divinelydivorced

[divinelydivorced]

The Frog and The Well

Did you know the phrase “Two steps forward, one step back…” is an anecdote about a frog attempting to climb out of a water well? It seems every time the frog tries to move forward, that second step sends him backwards one. I’d like to think, that as the frog, I’d come to the brilliant conclusion that if I was slipping back one step for every two, why not simply slow down and take it one meticulous step at a time, always propelling forward and never back. Instead, I do the opposite.  I move faster and faster, clinging to anything I can in hopes of gaining momentum.  This inevitably causes a massive slide downwards, passing all the progress I’d made, and dumping me back at the very bottom of the well, cold, damp, exhausted and with only a glimmer of light at the top that seems so far out of reach.

This past fall I taught eight colleges classes, two weekly yoga classes, and worked an additional part-time job.  It was exhausting but bills were getting paid, with a little extra money left over to have fun.  However, as often happens, about the time I start thinking things are looking up, life gets in the way.  This time it came in the form of insurance problems.  My most recent position has blessed me with actual, legit insurance. I can’t say enough about how grateful I am for the ability to see a doctor I trust and to know I won’t be spending hours on the phone with a less than competent insurance plan, trying to make sure the bills gets paid.  Shouldn’t this be a basic right as an American citizen after all?  Apparently not.

Not only was I overjoyed to be receiving this fabulous new insurance plan, but it was also affordable at only $140 a month. When re-enrollment came around, I joyfully clicked the option to simply re-renew the same plan as 2017.  No fuss, super easy!  Then I got my first paycheck for 2018, which was incredibly smaller than before.  There, under deductions, was almost three times as much being withdrawn from my gross pay.  The HR department is always more than helpful, so I didn’t even hesitate to send a quick email asking them to look into it.  Within hours they had and we were soon on the phone chatting.  It was a good news, bad news situation.  The bad news being a mistake had been made when I first started, listing me as full-time and thus giving me the full-time insurance pricing options.  With re-enrollment, the mistake was caught, now listing me at half-time, causing my insurance to raise from $140 a month to almost $500.  That was the very very very bad news.  The good news was they weren’t asking me to pay anything for the mistake made in 2017.  Well, when $500 is one third of your monthly paycheck, that kind of cost is catastrophic. Two steps forward, one back.

It’s times like these where my mind does a fabulous job reeking sabotage on my already fragile ego.  I’m not sure about you, but when set-backs like this happen, I immediately punish myself mentally for allowing it.  The nicest of thoughts tend to be things like: I should have been smarter.  I should have caught the mistake myself.  I should have seen this coming.  But these soon transition into nastier, more ruthless thoughts such as:  God is punishing you for all the things you know you did wrong.  You should have never got divorced.  See how horrible life is when you’re single and alone?

It’s such a quick downward spiral, and anyone who has suffered from depression or extreme anxiety knows how fast it can spin out of control.  What makes matters worse is logically you get it but emotionally you can’t seem to make it click.  This then causes you to blame yourself for not having better control over your emotions.

After lots of tears shed and phone calls with friends, I tried to finally get a grasp on the reality of the situation, sans emotions. I have insurance.  I have good insurance.  It’s expensive but with all the medical issues I seem to have, at least I know I have a plan that will make the end cost more affordable.  It’s only a third of my pay which is a lot, yes, but it could be more.  I can afford it on a temporary basis and figure out how to sustain it long-term. All of this is the reality, which is not bad at all.  So, what then, was really causing my emotional turmoil?

That’s where those nasty little lies come into play. I’m always so willing to judge myself for getting divorced.  So many people, after all, stay in loveless marriages simply because it is more comfortable.  Choosing the opposite has been unbelievably difficult, especially with little job or financial security.  It’s such an easy choice to then hold over my head when my life becomes more unstable.

The reality is, ashamedly, I always assumed I’d be married again by now.  Or at least in a solid relationship.  I never thought I’d stop working or even cut back.  All the jobs I have are exhausting and pay one fifth of what they should. But I love them and am good at them. So, the plan was never to give them up once married or even to cut back.  I just thought a romantic partner would be my safety net in terms of bills getting paid and not being alone when life prevents me with less than enjoyable news. Unfortunately, however, if I’m honest with myself, I’m so much farther from finding that person than the day I got divorced.

The positive of all of that is I’m growing a lot. I’m eating my proverbial vegetables, holding my nose and swallowing, trying to get myself used to the taste, knowing they are good for me.  My friend keeps pointing out how I am making progress.  It’s just not as fast as I’d like.  I want to share my life with someone, but he’s so far out of reach I don’t even know which direction to start grabbing.

So, I must stop flailing about while trying to get to the top.  Instead, I need to step back, re-evaluate, and move slowly, deliberately one step at a time so as to keep moving forward only.  Because, for now, there is no frog to kiss that will turn into my prince.  I’m the frog and I’ve got shit to do.

[divinelydivorced]

Thinking of My Sister

You think it will get easier but then the day arrives and it doesn’t.  Seven years ago, my sister passed away. Inevitably the anniversary of her death always falls the week of Thanksgiving, making the holiday a tough one. But when it falls on Thanksgiving itself, I dread it. A day devoted to giving thanks.  You know, to a person suffering from loss or trauma, nothing annoys them more than people attempting to be helpful by offering condolences like, “take today to be thankful for what she brought to your life,” or “be thankful she’s no longer suffering.”  It’s not that I’m ungrateful.  I am thankful for so much.  But these are two separate issues in my mind.  I can be grateful for the life I have and still angry for the life I lost.  Plus, I’m human and selfish and still want her here. 

My family was always taught to ignore the negative emotions, so in a way I became an expert.  Although I’ve improved significantly over the years, the natural tendency is to still try to not feel sometimes.  I speak from fact, not always emotion.  But ignoring it, is impossible because the body always remembers.  All week I could feel myself getting slower, my brain shutting off.  Days are easy because I keep busy, but at night, reality arises as dreams are filled with truth.

