Wednesdays I'm going to offer a provocative thought and hope you, like me, will find it a valuable way to get outside of your head and look at things in your life a little differently.

To restart out this feature on Chasing Inspiration, I give you the following:

James Joyce's Ulysses is one of the most famous books in English literature. It's long, dense and difficult to read - and truly worth the effort. The last chapter, known as 'Penelope' is the the most famous. In it you hear for the first time the voice of Leopold Bloom's wife, Molly. And most famous of all is the last sentence, where she says yes 43 times.

1. What are you saying Yes to?

2. What do you want to say Yes to?

Gratitudes:

Iced tea. Mmmmm.
Wild birds that rest in the trees in our yard and sing.
People who know far more about technology than I and are willing to sit with me and explain how things work. You are priceless!

You May Hate Me After This Post, And That's Okay

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Wed, 08 Mar 2017 20:02:00 +0000

Content Warning: I'm about to get political. And emotional. And voice strong opinions. You've been warned.

I've been writing this post since January 22nd. I've debated posting it. I've tried to tone down my very strong opinions. In the end, I had to speak because to remain silent, well, it just isn't an option.

I try to not be political on FB. Everyone has the right to their opinions and beliefs. And that's fine when we can all respect each other and have empathy and compassion and an openness to understand. But I see so many people legitimately fearing for their safety and even their lives. That does not come from a society where there is respect and compassion and empathy.

I'm white. I'm a Christian. I have tremendous privilege because of these two things. I am female so I don't have the same privilege as white males. I have chronic illness. And I am fat so I also do not have the same privilege as white women who are healthy and don't carry a lot of extra weight, but I still have a hell of a lot of privilege I didn't earn.

Many of my friends do not have the same privilege. They are black or brown or LGBTQI+ or disabled or Muslim or Jewish or Pagan or atheists or agnostics. Or some combination of of these. They have been living marginalized lives, even if that marginalization is difficult to see. In a country where value is placed heavily on specific race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and a very specific standard of health, how could anyone who does not fall into the "norm" not be marginalized?

We who are privileged often pat ourselves on the backs when something is done to make life better for those who are marginalized. And often we do so with arrogance. Even ignorance. This post isn't about privilege and what is broken in white Christian privilege. But this plays a part in what I'm about to voice next. Why? Because all we have done since the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s is apply bandages to the ever increasing problems of racism, sexism, misogyny, homomisia, sectarianism, etc. These issues have not been resolved. If anything, this election and the machinations of the current White House and Congress have not only shown us the cracks in our society, it has blown them wide open for the entire world to see.

I did not vote for Trump. I'm not a citizen so I can't vote. But I would not have voted for Trump. My view is not just political or just about how government is run. It's because Trump is a man who is vile. Yes, I said it, vile. He does not love truth or honesty. How could I vote for someone who seemingly celebrates the exact opposite of the teachings of Jesus?

I heard the hate he was spouting during the campaign. I saw the rise of something I consider ugly at his rallies. I saw fear tip into hate and hate tip into something even more dangerous. But I hoped people would see the man and not the rhetoric and would not be complicit in putting such a person in the role of President.

Then I realized all my hopes were in vain. Because of white evangelicals. More specifically white women who identify as evangelicals (and don't get me started on American evangelicalism). Because it was more important to ensure an imaginary judge would be appointed to the supreme court in order to overturn the right to a safe and legal abortion. Because it was more important to bring a religious belief system even more deeply into government. Because apparently morality needs to be legislated based on "Christian" beliefs. Because racism is so deeply rooted it's a systemic issue. Because sexism is rampant in many white Christian circles. Rampant among white Christian women, not just men. Because pointing the finger at someone else as the cause of why I'm unhappy is the great American past time.

When my marginalized friends tell me they are more afraid now than before the election, I try to listen and understand. I haven't lived a marginalized life so I need to shut up and just listen to their fears, their stories, their anger. And draw upon empathy and learn to see the world through their eyes. We who are privileged need to do this. It's not enough to sit back and comment from our computers or couches or churches. We need to step out. And step up.

I saw this during the Women's March on January 21st. Women, and men, of all colors, ethnicities, sexual orientations joining together to protest against misogyny and hate. Not all men are bad. But this country is legislated and run primarily by men. White men. Women NEED to have a seat at the table when it comes to reproductive rights, to equal pay, to ending sexual harassment.

But more than that, we need to shut up so we can hear the stories of the marginalized. And we need to step aside so they can step in. We shouldn't be the white saviour who makes the world a better place for everyone. We aren't the answer. We are part of the damn problem. White women get in the way of black women, of brown women. White people get in the way of black people, of brown people. Able bodied people stomp over the rights of the disabled and chronically ill. Heterosexuals often belittle the plight of those who identify as LGBTQI+.

Why does my voice matter more than yours? It shouldn't. Just as my life experience shouldn't invalidate yours. My religious views should not run roughshod over your own. My privilege shouldn't take away from you.

It's going to take years to get this right. There is a lot wrong with this country. A lot of systemic issues that we need to take a look at. Apologize for. Change. Fears that are going to take decades of us trying to do things right, failing, and trying again before people can start to believe things are going to be different.

But we need to start. Congress and the White House, those people work for us. For we the people. We can't forget that. So continue to call, to march, to resist if you don't agree with what is taking place. That goes for local government as well.

And if you are sitting back and think the direction our politicians are taking us in is fine, that all these people who are pushing back are crazy, take a moment and listen before you pass judgment. Really listen. Set aside your ego, your beliefs, your own fears and listen. And don't let shame or guilt or anger keep you from listening deeply.

We've all screwed things up. Now we need to own it and work to make restitution and seek reconciliation. Isn't that what Christians are supposed to do?

Gratitudes:

Patricia Briggs, whose husband Mike passed away unexpectedly in January. She is touring for her new book despite this. You are brave and kind and loved, Patty! Admired even. I'm so sorry for your loss. Nothing can replace Mike. And nothing should.
Sunshine.
Time to heal, as healing quite often takes time.

Photo by Liz Lemon

Of Archbishops and Dalai Lamas

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Fri, 28 Oct 2016 23:22:00 +0000

I am slowly making my way through The Book Of Joy by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and Douglas Abrams.