I always hate dreams because of that.  It’s my time to rest and yet it seems more often it becomes time for the things I’m denying to confront me.  So, this week as this dreaded day approached, my sister filled my dreams.  And not the good kind where I get to be with her, before it happened.  I long for the dreams where the two of us are laughing, teasing my mother, rolling eyes at my brother.  Simply being sisters.  Caught in this temporary dream-state is when I’m often most relaxed and happiest, despite the horrible torment of waking up only to soon realize she is still dead. 

But no.  Instead of these types of dreams, I had the aftermath dreams, or a skewed version of them.  Some details escape me, like they often do unless you write them down immediately.  But I do remember I was at a camp for people trying to forget, and I was sucking at it.  The row instructor kept yelling at me to row but wouldn’t give me paddles.  He kept screaming “Row! Row!  You have to row or you won’t get anywhere!”  I kept telling him I needed paddles and he would only respond with, “Row!”  Finally, I got so annoyed I decided the risk of drowning sounded more fun than this nonsense, so I jumped out of the boat, only to realize the water was no higher than knee deep.   This seemed ironic and so I thought there was a lesson in that.  But when I mentioned it, they said no, they had simply forgot to push the boat out farther.  As I walked away from the instructor, still yelling at me to row, I thought, “This camp is bullshit, where are the cookies?”

All of a sudden, I was lying in a lounge sharing my grievances with other women, also at the camp to forget (the theme I now realize likely came from the Agatha Christie novel I’m reading, Elephants Never Forget), when Colin Powell came up and grabbed my breasts.  Although when I looked up, it was not the actual Colin Powell but, rather, Morgan Freeman hired to play the role of Colin Powell.  It was at this point I remember wondering which one I would sue.  (Analyzing this part of my dream over a latte later that morning, I can only assume this was a manifestation over all the sexual abuse allegations in the media these days...but part of me now is, in fact, curious if either Colin Powell or Morgan Freeman had something to do with my sister’s death.  Frankly, if I wasn’t working so much, I might look into it.)

Back in the dream, I was about to make a call to my lawyer to inquire about whether I should press charges against either Morgan Freeman playing Colin Powell or the real Colin Powell, when I found myself taking a call from my mom at one of those hallway telephones you see in jail movies, because apparently, cell phones do not help you forget and thus we’re banned at camp.  My mom was being evasive and asking if I was having fun, which she of course knew I wasn’t and was likely waiting for the call to come pick me up because I refused to forget and thus got kicked out.  Finally, she just said it, “Your dad committed suicide last night.”  She said it in a way moms always give you bad news, where the sentence ends upwards in tone and pitch, like they are asking a question they already know the answer to and have their arms open, ready to receive you in an embrace.  But before I could fake sorrow, a counselor told us it was time to learn how to fold towels to look like zoo animals, so I said I had to go.  And as I walked away I thought, “He always was a coward.  Although, maybe now I will feel better.”  

But before I could feel anything, I woke myself up to the joy of my period arriving for the sixth time in ten weeks, only to be followed by the site of my mom crying on my couch.  The day had arrived and was already off to a bang.  My mom’s response, as I stared at her, was “today is my day to cry.”  And so it is.  It is her day to cry and my day to just get through.  I put no other pressure on myself, other than simply making it through the day, knowing at the end of it, I will have 364 more days following for it to be anything other than this horrible day, which, honestly, isn’t enough.

So, with over 12 hours left, this Thanksgiving 2017 I will be eating paella by my mom who is trying not to cry in public for my behalf, being haunted by Colin Powell and Morgan Freeman, wondering who the murderer will turn out to be in Agatha Christie’s book, wishing my sister were alive and my father would take her place, and bleeding profusely.  But this doesn’t mean I’m not thankful, I am.  Simply, today is my day to just get through…the whole time thinking someone really should make all of this into a sitcom because at least I’d be on a beach somewhere.

[divinelydivorced]

Goodbye, Grandma

My grandma passed away yesterday morning. Even though we knew it was coming, it is still hard.  Tuesday around 3:50 am, I awoke suddenly and couldn’t quite get back to sleep until 4:30. Come to find out, the end started around four and she was gone around 4:20.  It’s amazing how souls are so connected that we can feel the loss happening at the exact moment it occurs.  The older I get, I am made more aware of how similar my grandma and I are.  I’m proud to have inherited so many of her quirky traits and have come to embrace them.  In fact, I see them as a tribute to the impact she had on my life.  So, in honor of the life my grandma lived, here are the 25 things she has taught me:

1.     Bladder problems ARE a joking matter.  My grandma was a hot mess, God love her. Whether it was peeing her pants in an elevator in front of a bunch of strangers or never leaving a restaurant without a huge stain on her top, she always managed to leave a trail.  Most people would cry or die of embarrassment, but she’d just hee-haw, laughing so hard she’d likely pee again.  She passed on her small bladder and the ability to find humor in the embarrassment to me, which has provided my friends with endless counts of entertaining stories. College friends still text from time to time, “Remember when Adam Harris finally asked you to hang out and you had to say no because you’d just peed on your long sweater and had to shower and change?”  Yes, yes, I remember.  

2.     If you want it, get it.  She always knew what she wanted and wasted no time in purchasing it.  I remember, around age ten, her saying how much she wanted a bird feeder.  I went home and made one out of an old milk carton.  When I showed up to proudly give it to her, only two days later, there in her front yard was a brand new gorgeous wooden one.    

3.     Eat it and get it over with.  My grandma was notorious for eating an entire watermelon in the course of an afternoon.  This also contributed to her bladder problems.  Once, my sister went to take a nap at her house.  While drifting in and out, she caught a whiff of the sweet smell of a butter braid (a very large pastry you’d take to a party).  When she awoke excited for dessert, she went out to discover my grandma had de-thawed it, cooked it, and ate 99% of it in the course of two hours.  To this day, whenever I make any dessert-I eat 99% of it while it’s still hot.  We all know what’s going to happen so just get it over with already.

4.     If it annoys you, get rid of it-no matter its practicality. My grandma loved buying things almost as much as she loved getting rid of those same things three months later.  One time she showed up at mom’s house with a car full of lamps.  She decided she hated lamps and wanted them all gone.  My mom, always the practical one, kept them so when my grandma realized later they were necessary, she wouldn’t have to buy more.  Any of my friends know I’m the same.  I served wine in a juice glass the other day.  My friend asked, “Don’t you have wine glasses?” “I did,” I said, “but just got rid of them.”  “Why? You didn’t use them?” he asked.  “No, I used them all the time.  I just got tired of looking at them.”

5.     Never stop moving.  My grandma moved all the time.  She’d often announce it at the latest holiday dinner.  She would wake up, be suddenly sick of her place, and a month later would be somewhere new.  She once left a home, only to return to it a few years later.  A constant mover myself, I was looking forward to staying in my current place for more than a year (a new record) until I recently found out I had to vacate in 30 days due to construction.  Although annoying and inconvenient, I was not surprised when I found myself thinking the other day, “Actually-I’m kind of over this place, so that worked out.”

6.     Crazy is charming.  My grandma was nuts, as am I.  Yet we embrace the crazy and combine it with big hearts.  That’s why people keep coming back.  A little crazy never hurt anyone…and we are a lot of fun on road trips.

7.     The flu is for sissies.  We’d often stay at her house when we had the flu. Grandma gave us whatever we wanted, which included the time my brother insisted he wanted to eat a bunch of tacos.  You can imagine my mother’s frustration when she arrived to pick him up and found him vomiting ground beef and shredded cheese everywhere.

8.     Pools and convertibles aren’t luxuries, they’re necessities.  Life’s too short.  GET THEM BOTH.

9.     Dogs are our children.  She had an antique cradle for her dog to sleep in and was the first to introduce me to a dog stroller.  I get it and think it makes absolute sense.

10.  You don’t need a man.  Most of my life she’s been single.  Men have chased after her and she’ll let them buy her lunch or keep her company, yet it goes no further.  Because at the end of the day, she’s her own woman and has no need for a full-time man dragging her down.  This is a lesson I’m still learning.

11.  Soap operas are good television.  She lived near the high school, so at lunchtime, my girlfriends and I would take our lunches to eat at her place and watch Days of Our Lives.  Those were some of my favorite memories.  If the show got really intense and it was time for us to go, she’d try convincing us to drive her car back, at age 14, so she didn’t have to leave.  She even took me and my aunt to a Days of Our Lives festival one summer.  When it came to idolizing celebrities, her and I saw eye to eye.

12.  Dairy Queen can be dinner.  When she helped move me to Michigan, we spent a week eating Dairy Queen snicker blizzards for every meal.  She was doing Weight Watchers at the time and, although two of these, met her quota for the day-she was willing to make the sacrifice.  I remember thinking how brilliant this was.  When we got tired of Dairy Queen (rare), we’d hit up the Chinese Buffet.  No excuses and no shame-it’s how we rolled.

13.  Why choose when you can have both.  My grandma loved driving with the windows down.  She also would sweat profusely.  Once, we got in the car on a blazing summer day and I asked if we should turn on the AC or roll down the windows.  Her answer?  Both. We cranked the radio up, let the wind tousle our hair as the cold AC blasted our faces.

14.  Underwear is optional.  In fact, it’s often preferred you go without.

15.  Sing loud and proud.  My grandma had one of those loud operatic voices which she’d use to pelt Amazing Grace in church.  We grandkids would chuckle, but in reality, I always loved how she simply didn’t care. She was singing for Jesus.

16.  Spend your time how you want.  There were years where she’d choose hours of Farmville over leaving the house.  I’ve been known to spend an entire 48 hour weekend playing Sims-taking breaks only to run to the bathroom and grab a snack.  It’s our time-we will do what we want with it, and if that means interacting with computerized lives over human ones, so be it.

17.  There’s always something burning in the oven.  Every holiday she left something in the oven.  EVERY. HOLIDAY.  How no one caught on, I don’t know.  How I managed to inherit this trait, despite being annoyed by it, beats me. It seems the rolls always take the biggest hit…who needs carbs anyway-more DQ.

18.  There’s no time for sentimentality.  At a family event, she once walked out with crates of old photographs-including her wedding photos-and announced to the family she was throwing them away the next morning, so, “grab what you want.”  Everyone started arguing with her and refusing to take anything.  Meanwhile I did a clean sweep, loading boxes into my car.  Later, everyone was grateful because she kept to her word and burned everything I didn’t get my hands on.  Years later, I marched out to the living room with a box full of the photos I’d taken and said to my mom, “I’m throwing all of these away tomorrow, so take what you want.”  You better believe she took them-lesson learned.

19.  Sausage gravy is love.  As long as I knew her, she had a part-time job of sitting with an elderly person, a job I’ve now inherited.  As soon as I could work, she started taking me along and then giving me some of her shifts.  She taught me how to make sausage gravy-the first meal I ever learned to cook.  “Old people love sausage gravy,” she told me. She was right.

20.  Rules are meant to be broken.  My grandma didn’t give a f***.  In fact, she invented the phrase.  Sometimes she’d do stuff simply to get a reaction out of you.  There was no rhyme or reason-she went with her urge. I remember walking through the shoe store with my mom a couple years ago and asking my mom, “Do you ever get a strong desire to just start knocking things over?”  

21.  If it can go in a blender, it should.  Grandma introduced me to smoothies and I’ve never looked back.  “Everything can go in a blender!” she once enthusiastically told me as she threw in leftovers along with fruit and hit “blend.”  Now I buy pineapple in bulk and enough produce to feed a small village for a month.