These three men are from very different worlds. And these three men from different socio-economic, faith, and racial backgrounds joined together to write a book about joy. I was intrigued from the moment I first learned of this book. While I believe in God, I do not believe that my faith background holds all the truth there is to be learned about life and compassion, about God. The world is too big, God is too large for that to be so. And it warmed me that a Buddhist, a Christian, and a Jew could forge such bonds of friendship with each other. Could delight in each other.

Which is part of why I'm slowly reading this book. Normally, I would devour it quickly and move on to the next book. I love knowledge and learning. Sometimes I love it more than the application of knowledge. Knowing this about myself, and knowing that joy is something that has been on my mind for the last three years, I made the decision to enter into this book with intentionality. This might be my only opportunity to learn at the feet of two men I admire greatly and a man they admire. I was going to make the most of it.

The forward sets the tone for the book, and within the forward are these paragraphs:

No dark fate determines the future. We do. Each day and each moment, we are able to create and re-create our lives and the very quality of human life on our planet. This is the power we wield.

Lasting happiness cannot be found in pursuit of any goal or achievement. It does not reside in fortune or fame. It resides only in the human mind and heart, and it is here that we hope you will find it.

Lama, Dalai; Tutu, Desmond; Abrams, Douglas Carlton (2016-09-20). The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World (p. ix). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

I read these words and had to put the book down and let the words wash over me, through me. In these words is permission. Permission to choose. Permission to create and dream. To wrest back our ability to act from the hands of everything around us that wants to lay siege upon our will. We are put back into the driver's seat.

But how? How do we find joy? Especially if it is not happiness. And is not found in accomplishments? If joy is an internal state, what must be done to find it? And live in joy in a world filled with suffering? Some of this comes down to choice:

They offer us the reflection of real lives filled with pain and turmoil in the midst of which they have been able to discover a level of peace, of courage, of joy that we can aspire to in our own lives. Their desire for this book is not just to convey their wisdom but their humanity as well. Suffering is inevitable, they said, but how we respond to that suffering is our choice. Not even oppression or occupation can take away this freedom to choose our response. (p. 7)

And resilience, I think, though so far this term has not been used in the book (I'm still mulling over the introduction and first chapter), but resilience applies to how Archbishop Tutu describes life with joy in the face of suffering:

Discovering more joy does not, I’m sorry to say...save us from the inevitability of hardship and heartbreak. In fact, we may cry more easily, but we will laugh more easily, too. Perhaps we are just more alive. Yet as we discover more joy, we can face suffering in a way that ennobles rather than embitters. We have hardship without becoming hard. We have heartbreak without being broken. (p. 12)

Joy seems to spill over from empathy and compassion. From feeling deeply. Which sometimes scares me. If I don't feel too deeply, then I'm not going to expose myself to too much pain. Isn't this what we learn? That feeling deeply leads to deep pain? But what if it doesn't? What if feeling deeply, or empathy and compassion, actually leads to resilience? It's something I am questioning for myself.

The Dalai Lama builds on this, and stresses the inner life. That the core of our joy, of our strength, is within. And that this is the same for all people, regardless of race, religion or creed:

It does not matter whether one is a Buddhist like me, or a Christian like the Archbishop, or any other religion, or no religion at all. From the moment of birth, every human being wants to discover happiness and avoid suffering. No differences in our culture or our education or our religion affect this. From the very core of our being, we simply desire joy and contentment. But so often these feelings are fleeting and hard to find, like a butterfly that lands on us and then flutters away.

The ultimate source of happiness is within us. Not money, not power, not status. Some of my friends are billionaires, but they are very unhappy people. Power and money fail to bring inner peace. Outward attainment will not bring real inner joyfulness. We must look inside. (p. 14)

I'm chafing a little at the thought that the ultimate source of joy is within. I was taught we are created in God's image and all good things come from God. Joy comes from God. At the same time, this makes sense. Joy is intensely personal. It may spill over from within onto the people around us, but it starts with us. With me. And if the source of joy is within me, that doesn't detract from God. Or from human evolution. Or social science. It shows just how amazing humanity can be.

The Book of Joy is going to be a very interesting journey. It's already doing it's best to stretch my understanding, which is a very good thing.

Gratitudes:

Chocolate coconut water.
The loamy scent of autumn.
Silence.

Resources:

Lama, Dalai; Tutu, Desmond; Abrams, Douglas Carlton (2016-09-20). The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World. Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Photo by John Taylor

Velcro Dog, Fur, and Me

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Fri, 28 Oct 2016 19:00:00 +0000

I've been battling what is likely a mix of allergies and a sinus cold. For almost two weeks. I'm just sick enough to run out of energy quickly, but not sick enough to snuggle on the couch and watch movies all day. It's a balancing act, this thing called life.

Today I am going to tackle the floors. There is enough dog hair on the floor to gather and spin into yarn. Which I'm not going to do. I'm a wee bit allergic to my dog and if we are going to enjoy living together, the floors need to swept up at least every other day and someone (usually me) needs to groom Velcro Dog to release the fur that continues to shed. When we were told he is half Vizsla I almost wept for joy because most Vizslas I have met don't shed a lot. Velcro Dog is also half Labrador Retriever. He sheds like a Lab. I love him anyway.

Due to the lack of real energy, and the fact that Mountain Man has been out of town this week for work, the floors haven't been dry mopped. Hence the carpet of fur.

Every day I have to choose what to tackle. Every day I have to remind myself that it's okay for there to be tasks still on my task list. Every day I remind myself what I have actually accomplished so I can look back and recognize that I was productive. Productive just has to mean something different right now than it did a few years ago.

Today, it's the floors. Hopefully the kitchen counters. And if I'm lucky, the cheque book. And that's just fine.

Gratitudes:

Whoever invented fleece should be honored and revered. Without fleece, I would be freezing my ass off on my daily Velcro Dog walks.
Lin-Manuel Miranda. He is so full of positive. I love him. But not as much as his wife does. Honest.
Archbishop Tutu and the Dalai Lama because no matter what they have been through in this world they have been able to seek living a life of joy.

When Grief is Messy

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Mon, 17 Oct 2016 09:20:00 +0000

Warning: if you are family, you may want to stop reading. I love you all, but I needed a place to process, and maybe my process will help others.