22.  New fads are meant to be tried.  My grandma purchased every diet pill and vitamin that existed, as well as any exercise devise.  She had one of those machines that shook you, vibrating a strap around your bottom and promising to eliminate cellulite by simply standing there.  She had the utmost confidence they would work.  Each time she’d pull the latest tool or pill out of the box, I’d watch in awe as she demonstrated its powers, believing she’d discovered the secret to staying fit and healthy.  She instilled this hope in me.  I carried a crystal around for weeks once after reading it’d get my period to finally to start.  I paid an obscene amount of money for Cindy Crawford’s miracle elixir, returning it 30 days later, and then surprising myself by purchasing it a second time years later during a 5 am workout binge when the infomercial reappeared.  My recent purchase was a $100 fascia blaster which I use with fervor, while watching Friends episodes, and later have to justify when explaining the bruises on my legs to friends with a, “Yeah, it hurts but I can feel it working!”

23.  Walk everywhere.  It’s great exercise, sure.  But, more importantly, it gives you a chance to catch up on the town gossip.

24.  Careful-you can give a man your yeast infection.  This statement alone is self-explanatory.  Yet my grandma felt the need to retell an in-depth twenty-minute story of how her and my grandpa discovered this to be factual, leaving me scarred for life.

25.  When life pushes back, you push harder.  The beginning of my grandma’s life was not easy.  In fact, as I understand it, it was quite hard. My grandpa rescued her and she fell madly in love.  When he died so young, it would have been easy to give up.  But she didn’t.  She found job after job, she gave of herself whenever she could, and always left people laughing.  She was resilient.  She didn’t take the easy way out and, in fact, often took the road less traveled. She made no apologies and left some scars.  Although I will miss her greatly, I am grateful she’s in heaven, reunited with my grandpa-right where she’s always wanted to be.  

So, sing loud, grandma.  Eat your fill of watermelons and leave your underwear here on earth.  I won’t say rest in peace because that never was your style and, besides, I can hear the hee-hawing from heaven already.  In the end, she had it right.  We don’t need all this stuff we carry around because it’s only temporary. All that matters is how you make people feel, the laughter over tears, and never giving up.  And, of course, always knowing where the nearest restroom is.

[divinelydivorced]

Moms

Last night I awoke, sweaty and sobbing, from a terrible dream.  In it, my mom had Alzheimer’s.  We were the age we are now and she was living with me.  There were times when she had these perfect moments of clarity and the sense of overwhelming relief to have her back for even just a few moments, was incredible.  She’d look at me, say my name, and follow it with something perfectly relevant.  I’d laugh and cry, hug her-all to her shock and dismay.  I’d say, “I didn’t think I’d ever get you back again.”  Then, moments later, she was gone once more.  

In the dream, time passed quickly and soon I’d see us months later.  At one point, she was roaming around the house while I was trying to get her attention. She turned and looked at me, this vacant gaze in her eyes.   She didn’t recognize me and looked so lost. She sunk onto the couch, taking it all in, and I knelt at her feet.  I held her hand and cried, “Please, please come back.  Don’t leave me.  Please, not yet.  You’re all I have left.  When you leave, I’ll be all alone.  Please, mom, please, come back.”  But she was so far gone at that point.  I felt such a sense of emptiness and longing.  How was this woman in front of me and I could hold her, yet she was so far away and would never return?  In the dream, I remember comparing it to losing my sister.  I’d never get to see my sister again.  Was it better that way?  Better to be gone all together than be physically present but no longer my sister, or in this case, my mother?

It was such a real dream that when I awoke, it took everything in me to keep repeating to myself that it was pretend, something my mind created.  As I lay there, soaked in sweat and tears, I tried to resist calling my mom.  It was 2:30 in the morning.  But all I could think is one day, hopefully decades from now, she would be gone-it wouldn’t be a dream.  And in that moment, I would always think back to this night, knowing I missed her, needed to hear her voice, and that I chose not to call her…and I would regret it.  Because it wouldn’t always be an option.  

So, I called.  She immediately answered, as all moms do.  She sounded so alert-as if it was 2:30 in the afternoon, not the morning. When she heard me crying, her voice softened, asking what was wrong.  I told her about the dream and how I just needed to hear her voice.  She assured me she was fine and then, as all moms do, got to the root of the problem by asking, “Now, honey, what’s really bothering you that made you have that dream?”  This made me cry more because my mom always knows me better than I know myself.  I told her about boys, about financial fears, and overall bad days.  She said everything a mom knows how to say to stop her daughter from crying and making sure she gets the good night’s sleep she needs.  I was glad I called and knew if I hadn’t, she would have reprimanded me when I told her about it the next day.  Because those twenty minutes are what my mom-and all moms-live for…to be needed by her child…to be the only one who can pick up the pieces.

It reminded me of struggling mothers everywhere. Single moms, married moms, divorced moms.  Lonely moms, busy moms.  Working office moms, working at home moms.  Moms everywhere.  The most selfless job you can have.

So, to all of you moms out there who are dealing with moody teenagers slamming doors, toddlers who scream and kick, kids who swear they don’t love you, babies who won’t sleep, and adult children who forget to call…I’m sorry we put you through all that.  But know, when you’re up all night crying and worrying, when you feel guilty for not doing more, and when you think you’ve failed us, you are and always will be our most favorite person.  And, even at age 36, at 2:30 in the morning, you will be the only person in the entire world who can make us feel better.  We will always call because we know you will always answer.

[divinelydivorced]

The Circus is in Town

As a child, I used to get so excited when the circus came to town, a rare event.  Of course, once inside, I was terrified.  Even back then, decades before becoming vegan, the idea of encaging animals, only to release them for our brief entertainment and then shove them back inside, seemed like a bad idea.  But each time I was drawn back in by the magic of the giant red and white striped tent.

Lately, my dating life has felt like a trip to the circus.  Only I can’t decide whether I’m the one being held captive or the one in the audience watching the organized chaos before me.  It all seems so magical from the outside.  The idea of meeting someone who very well MIGHT be the man of my dreams, that high you feel when you’re doing something new and exciting, getting dressed up, seeing new places, and even getting on planes to fly cross country to explore a new relationship.  But, like my former child-self at the circus, the minute I’m there, I realize this whole thing was a bad idea.

This is what I’ve learned in my recent round of dating:  1.  If a man constantly avoids answering the question “what do you do for a living?” and is only available to go out “last minute,” he’s doing something shady.  2. Just because he knows how to cook gourmet meals, doesn’t mean I want to eat what he’s serving.  3. A lot of men are starting new relationships when their old one hasn’t yet ended.  4.  Honesty can also mean they are lying to themselves. 5.  Large men love picking up small females, even if they’ve only just met.

All this gets old fast.  I’ve had a guy blame me for not trying hard enough to see him when he was the one who could only go out occasionally with an hour’s notice. Another guy, after sending me a text meant for another woman, said “You really are sick” when I said I was no longer interested.  I sent one guy packing after a few weeks.  He had potential…until he bit me.  You know what they say: bite me once, shame on you; bite me twice, shame on me; bite me three times, I’m going to call the police.  When I lost it after the third bite he said, “I can’t help it. I like biting people.  You need to give me a grey area to work with.”  Call me old fashioned, but I see biting as a very black and white area.

It used to seem my standards were too high and maybe that’s why finding Mr. Right was so impossible.  I lowered those standards and, well…I’ve been lifted off the ground, harassed, and left with bite marks.  I guess that’s what happens when you let a caged animal out and expect him to play nice.  

Needless to say, I’m heading back to the drawing board. It’s time to leave the circus once and for all, the noise from the crowd, the large light in the sky, the animals pacing.  Where to next?  Nobody knows. Hopefully there will be popcorn.

[divinelydivorced]

Hope

Sometimes I struggle with the happiness of others. It’s not that I’m unhappy for them or frustrated by their success.  In fact, it’s the opposite.  I’m overjoyed for them to the point of jealousy.  Babies and boyfriends, vacations and career success, homes and more. It doesn’t matter the area, if someone obtains something on my wish list I find my happiness for them quickly accompanied by a sadness for myself.  A pity party indeed.

At times, it’s hard for me to remember how far I’ve come and instead focus on how far I feel I have left to go.  Stopping for even a moment to take count of all the changes over the last seven years or even simply the last two years, I should be walking around with a slew of adult girl scout badges.  Looking back, it seems as if I was dumped in the wilderness of life all alone and left with nothing but survival instincts to make it back to civilization.  

Yet despite becoming more self-assured each day, moments of insecurity always find their way in.  Lately my sensitive area has been babies.  I’ve said it before and will say it again, I don’t even know if I want one but I want to be able to make the choice myself.  Instead it seems with each passing year the choice is being taken away from me.  Thus, the mention of a baby gets me all anxious.  Even as I write this, my hair dresser (MY HAIR DRESSER!) asked, while blow drying my hair, “what about you?  You ever thought about having kids?”  

With the birth of so many new babies it’s inescapable these days…and trust me, I’ve tried.  I find myself crossing to the other side of the street when a stroller is being pushed my direction.  At restaurants, I request the booth away from families or opt to sit at the bar.  In grocery stores, I’ve abandoned half-full carts when I quickly realize Sunday is family shopping day.

When I overhear moms complaining about a lack of sleep or time to themselves, I have to resist saying aloud, “I’d lose any amount of sleep and time at the gym if it meant I could finally have a child.  Want to trade places?”  Of course, that’s not fair.  They are two very separate female woes, and I realize neither is worse or better than the other.

A couple weeks ago I was feeling particularly low and couldn’t quite handle more baby news when, you guessed it, more baby news flooded my phone.  There I was going home where I’d go to bed alone and wake up alone, aside from the adorable eight-pound poodle who, lucky for me, sleeps through the night.  As I washed my face, I felt an incredible sense of guilt. Why can’t I simply be happy with what I have?  I have so much, more than most.  Why do I feel I need more?  My friends and family have such great kids they will gladly share with me at a moment’s notice.  Why can’t that be enough?  Scrubbing my face over and over, these thoughts pelted me.  My hope was if I said them loud enough and long enough, they’d take effect.

But as I came up for air, I realized this is how God made me.  These are the desires He gave me.  He may grant my wish someday.  Or He may not.  He may have placed them there only to be left unfulfilled so that I may learn what it is like to always long for something.  I don’t know the end result, only that it is okay to have those feelings.

As I dried off my face I looked in the mirror and for the first time all day, noticed what shirt I was wearing.  In big bold letters, staring back at me, was the word “Hope.”  That’s what I am.  Hopeful but not expectant.  Hopeful but not naïve.  Hopeful but grateful…with or without.

[divinelydivorced]

Embracing Death

The older lady I visit with weekly has had a rough few weeks.  At her age, when one thing hits, everything else seems to follow.  There was one point when I was convinced I’d get a text at any moment saying she’d passed.  But each week goes by and she’s still with us.  This past week when I showed up, she looked even more frail. But appearances can be deceiving because her sassy personality soon came to life.

She was debating with her son about the grocery list.  The main point of disagreement was he believed she needed groceries and she believed she needed none.  She kept saying, “I’m going to die any day now.  I don’t need food.”  Apparently, all morning she had been telling him today was the day she was going to die.  In fact, she’d refused to take a nap because she didn’t want to miss anything on her last day on earth.  But as the day drew on, she switched to, “Well, maybe not today.  But tomorrow or the next day for sure.”  