In July we visited family in Victoria, British Columbia. Which is one of the most gorgeous spots in all of Canada. I admit I'm biased because I am Canadian, even if I'm living in the USA. The trip was not for pleasure, though there was much to enjoy. No, this trip was because of the death of my last living grandparent. My grandmother. My mother's mother. A woman who is part of my earliest memories. Memories that I now know were the foundation for some of my neuroses.

I want to say I had a good relationship with her, but honestly, we never connected. She was critical and wanted different things from me than I wanted from myself. She was verbally abusive. She had done a number on my mother. How do I know this? My mom would become this pale shadow of herself whenever Grandma was around. I think I hated the woman because of all the times she reduced my mother to tears. I think the child in me lost some respect for my mother for all the times she wasn't strong.

The adult me knows that trauma untreated will not heal true. When a broken bone isn't set, it doesn't heal properly. Even if set properly, the healed bone will always be different than if it had never been through the trauma of a break. We are like that. If we are emotionally battered down until we stop seeing ourselves and see only the thing our abuser wants us to see, we are like that broken bone. Even if we get out from under the situation, unless we go through the work to release ourselves from the trauma, we will never be reset. We will live as though the trauma is happening to us right now.

I'm writing this at 3:30 in the morning, otherwise I would take the time to find references for the above paragraph. Please let it be enough to know that I was a therapist for a time, and continue to keep updated with the latest in psychology. And trauma is an area I am very familiar with.

My grandmother had good points. She had a dry sense of humor. She took family seriously. She took on the task of taking care of my grandfather, who she loved fiercely. I don't have a memory where Grandpa wasn't in need of some form of care or pain management. She did that because she loved him. She was the primary caregiver for her mother when Alzheimers stole her independence along with her mind. She worked hard.

But that wasn't enough to erase her cruel side. The side that told a four year old me that I was never going to be good enough. The side that made sure that when my brother and I spoke of our dreams for a future, she would shoot them down, telling us we had champagne taste on a beer budget. Translation: we were over reaching our status. We were from working class people and we would always be working class people. Which is partially true. Dad was a blue collar worker. But who tells children to dream small because life is small?

When I was fifteen or sixteen, I spent two weeks with Grandma and Grandpa. I took the bus to Victoria, rode the ferry from Vancouver on my own. It was a fabulous trip! I loved the adventure. And I tried to be a good guest. I kept my room clean. I helped with meals and dishes. I tried to be small enough that Grandma's cruel side wouldn't notice me. It worked until the day I wore shorts. Then I got the lecture on how by the act of wearing shorts I was sending a message to all males that I want to be raped. I shook my head, it was just Grandma, after all. But something in me started to feel ashamed of my body. Scared that maybe I was responsible for what others think and feel about my presence. Add this to the script of "You're not good enough" and we have a recipe for confusion and years of not believing I was worth anything good that came into my life. All good things were suspect.

It was after this that there was an outward change. In all the pictures taken after that visit I am not smiling, knowing the world is one huge adventure waiting to explore. Instead, I'm withdrawn, even frowning. I didn't want to be near Grandma. Deep down I knew she was toxic for me. But I didn't have the vocabulary to explain this to any one. And therapy wasn't on my radar until college.

I cut the ties after my high school graduation. I wore this beautiful dress that my mom's friend made for me. It was strapless and amazing. I felt like a heroine from a novel when I put it on. I never wanted to take it off. When I stepped into our living room to show my grandparents my dress, she sneered and told me I looked like a slut. What should have been an amazing day became one of the most horrible days in my life. And I told Grandma that other than visits with mom and dad I was done. I was eighteen.

These examples aren't meant to vilify. They are only to illustrate my relationship with Grandma. I eventually started therapy. Got my MS in Psychology. Worked with trauma survivors. Had more therapy. I needed to take out the thorns that were festering in my soul and my psyche, then I had to do the hard work of healing. I'm not all the way there yet. Trauma changes a person. Abuse leaves it's mark. Our experiences become a part of our DNA. They leave us changed from who we might have been.

I left Victoria and my family with mixed feelings. Relief. Sadness. Anger. I was relieved that her suffering was over and her spirit had moved on to somewhere that could heal the trauma and pain she could not, or would not, heal in life. Relieved because maybe in death the stranglehold she had on her daughters would end, so they could breathe and live and heal. Sad because all around my family were the fingerprints of her - the good and the bad. Angry because she never extended to me the type of relationship she extended to younger cousins. She never showed that side of herself to me. Even two years ago when I saw her last, she didn't talk to me without the side of her personality that was critical and cruel.

Maybe some of that is on me. I cut her out of my life because I couldn't grow as a person with her still in it. I hated the pieces of her that were sharp and quick to cut. I loved the parts of her that were wry and loyal. I was sad for the parts of her that were damaged and bleeding.

Maybe it hurt so much when her china went to a younger cousin because I was the oldest and she had told me she would pass it down to the oldest. But I had walked away and my cousin had not.

Maybe it hurt so much when at her funeral I was introduced to this caring, tender woman, a woman I didn't recognize because whatever tenderness she may have shown me was buried under the tsunami of judgement.

Maybe being the oldest grandchild is a lot like being the oldest child, and Grandma made her mistakes with me so she could be a better grandmother to others.

Maybe I reminded her too much of the self she lost along the way. Or maybe not.

It's messy, saying goodbye to someone who has hurt you. It's tricky walking the line between utter relief and compassion for those who are grieving more deeply than myself. My grief is less the loss of a person who's love and light embraced me, and more an ability to finally take a breath. How do you explain that to family? I don't know. If you have the answer, please let me know.

Gratitudes:

The wisdom living brings.
My husband, who walks with me, even when I drag him through the messiness of life.
The stillness of night.

Photo by x1klima

In Being Flawed

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Wed, 12 Oct 2016 03:47:00 +0000

Do you know what I love about movies like Bad Moms? It's about flawed people trying to do the best they can. Sometimes they get it right. Sometimes they get it very wrong. Sometimes they do everything right but still get kicked in gut for trying. And somehow they find the way to get up every morning and try to do their best again.