The remarkable part of the whole thing is how ready she is to die.  She’s been saying for weeks that she’s lived a good life and is ready to be done.  I wonder if I’d be able to say the same thing. If I’d be content with whatever last meal someone put in front of me, playing a game with whoever showed up, and closing my eyes knowing they may not open again.  No hoopla.  No big farewell party.  A simple last day---because there was nothing else left to do or say.

As it came time for me to leave, I felt very sad. What do you say to someone who may or may not be dying today?  Do I say my goodbye now in case it’s my last opportunity, or do I hold onto it and not risking having to repeat it in three weeks?  But, luckily, I didn’t have to choose.  She grabbed my hand and said, “I’ve been blessed to have many wonderful friends in my life, and I want you to know, that you are one of them.”  Holding back the tears, I told her I felt the exact same.

We took the slow walk to the door and I tried to soak in every last second.  The details of her very old couch that’s raised on furniture lifts.  The corner where we have decorated her Christmas tree. Her cane we’ve taken on many walks where I listened as she told me all the secrets to life.  Turning towards her, I said, “Well, tell it to me straight. Will you be here in three weeks when I get back or is the plan to take off before then?”  She laughed and said, “I’ll be gone soon.  But don’t worry.  I’m not sure what is in store for me next.  But whatever it is, I’m ready.”

[divinelydivorced]

Platza

“Now I hit you with broom.” I was lying naked, face up, in a sauna as a robust Russian woman in a bikini stood over me. “Excuse me?” I asked.  But, without answering, she quickly put a cold towel over my face.  The next thing I felt can only be described as someone taking large patches of leafy branches and pelting my body with it.  She started at the feet and worked her way up to my neck.  Smack. Smack. Smack.  Over and over the slimy foliage slammed against my bare skin.  

“Now we make it hotter.”  “Hotter or harder?” I asked.  I soon realized “both” was the correct answer to that question.  She had dipped the brooms in extremely hot water and was now, without apology, hitting my body with extreme intensity. Whap.  Whap.  Whap.   “This help with weight loss.  But you are fine.”  “Then back off,” I thought but couldn’t say because I was too busy trying to remember to breathe.  “But you have cold, you come here two days, I get it out of you.”  I believed her.

She then sat me up while simultaneously whipping the towel off my head, slipped my flip flops on my feet, and took my hand saying “Come.”  Getting a first glimpse at my body, I saw little pieces of a kelp-like substance stuck in all the wrong places.  I was too focused on picking it off, that I didn’t notice where she had led me.  “Hold your breath.”  “What-“ I barely got out as gallons of ice cold water rained down upon me.  

I started screaming while choking down water. As it was starting to finally slow up, I heard her pull the crank again and send a new batch of the chilling water upon me.  She laughed and laughed, squealing in delight at my shock.  I mean who could blame her.  Before her was a 100-pound, naked, screaming drowned rat praying for mercy. There was no question who held all the power in this relationship.  

As the water finally came to a stop, I opened my eyes to see her standing in front of me, holding a glass of water out for me to take.  “Drink.” So, I did.  “This is your first time, yes?”  “Yes,” I told her, sipping my water, grateful I had survived.  As I reached for my robe, she grabbed my hand and said, “No.  We go again.”

Rounds two and three involved even hotter water accompanied by stronger slaps and ended with longer amounts of time in the ice shower.  But I have to tell you by round three I started to get into it.  At the end as she started scrubbing my body with an abrasive sea salt scrub, it felt like a massage done with feathers.

When I met up with my friend afterwards, she said, “My facial was so intense.  I didn’t think I was going to be able to take much more of it.  It was so painful.”  I stared back at her for a moment, then said, “Sounds rough.  While you were doing that, I had a woman beat me with two brooms soaked in scolding water.”  The laughter following was so loud we’d have been asked to leave had we’d been in a library and not a naked Russian spa.  

It occurred to me later how much pain we are willing to take from people whose intentions we believe to be good.  It’s not only the physical.  We let friends and family rain cold water upon us or beat us with their “good intentions,” and we just stand there taking it as they giggle and squeal. We are told the pain makes it worth it. Perhaps it does or maybe, just maybe, we should tell those well-intended folks to knock it off.  

I don’t have the answer to that.  But what I do know, is waking up the next day, my skin never looked better.

[divinelydivorced]

The Difficult Path

For a year, I’ve been helping a man work on yoga.  When we first met, he was what you would describe as active and healthy, with a positive disposition.  Therefore, I wasn’t surprised when he expressed an interest in yoga.  After all, he seemed like someone who often took up the newest health craze.  

About six months ago he told me that, prior to our meeting, he had been diagnosed with a severe blood disease.  Apparently, he was overweight, had a very unhealthy diet, and led a life of overindulgence in every area.  It wasn’t until he was headed to a yearly trip to Hawaii when he gained a new perspective.  The morning of the trip he awoke in severe pain.  He couldn’t lift his arms up from his side without the intensity increasing to an unbearable degree.  His Hawaii trip was canceled and replaced with a visit to the Mayo Clinic.  The doctor’s plan involved a lot of medication and chemical-based treatments.  But he decided to go another route.

He immediately changed his diet, now living off of bone broth and natural, unprocessed foods.  He began a regular exercise routine, something he’d never done before.  About halfway through his road to recovery, he sought out yoga as a way to increase flexibility and strength.

Looking at this man before me, I would have never imagined only a year and a half ago he had been so sick.   He is literally one of the healthiest people I know.  His muscles are well-defined, he always has an apple and bottle of water in his hands, and there’s a literal twinkle in his eyes.  Even though we often get together at seven a.m., he greets me with enthusiasm and an energy that is catching.