I'm not a mom, but I know a lot of moms who work hard raising children, hoping they become strong, healthy adults. I'm a woman so I know what it's like to be a woman in today's world. How sometimes as a woman it doesn't matter what you say or what you do, you're either too much or too little. How the rules seem to be different between men and women. Against one group of women to another. I know what it's like to be called overly emotional for being passionate about something. Or overly sexual for wearing something that makes me feel fabulously alive but shows too much skin. Being called a bitch because I call someone on their behavior. Or have a strong opinion. Or just because I breath.

And sometimes I feel like no matter what I do I'm still going to be too little or too much. I'm never going to be just right.

We are all flawed people. In someone's eyes we are going to be too little or too much. Everyone has an opinion and judgements and insecurities. Everyone is trying to find a way to keep getting up every morning. For some, this may be easy. For the person secure in who she is and who has her back, it may be easy to shrug off the naysayers and push forward. For others, it might be very, very difficult.

Sometimes we are our own enemies. Raise your hand if you have ever told yourself you were stupid, inept, or a failure. If you have looked at yourself in the mirror and berated yourself for being in Vogue shape. If you have made a mistake and have not forgiven yourself. If you hate something about yourself. If you do something for yourself and feel guilty after. If you look at the people around you and judge yourself for not being just like them. If you have looked at the lives of other people and hate them just a little for being better than your life.

Maybe if we are trying to live an ethical life, if we try to be kind to people, to be compassionate, to strive to become better versions of ourselves just a little every day (or week, or month. I'm not judging), then maybe we can let up on ourselves. Maybe when we make mistakes, we own them and try to learn from them, then we can stop berating ourselves. Maybe if we allow ourselves to believe we are worthy of kindness and compassion we can stop feeling guilty. Maybe if we acknowledge that there are bad days where our shit falls apart, we can start being kind to ourselves.

Maybe if we stop looking at the lives of other people as the bar we hold ourselves to, we can be kind and compassionate and generous to others. If we want to love our neighbour, maybe we need to learn to love ourselves.

It is Yom Kippur, and though I am not Jewish, I find something compelling with this Jewish high holiday. One of the passages read on Yom Kippur is from Deuteronomy and is about choice. Choose a path of forward momentum and growth and light, or choose to stay mired in mindsets and choices that are slowly destroying us.

Move forward into a space of opportunity and growth or remain trapped within perils of the past and fears of the future? The choice seems obvious enough, but the path to renewal is far from easy. Choosing “life and prosperity” requires us to recognize our previous misgivings, but it also challenges us to accept whatever consequences lie ahead. (Reform Judaism)

While this isn't all that is encompassed within Yom Kippur, and I apologize right now to my Jewish friends and family for distilling what is a day of huge import down to a question of choice, I find it important to ask myself, am I willing to choose the more difficult path? The high road is lonely. Change is hard. Being honest with myself means being honest with others. Even if that honesty requires me to go low and apologize and offer reparations for something I have done that has had negative effects on someone.

Yes, we are all flawed people. And we will make mistakes and our shit will come undone. Despite it all are we willing to make a choice toward becoming our better selves?

Gratitudes:

Movies and books about flawed people.
Velcro Dog urging me to leave the house every morning. Not for my benefit, for his, but it's all good.
The gentle love of my friends, even when I don't always love myself.

Photo by Pomax

Feeling Disconnected

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Fri, 07 Oct 2016 18:27:00 +0000

One of the most difficult things for me right now is this feeling of disconnection.

In my post-work life, I spend a lot of time alone. I'm usually great with being alone. I read. I write. I walk the dog. I knit. I watch television or movies. I like me some alone time. The problem is that the majority of my time is alone time right now.

Chronic health issues can make a person's world shrink. I don't know when I'll have the energy to go out and spend time with people. When I make plans, I'm not able to look into the future to see if I'll actually be able to follow through. It makes me hesitate to step outside myself.

I'm not worried about people judging me for having to cancel at the last minute. All. The. Time. I do worry about inconveniencing people. In the past I would force my body into compliance and would do everything in my power to keep those plans. Today, it's easier to not make plans to begin with.

By not making plans, I lose touch with people. And losing touch with people means there are fewer people in my life. And fewer people in my life means my world is shrinking.

But what about the internet, you ask? Yes, what about the internet. Social media is supposed to expand our world, isn't it? There are more people out there to connect with, albeit virtually.

Intimacy can be found online, but one has to work at it. And having hundreds of friends on Facebook does not mean a person has people solidly in her corner. Sure, there are billions of people online and sure I can find like minded individuals with whom I can build relationships. But just as in the physical world, this takes time and effort. And there are days that can go by, weeks even, where I don't log into Facebook or Twitter. There are days I don't even check email.

This feeling of disconnection, it's on me. The state of my relationships, that's on all parties involved. But no matter how many people I have in my life supporting me, only I can do something about feeling alone. Disconnected. Lonely. I can reach out when the days feel too long and too disconnected. I can get my ass out of my house and go somewhere with live people and strike up a conversation. I can text someone to see if they want to get together for a last minute coffee date. Or lunch. Or a walk. Or to see a movie together.

I can't expect people to magically know just how alone I feel at times. I need to actually tell people. I need to actually *gasp* ask for help.

I am thankful for every person in my life who has been willing to live with my current inconsistent brand of friendship.

Gratitudes:

Brand new days, because they are kind of like do-overs.
Holy basil and rose petal tea.
The internet.

Melancholia and Me

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Fri, 07 Oct 2016 02:58:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Looking at the rain from our newish porch. It's fantastic!
The Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu - they are amazing men with a shared message of joy and compassion.
Rawhides. They are for dogs what the TV is for small children. Don't judge!

I'm not going to lie, it's been a rough week. As I have stated before on this blog, I have situational depression, which means I have short term depressive episodes that are triggered by circumstance or situation. While this is not clinical depression, it does share symptomology: depressed mood, feelings of hopelessness, crying, changes in sleep, changes in appetite, etc. It can lead to major depression if the situational depression isn't addressed.

I am also naturally more melancholy in mood. Melancholia is not depression, as Eric G. Wilson explores in his book Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy:

There is a fine line between what I’m calling melancholia and what society calls depression. In my mind, what separates the two is degree of activity. Both forms are more or less chronic sadness that leads to ongoing unease with how things are — persistent feelings that the world as it is is not quite right, that it is a place of suffering, stupidity, and evil. Depression (as I see it, at least) causes apathy in the face of this unease, lethargy approaching total paralysis, an inability to feel much of anything one way or another. In contrast, melancholia (in my eyes) generates a deep feeling in regard to this same anxiety, a turbulence of heart that results in an active questioning of the status quo, a perpetual longing to create new ways of being and seeing.

Please know that I'm not attempting to minimize clinical depression. This is a very real dark shadow that sucks a person down into their own quiet hell. It is a straight jacket, the darkest night, a twisted tunnel of reality that is loathe to let a person go. Clinical depression requires therapy and medication and a lot of support.

This week's lows stem both from my melancholia and situational depression. What has happened to trigger this depressive state? I couldn't pinpoint one single event. I haven't changed jobs, ended a relationship. The only changes that have taken place in my life is that summer has moved into autumn and the two year mark of not working due to health issues has come and gone. I haven't worked in two years. I'm no closer to being able to work than I was then. In fact, I think things have worsened over the last few months.

That may be why I have sunk beneath the waters of melancholy and lay in the pool of short term depression.

Knowing what's going on within my body - physical, emotional, spiritual - means I'm more likely to be able to do something to help myself. Sometimes it's watching Doctor Who or Star Trek. Other times it's getting outside and being out in nature. Sometimes it's getting together with a good friend who loves me, quirks and all. Sometimes it's therapy.

Today, it was figuring out why I feel so low and then writing about it. I have named it. I can now regulate it (inside joke with Claire, but true nonetheless).

There are things I can do toward my health issues. I know this. I've been lax in doing many of them. I got tired of the supplements and the diet restrictions. I started to slip while on vacation in July and kept right on slipping once I got home. My sleep hygiene could use some tightening of routines. I could move my body more.

And I can let myself feel low, feel sadness, frustration, hopelessness. I can sit in these feelings and let them wash over me, through me. I can seek to answer what triggered this round of depression and increase my distress tolerance and my skills. I can let the emotions wash away a layer of myself that no longer fits.And I can come out the other side being a bit better version of myself.

It's okay to feel low. To be melancholy. It's normal to be so thrown by a life event that you temporarily feel suffocated by depression. This doesn't make me a freak of nature, unlike what my brain continues to try to tell me. It makes me normal. It makes me...me.

Photo by: Seth Stoll

Psych, Fibromyalgia, and Pain Mitigation

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Tue, 27 Sep 2016 23:00:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Green tea lattes. Nuf said.
Fresh spring flowers in the middle of September.
Two more days to finish binge watching Psych on US Netflix.

It's a cool, grey, autumnal day here and Velcro Dog and I enjoyed a brief walk at the dog park. He walked. I read. It's a great system for the two of us. And no, I don't just read. I walk as well. Just not as many laps as Velcro Dog. I can read, and he can't. Don't judge!

What do you mean, Psych is going away? No!!!!!!!!!

We also did some snuggling while watching Psych. The poor dog is distraught at the thought that we won't be able to watch his favorite TV show ever again. He loves Lassiter and secretly has a thing for Shawn's mom. He doesn't think I know this, but it's obvious from the way his eyes get all dewy when he looks at her. Shhh, don't tell him, but I have plans to purchase said show so we can enjoy it whenever we desire. That's me, a giver.

Today also marks two weeks into a new medication for my fibromyalgia (FM). It's cutting edge stuff and several people I know who have tried it have great things to say. Some have reported significant results. I was hoping for some of these dramatic results for myself. Sadly that hasn't been the case. Instead of a near miraculous recovery, little things have been changing. I had to take a breath, reign in my expectations, and instead of looking for the big changes, I needed to look for any changes.

I am usually tired all the time. While this has not changed, I find the fog that accompanies the fatigue is occasionally better. Especially in the afternoons. While I wish the fatigue would lift, I'll take a positive change in fibro fog.

Pain has been my constant companion for, oh, around thirty years. Sure, there's and ebb and flow to the pain. Different flavors for different seasons. But it's always been there, watching. Waiting. There was a t-shirt making the rounds on Facebook a few weeks ago. The shirt was black and on the back were these words: This Shirt Turns Black Whenever I Am In Pain. This awesome black t-shirt speaks for me.

With this new medication, I'm still in a lot of pain, but I'm having moments where the pain doesn't spike as high or stretch out for as long. Moments, mind you. But I'll take them.

It's only been two weeks and it's only minute changes, but I've lived with this pain for over half my life. And it's gotten worse in the last few years. I'll take minute changes for the better over worse any day. Especially if eventually I can buy a t-shirt like the one above in a color other than black.

Cabins, Audio Books, And Revelations

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Mon, 26 Sep 2016 23:37:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

With autumn comes cooler weather and less humidity. For this, I am always grateful.
Velcro Dog has come to terms with the fact that I can't be consistent when I walk him. I have thanked him for his understanding. He has deigned to allow me to snuggle with him.
Psych is leaving US Netflix on October 1st. This is less a gratitude then it is a public service announcement. You're welcome.

Our anniversary was the end of last month. We try to go out of town on or near our anniversary. Usually it's to a cabin here in MN that is owned by Husband's family. And we usually only go up for a long weekend. Two years ago, right after I quit my day job, we started coming up for a week. It's amazing to be away from the city for a week and bask in the silky silence of nature. This year was almost perfect.

Why wasn't it perfect? Basically because it rained more often then not. It felt rather soggy for the first three days of our vacation. Then the sun did shine. And it was glorious.

Oh glorious, sun filled day!

We spent time just staring at the lake. And listening to the sounds of nature around us. Birds. Breeze. Waves. Wind. Not a jet ski or speed boat in sight! I kinda want to go back even though the temperatures will require a fire at night. Can anyone say S'Mores!

One of the things I really love to do at the cabin is listen to audio books. Husband knows this and has learned that if he doesn't want me to listen to one of my UF or romance novels, he had best not do anything to piss me off. I always have a romance queued up to one of the hotter sex scenes just so I can play it at a very loud volume just to torture him. I also have audio books that I know he might enjoy. I save these for vacations. Cuz I'm good like that.

For this trip I queued up Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson. If you don't know who this amazing woman is, go ahead and take a moment to peruse her website, Twitter, or Facebook page. Go on, I'll wait.