When we are together, it’s so easy to get caught up in the present that I forget to reflect on how far he has come.  I love when he does a forward fold and continues to hold it long after I tell him he can release his grip.  He’ll look up at me with a childish awe and say, “I can touch my toes, Lisa.  Isn’t that incredible?”  Or he’ll lift his arms up to the sky, interlace his palms, and stretch.  Then, almost to himself, he’ll whisper, “I couldn’t do this a year and a half ago. I couldn’t even lift them away from my side.  Who’d have thought…”

He has such an appreciation for the second chance he’s been given.  I tell him what an inspiration he is.  Most of us when faced with a difficult future, choose to cower and hide or take the easy way out.  It would have been much simpler to pop a few pills or allow chemicals to be pumped into his system.  Instead, at almost sixty years old, he chose to take control of his future, to fight through the pain, and literally re-create himself.  

How many of us consistently choose to eat the second donut (or the third or the fourth), despite wanting to lose weight?  To lay on the couch instead of taking a thirty-minute walk?  Pour another glass of wine with the intent to cut back tomorrow? The future is coming faster than we know.  We can choose the easier, more fun path that has consequences that we may not bounce back from.  Or we can choose to take the more difficult road, investing in the work now in order to reap the eternal benefits later.

This doesn’t mean you have to always be on an extreme diet or spend two hours at the gym every day. A healthy lifestyle looks different for all of us.  I read in a book that we all know what we need to do in order to get back on track. It’s an inherent knowledge we each have built within us.  This applies to the physical, as well as the mental and emotional.  The only thing holding us back is ourselves.

This morning, as we went through our usual routine, he stopped and smiled, staring at me.  Running short on time, I encouraged him to move forward, to begin on the other side, but he continued to stand there, the grin on his face getting bigger.  When I asked if he was okay, he said, “Isn’t life great, Lisa?  This is my life.  My. Life.  It doesn’t get any better than this.”

[divinelydivorced]

Five Years Old Vs. College Students

This week I have the pleasure of teaching an afternoon theatre camp to four, five, and six year olds.  Spending most of the year in a classroom with college students, this week has been a fun examination of how similar and different the two age groups are.  The differences are perhaps the easiest to spot at first.  For example, college students these days seem more cynical. They aren’t afraid to voice their opinion on how love doesn’t exist or the world is headed for ruin.  Yet these young babes still believe in magic and mystery. They love playing unicorns and still want to believe in Santa Claus.  When we tell a story together, the small children laugh and awe, hanging on every word.  They take over the story, one at a time, and can’t wait to add a new twist.  Whereas my college students thrive on perfection, even when they are told we are only practicing and they should feel free to make mistakes.  But they tend to not let go.  If they venture outside the lines, they bring with them a stack of supporting material that justifies this rare choice in case they are challenged.

College students are more apt to point out my mistakes. This isn’t always meant to be hurtful but rather they have been trained to find error in all things.  Yet the four, five, and six year olds sometimes stop what they are doing simply to run over and throw their arms around my legs or kiss my hand.  They cannot contain the appreciation they feel, whereas the older students have been taught to guard their heart, to only give praise if absolutely deserved.  

My college students are distracted by lack of sleep and iPhones, whereas the little ones are distracted by the imaginary voices in their heads and the wonderment of all that is happening around them. ��When I tell the younger ones to partner up, they immediately follow orders like a school of fish, grabbing a hand and lining up at the door.  My college students stare and wait for me to number them off or say two to three times more, “get in your groups…get in your groups now.”  Social grace is something most college students have learned and attempt to use. They tell one another the speech was great, even when it was not.  Whereas the kids will flat out say things like, “That’s a dog?  That’s the weirdest dog I’ve ever seen!”

No matter how much clean-up time I leave, I’m always rounding up the last young stragglers at the end of the day.  No amount of “five more minutes” will ever get all the books in bags and shoes on.  Yet college students start watching the clocks like hawks at quarter till, packing up before they have been dismissed.

College students saunter in late, often unapologetic. They believe time is their own to do what they wish with, while the children arrive teary eyed when only a minute or two behind, claiming, to their parents’ embarrassment, “My dad got pulled over by the police!”

But after some time, the similarities start to emerge.  Both groups like to use the phrase, “Well, my mom said…” whenever they need backed up on a debated issue and they, conveniently, know I cannot call said mom. Both groups claim to need to use the bathroom far more often than is true, and they are always thirsty and hungry. They love asking non-relevant questions and when directed to get back on track, ask a follow-up question that always begins with “Why…”

They always, always, always forget the one thing they were told to not forget.  When this is brought up, they suddenly lose the ability to hear and simply stare back. Resilient, I continue to question how they could have forgotten and eventually get a response like, “I don’t remember you telling me that.”  They are very good at passing blame.

Neither group is afraid to show their underwear. The little girls flip around in dresses while the little boys need constant reminders that the inside of their pants is not where their hands need to rest.  College girls wear yoga pants that are far too tight or thongs that stick out high above waist bands.  College boys wear their pants lower and lower each year, and I expect in another two or three years, they will simply leave them at home.

There are engaging similarities as well.  Such as they all have an innate need to be heard and seen.  They love having their moment to shine and thrive on positive feedback.  Whether showing me a drawing of their family or standing up in front of a classroom giving a speech, they all look at me, wide-eyed, waiting for praise.  When it is received, both smile and breathe a sigh of relief.  They especially love it when they are complimented when least expected. All of them love stickers, and in fact, the college students may love them more.

But, perhaps my favorite, is their ability to move forward.  They are so willing to express their emotions which are usually at a heightened state. I’ve had students of all ages say they won’t be back tomorrow.  An exhausted five-year-old boy screaming “this is the worst day of my life” and a deviant eighteen-year-old saying “I’m dropping your class and telling all my friends never to take you.”  But both still show up the next day.  They’ve either forgotten or they apologize.  Often the ones that seem the most upset in the beginning are the ones who love the class most in the end.

At the end of the day, they all go home.  To parents, to siblings, to friends, to roommates. They leave me so that they may go out into the world with a little more knowledge, a spark of inspiration, and the belief they have the tools to succeed and make the world a better place. They leave me behind, with a few memories, and awaiting the next arrivals.  