So Jenny Lawson is a journalist who also lives with mental illness. And is brutally honest about what it's like to live her life. I don't have a diagnosed mental illness, though I do have situational depression. I do have chronic health conditions that attempt to turn my brain against me. I can relate to many of Jenny's stories. Sometimes so much I cry because, dammit, someone gets it!

I had read Furiously Happy when it first came out and I loved it. I wanted to fan girl Ms. Lawson and stalk her on Facebook , but I resisted. Instead I threw money at Jenny by purchasing her book for many people and myself. Including the audio book. Jenny has since thanked me in person for buying so many copies of her book and we are now friends. Oh, wait. That was a dream. And it wasn't Jenny Lawson, it was Nora Roberts. I really need to keep my fandoms straight!

Hubs was so thankful he didn't have to listen to sexy time scenes he actually paid attention to Furiously Happy. He thought Jenny lived a very colorful life and thought she and I would be dangerous if we knew each other. Dangerously cool! (Hubs wishes to let you know that no, he didn't think we would be dangerously cool. More like dangerous to his health. I countered that we would be freaky cool. Hubs agrees we would be freaky. He's less sanguine about cool. I love him despite his lack of vision).

We laughed. I cried. Hubs learned.

There were a few times when we were in the car and Jenny was regaling us with her tales of living her life, and I burst into tears. Jenny was talking about spoons and how life often needs to look different because we don't have the unlimited number of spoons able people seem to have. I was crying because every fucking word she said was brilliant. All those words illustrated what I had been attempting to share with my friends and family (and husband) for years. And he got it. Hubs listened with his whole self. And. He. Got. It.

So I cried some more in relief because trying to explain what it is to live in my body has been like attempting to dance the most beautiful and intricate of modern dances and hoping that my non performing arts husband would magically understand what I was saying without the context of meaning and movement. Jenny was able to be herself as she wrote that chapter, and even more herself as she recorded it for the audio book. And Hubs connected.

He's been asking me about my spoons ever since. Sometimes I want to hit him with a spoon, but I far prefer he ask than ignore or not understand the fact that I have limited spoons every day and that means I have to make the hard choices every minute of every day on how I am going to spend those spoons. Because they don't renew until the next day. And sometimes, not even then.

Thank you, Jenny "Dangerously Cool" Lawson. Thank you! And if you ever want to hang out and discuss the merits of taxidermy animal rodeos, I'm here for you! As long as I have the spoons.

In Which Self Doubt is Kicked in the Balls

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Tue, 03 May 2016 09:32:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Train. Just because.
My friend's daughters. They are true joy and I love being a part of their lives.
Grape chia kombucha. Don't judge.

In addition to fibromyalgia (FM) and a recent diagnosis of chronic migraines, I also have insomnia. It's not chronic, even when it feels like it. My particular brand of insomnia is likely a co-morbid condition linked to the FM. I'm in pain, so I can't sleep. I don't sleep well, so I'm in pain. And so on. Most nights I can sleep. It's not the best sleep on the planet, but it's still sleep. Then there are nights like tonight.

I went to bed with Hubs at the regular time. Played a little Angry Birds Pop, read a little, then turned on the classical music and turned out the lights.

Hubs was snoring within five minutes. Me? Tossing. Turning. Closing my eyes. Doing relaxation breathing. Tossing some more. Then finally getting out of bed after ninety minutes of doing everything I could think of to will myself to sleep.

I wish I was sleeping like the dog.

We have these lovely reclining Mission style chairs in the great room. It's pretty much the only good furniture we own. When I can't sleep and I don't want to stare at any type of screen (phone, tablet, computer, tv. You get the idea), I go to my reclining chair. I may bring a book. Or my journal. Or I may just converse with, well, whatever it is I figure I need to converse with. God. The characters in my head. Myself.

Tonight I had no desire to journal and I couldn't locate the fiction novel I just started reading, so I went with door number three and conversed with what felt like every self doubt I have ever had. Or rather, self doubt decided to talk to me. Loudly. In Surround Sound.

Yesterday, since it's now tomorrow, Twitter served up something very timely. Almost prophetic.

Jeri Ryan, of Star Trek: Voyager fame, posted the above on Twitter and Facebook as her Monday Mantra. I happened to see, thought, "Hells, yeah! Let's kick self doubt in the balls!" and went about the rest of my day. I didn't really think anything about self doubt, kicking it in said balls, or how to keep going. Then midnight comes. And goes. And I'm tired yet awake and frustrated because AWAKE! And that background noise that is made up of accusations and self doubt goes through an audio filter and the tracks clean up until I can hear with the clarity of Dolby Surround Sound all the accusations and doubts and fears. And I'm tired and vulnerable and start to argue. Even though my arguments are nonsensical because TIRED!

And then in frustration and resignation I turn on my phone to check I don't even know what. And there it is. Twitter. Open to Ms. Ryan's tweet. My respite from the crazy making.

And I kick that self doubt in the balls. Really fucking hard. I stand my ground. I remind myself of all the things I have going for me. All the affirmations anyone has ever shared with me. I open the email thread from 2008 when I was laid off from a job I kinda enjoyed working with people I really loved and admired and reread all the positive things they told me about me. And I drank it in like a fine wine. And I kicked that self doubt where it would hurt the most.

I am.

That's it. I. Am.

As long as I exist, there is the potential of doing better. Of overcoming. Of moving forward instead of backward. I. Am.

The commentary, it's background noise again. I remain awake, and am now staring at a screen writing this post and then potentially writing more on my WIP. Or I may try for a couple of hours sleep before I head out to breakfast and super fun time shopping with a friend.

Doesn't matter. I'll take being exhausted over being a puddle of self doubt and misery any day.

Photo by Kristina Kuncevich

Awesome Books Hangover

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Tue, 12 Apr 2016 00:52:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Writer friends. Cuz you all rock.
Tea. Hot, smooth, amazing tea.
Velcro Dog, for getting my ass moving in the mornings, even when I don't want to.

If you know me, you know I'm a voracious reader. And that my tastes are as varied and eclectic as there are stars in the sky. If asked what my favorite book of all time is, I'll usually stutter something inane because choosing a favorite book is like being asked whether I like my left eye more than my right. (Left is the correct answer).

In the last month there have been some amazing books released. And since I'm not working and needed something that allowed me to procrastinate from prepping our tax returns, I was able to read in the joy and comfort of my own home. But now that the books have been read, I find myself in that interesting place where nothing appeals to me and all I want is more of the hair of the dog that bit me.

Just a snippet of some of the best books I've read in the last four weeks

So what's a girl to do? She rereads. It's the only option endorsed by Bookaholic's Anonymous, I swear.

Over the last two weeks I have reread the entire cannon on Mercy Thompson universe books by Patricia Briggs, Jill Shalvis's Cedar Ridge trilogy, and have made it halfway through J. R. Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood series. All because the latest installment in theses series were published in March and the first week of April. And because they are all made of awesome!

Oh, let's face it, it's really because I wanted to climb up inside these books, wrap them around me, and become one with the worlds therein. I wanted to hang out with Jacob in the fictional mountain tourist town of Cedar Ridge, CO. I wanted to listen to him talk about his loss and his hopes for the future. I wanted to see him get it right with his family.

I wanted to head to the Tri-Cities, WA and spend time with Mercy and Adam and hopefully run into Charles and Anna if they chose to visit from Montana. I wanted to go to Fairyland and see the Fae (but only if Zee or Tad were going with me). I wanted to tell Stephan that for a vampire he's the shit and he's not as broken as he thinks he is. And yes, I wanted to see Coyote.

I wanted to go to Caldwell and hang with the Brothers and their shellans. I wanted to hear Zsadist sing, and watch him with his baby girl. And hug him, if he would let me. I wanted to spend time with Rhage and Mary and the Beast, just be with them. I wanted to fire potato launchers with Butch and Vishous. I wanted to spend time just being with Phury. I wanted to see how everything was doing and never, ever leave.

Why? Because books transport us. It can be to somewhere lofty, full of ideas and ideals. Or somewhere practical. They can also transport us to somewhere with heart and soul. And THAT is what I want every time I open a work of fiction. And something the three series above has been able to deliver, no matter how many times I've reread them. (Fair disclosure, I've lost count of the number of times I've reread the Mercy Thompson universe books, and have reread some of the BDB books an equally infinite number of times.)

And why I reread after I've finished a book made of awesome and have no idea how any other book in the known universe will ever compare. Rereading, it's a cure for Awesome Book Hangovers. And the common cold. But mostly Awesome Book Hangovers.

Photo by Moyan Brenn

Birthday Postmortem

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Sat, 09 Apr 2016 16:58:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

The intrepid Mercy Thompson and her fictional world. She along with all her fictional compatriots have saved my sanity more times than I care to count.
Instacart. Thanks for saving my bacon over and over again!
CPAs who know far more about the tax codes than I.

While my birthday was a wonderful day, during the evening it was clear Hubs was not feeling well. And when he doesn't feel well, which is never, it means he's going to be down for some serious get well time. The remainder of the week was very low key. Hubs was sleeping and being generally sick grumpy. And I was doing fine. Until I got sick.

It was two and a half weeks of sick adults in our house. I'm sure at one point Velcro Dog packed his bags and wished for opposable thumbs so he could open the door and hitch a ride to somewhere not here.

Then there was tax crap. We sold some investments last year but the broker didn't include purchase dates or prices on the 1099-INV so I had to dig through 13 years or statements to try to find the info and put it in a format the accountant could use. Good. Lord.

Still, I had a good birthday. We saw the movie of my choice once both of us were feeling better (13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi). We went out for the dinner of my choosing the following weekend (Pizza Lucé for salmon instead of pizza). I spent birthday money on some books so I could have the series in epub format, even though I already own most of it in paper. Yes, I'm that girl. And proud of it.

One of my birthday gifts was the gift of a clean house. My friend came over and assisted me as I got down and dirty with the home office. While there is still work to be done, surfaces are clean and a metric ton of paper was escorted off the premises. Then she paid for the crew who cleans her home to come and clean mine. I had to do some heavy lifting with removing the clutter, and getting over the fact that someone who didn't know me would be in my home cleaning. Something I SHOULD be able to do, but don't have the energy or sometimes the pain tolerance to do.

So this week I cleared surfaces of paper and books and stuff. And this morning Hector and his crew of wonder workers came and cleaned the loft and main floor of my house. I wanted to kiss them all and cry tears of relieved joy. My house. She is clean! Sure, I need to clean a few things they missed because, honestly, who cleans the underside of chairs, or pulls off books to dust shelves, or pulls out someone else's drawers to eliminate the dog fur resting beneath? No one. But these small things are doable.

Excuse me while I go roll around on the floor for a little while. It's clean right now, so I'm going to enjoy it while I can.

Birthdays, Goals, and Pie!

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Mon, 14 Mar 2016 20:25:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

The weather has been warmer than usual, which means we may have lilac blooms in March. March, people!
It is National Pi Day, which anyone knows is an excuse to eat lots of delicious pie.
Pedicures. They cure what ails you.

Today is Pi Day. It is also National Nap Day. Which is a good thing since it's the day after the Daylight Savings switch. Sleeping in is now like getting up on time. Where's the fun in that?

It also happens to be my birthday. I am now closer to 50 than I was to 40. I feel okay about this. I figure 45 is the new 30. I don't feel like I'll be able to join AARP in five years. I don't feel like I'm middle aged. I don't feel like I'm 45. My feet especially don't feel like 45.

My feet are ready for spring!

What is 45 supposed to feel like? I have no idea. I know people who have had trouble getting older. Each birthday is a trial and they stop celebrating their true age. They live in the past instead if the now. I have always wondered if I would be that person. Would I finally have a birthday where I mourn all the things I wanted to have accomplished by the time I turned X, but haven't? Would I start to feel the weight of my age? Would I want to quietly sweep my birthday under the rug and pretend it never happened?

This may occur some day in the future, but not today. I'm 45! Sure, I'm not where I pictured myself when I was making grand life plans years ago. That simply means life has changed, or those things I wanted to do and accomplish are still there, waiting to be plucked down and experienced. There is always time to accomplish dreams. And dreams continue to evolve and change. What I wanted when I was in my twenties is definitely different from what I want in my forties. This is a good thing.

I used to make birthday year goals. I would write a book (check). I would excel in my job (check). I would explore life coaching (check). I would open a life coaching practice (still on the books). I would publish several books (still in the works). I would travel to somewhere exciting (check, and more to come). I would work for myself (quit the day job, but due to health, so still need to find something I can do from home). I would be financially set enough to retire (uh, no).

I have learned that there are some goals I can complete in my timeline and others that I can't. I still make goals. Like right now I have a goal of working through three courses I purchased years ago but didn't have the time and/or energy to complete. I have weekly goals with these courses, and I don't set a goal out further than a week. It's less daunting that way.

I'm kinder to myself when I don't meet a goal. Instead of beating myself up, too much, I try to figure out what caused the setback and learn from it. Apply that learning to my next goal. Move forward. It's more productive.

Having grand dreams and goals is good. It pushes us toward something. But it's the day to day pursuit of those dreams and goals where we see success. Without that pursuit, dreams are just...dreams.

Office Downsize Project Take Twenty

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 22:59:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Tea. It is magical, mystical, and lifts my spirits.
Ella Henderson. I could put Ghost on repeat. Seriously.
Friends who offer to help you clean and organize your home office, aka the abyss, and do not judge any of the things you have chosen to hold on to over the years.

I used to be organized. When we lived in a smaller domicile, organization and cleaning was a cinch. We didn't have much space and we didn't have much stuff. Everything had a place. Even if that place was a box under the bed.

If only my desk was this clean and streamlined. Sigh.

Now we live in a bigger home. We have more stuff. And over the last few years I put more energy into organizing myself at work than organizing and reorganizing the chaos that occurs during renovations. Our bedroom and the guest room were the only two rooms that were mostly untouched. It's easy to keep the bedroom clean and less cluttered. The guest room has become a place to store those things we don't yet have a home for and should not be stored in the basement. We're slowly working through the stuff.

The one room I have always struggled with is the home office. If you go back on this blog, you will see a few times I have attempted to organize and downsize this space. I feel bad because at work I was uber organized. I didn't have the energy to organize the home office. And in the last few years I have developed a dislike for the space. I have a vision of how this space could be. But it would take money and time and renovations have been the primary goal in the last 10 years. Yes, 10 year. I about died when I realized that. June will make 11. I don't want to talk about it.

Things have gotten worse since I left work. All the personal items I had in my cubicle was dumped in the home office. And I haven't done a thing with it since.

Initially I really didn't have the energy. Now that I have the energy, I lack the motivation. But I really need to make this space workable. More than workable, I need to make this space mine. Comfortable. Beautiful. Positive. Safe.

I really want a room in this house that I can lock myself in and be creative, or slightly manic, or melancholy. And be allowed to just be me. We all need a space where we can be ourselves. The self we may not show everyone. The part of ourselves that is growing and changing and becoming, but hasn't become enough we feel safe showing others. Not yet.

I don't have that. I haven't had that since I got married. Our first home was so small there was no individual space. This house has the space but...the truth is Hubs has this vision of sharing an office. He doesn't quite understand the need for that singular space we can make our own. He kind of has his workshop. That is his space. It's not a space to work on a computer or a comfortable place to escape to. He escapes to the bedroom when he wants to be in his cave. I let him. I don't intrude. He needs his alone time. He needs his space. So do I.

This week I'm attacking the office and making it work for me. A friend is coming over to help me. We will purge, rearrange, organize. Well, maybe not completely rearrange because the desk is staying where it is so I can get at the cords behind the computer. Otherwise, it could totally move. But once it's at least purged and organized, I can figure out what I need. What furniture could be made or purchased to make the space more pleasing. What pictures could go up on the walls. Where the water fountain could go. How I can make the space work for all the things I need and the things I want to do in here.

Sometimes you need help getting a part of your life together. Sometimes it's okay to reach out and ask for it.

Necessary Connections

noreply@blogger.com (Chasing Inspriation) — Fri, 26 Feb 2016 19:57:00 +0000

Gratitudes:

Velcro Dog's unfailing joy in life. All the mud on my floor is worth the joy in his face after tromping around the thawing backyard.
Pomodoros. They help keep me on track, especially when working on things I would rather send to the pits of doom.
The lovely Coffee Guy at my local café. Thank you for your free refills and your ready smile. It makes my day!

Every Friday I get together with girlfriends for coffee or lunch and chatting. It's so wonderful to be able to get out of the house, away from my inner bitch and be with other people. We talk about everything from the states of our marriages/significant relationships, sex, pop culture, health, religion, and the state of our mental health. No topic is verboten. The only tacit agreement we seem to have is that we are respectful of each other. Which is a good agreement to have, tacit or explicit.

Coffee Lurve!

Today after slogging through breakfast and physical therapy, I managed to make myself presentable enough to be seen in public. I made my way to our favorite café. It was two of us for coffee today and we discussed the benefit of empire waisted shirts, spring skiing in the Midwest versus Colorado, and the mental health benefits of getting outside in the winter. Nothing earth shattering, but it filled my soul in a way that only being around people who care about you for who you are can give.

I don't do this often enough. I tend to stick to my cave and snuggle on the bed with the dog until Hubs gets home. He's a homebody so we spend the evening at home. If it weren't for my friends, and the need to give Velcro Dog his daily walk, weeks could go by where I wouldn't leave the house. I don't think this hermit mentality is healthy, so I try to plan things that will get me out and around people. Coffee with a friend. Breakfast with just me and my journal or a book. Window shopping. A museum. A park.

I spend a lot of time alone. This is both by choice and because health issues have made my world very small. I cancel often. I don't plan too far ahead. I can't guarantee I'll have a good day, or a good hour. I become afraid to reach out to people I haven't seen in awhile because I don't want to appear flaky or non-committal. So I let myself fade into the shadows of relationships.

Which isn't healthy. It's self-defeating from a mental health standpoint. It makes for a lot of self-doubt, a lot of loneliness. The perfect fodder for dark thoughts and can usher one from melancholy to depression. I'm not depressed, but I'm no stranger to dark thoughts.

Which is why my Friday friend dates are so important. For a period of time I get to step outside my head and into the sunlight of caring. Joy is infectious and I leave feeling better about myself and my life. I may not be living the life I thought I would be at almost 45 years of age, but I'm living the life in front of me. And that's nothing to be ashamed of.