[divinelydivorced]

Walking Away

One area of noted personal growth has been knowing when to walk away.  Looking back over the last several years, this has been a major weakness.  Too many times I’d ignore the little voice in my head telling me to walk away from a certain situation or even a person.  At times, I even kept my mouth shut when I should have stood up for myself.  These are some of my biggest regrets.  Because by allowing myself to stay where I should not have been, I damaged myself, others, and lost a lot of precious time.

After my divorce and my time touring, I wanted to work on this.  But old habits are hard to break.  The only way to fix a flawed character trait is to practice what you preach in a sense. I’d tell my friends all the time to stand up for themselves or to remove themselves from harmful situations.  Yet in my personal life, I couldn’t seem to take my own advice.

It seems the hardest things to work on are the ones where there aren’t actual steps involved.  Especially in this area.  It wasn’t going to be as simple as setting a rule and sticking to it.  If I want to stop eating sugar, I don’t buy products possessing sugar and I say to myself, “No sugar.”  There’s a clear-cut line in abiding by or breaking this rule.  When it comes to not letting others mistreat me or take advantage, the lines get blurred.  It’s often a slow process, sometimes intentional or unintentional. Usually, somewhere along the lines, a system or relationship breaks down and leads to this lack of respect.  It’s not as easy to catch the problem before it begins.  

This is when I get frustrated.  Always having been a rule follower, I thrive when the line is clearly drawn in the sand.  When it’s not, I tend to panic and take cover.  Time and time again I continued to find myself ignoring that little voice. Looking back, once out of destructive situations, I would beat myself up for ending right back where I started.  “Why couldn’t I see that coming?  Why didn’t I leave sooner?  Why didn’t I say something?”  

But this past week, I noticed progress, when reflecting on a couple of current situations.  A casual friend had taken advantage of a few scenarios we’d been in and even got caught in a lie.  My eyes were immediately open and I found myself letting this person know we could no longer move forward with our friendship.  I ended it cold turkey and have yet to go back.  It’s not even a struggle…which reminds me the “bad” is a lot easier to walk away from when we put our mind to it.  Without time spent in that situation, I was able to invest more energy into good, strong friendships and found myself far more fulfilled than I had been in the one I’d just ended.

Additionally, I’ve noticed progress in dating relationships. Normally I’d tend to hold on to someone in hopes that feelings might grow or in an effort to avoid loneliness. But instead, I’ve recently been walking away without guilt or fear.  Several one-time dates were left as just that-no long explanation or apology given. When a few guys demonstrated disrespect or rudeness, I stood up for myself and bid them a kind, but direct, farewell.  Even someone I’d gone out with several times who I wanted to like but saw too many red flags, was sent packing.  In the latter situation, I’d normally have given him “one more chance” or made excuses for why he may be acting the way he was.  But time was up and I’d rather sit alone on a Saturday night than spend my time with someone I wasn’t meant to be with.

I don’t know when or how the light switched on. If I did, I’d throw out the easy five-step plan for other rule-followers like myself.  Despite not knowing, I’m grateful for the progress and chalk it up to overall growth and maturity.  Yet I’m also not discounting the impact of honest, supportive, strong friends and family.  I now have people who hold me accountable and who remind me to be kind to myself as well.  What a difference that makes.

[divinelydivorced]

Where I’m Supposed to Be

This weekend a friend and I were talking about receiving confirmation we are where we need to be.  For so long, both of our lives have been quite chaotic.  About the time things look like they are turning around, another problem arises.  We often see good news as bad news-having a hard time believing anything positive will do nothing but bring about a new set of consequences.

Yet, similar to her, lately we both have been noticing our lives stabilize in little ways.  For example, as mentioned before, I’ve moved almost every year of my life after high school.  I’ve called far too many places home and, as a result, they’ve never felt secure or safe. It was more like a temporary housing until yet again the boxes came out.  I’ve made the mistake of believing an apartment would be mine for years to come, buying furniture specifically for my current location, hanging light fixtures, painting walls.  This time around, no paint went up and only a few frames have been hung.  I was not going to be tricked into thinking I’d be here longer than one year.

Sure enough, a couple months ago, without warning, construction took over our building.  The management company purchased and tore down the house behind us. This demolition led to plans of reconfiguring my building and the one attached.  As is always the case, this construction, which was supposed to be quick and easy, has led to numerous problems.  The work is currently happening right outside my bedroom, and there have been times when the noise was so loud I truly believed a jackhammer would be coming through my wall at any second.  

One by one, tenants have been moving out. Many have refused to pay rent. Summer was supposed to be my time to relax and get refreshed, so I’ve let it all go.  When the noise got loud, I turned my music up.  When dust and water from a leaky pipe covered my bedroom floor, I got out the mop.  When another moving truck pulled up and boxes were carried down the stairs, I held the door. But as rumor went around management was going to need to take over our apartments for two to four weeks, I knew I could ignore the inevitable no longer.

Last week I sent an email inquiring about the construction and asking about the status of my lease that would soon be running out.  Politely I mentioned some of the ongoing issues and concerns and asked if it might be taken into consideration with my renewal.  Fully expecting to receive a response that explained I’d need to vacate or, in a less worse scenario, an email stating my rent would be increased as previously mentioned, I was shocked to read the management’s response before me.

They thanked me for my patience and the polite way in which I’d handled the ongoing issues.  They assured me construction near my apartment would be ending in the next few weeks, and hopefully, the unexpected problems as well.  They noted I always paid my rent a week early and have been an impeccable tenant.  As a result, they hoped I’d consider staying and as a way of showing their appreciation, they were taking $250 off of my current rent for the next twelve-month lease.

A reduction in rent is unheard of.  One of that magnitude caused me to reread the email about ten times.

I am where I need to be.  For the first time in such a long time, I hold tightly and proudly to this much-needed confirmation.  As my friend and I discussed this situation in my life, as well as the one in hers, I made note of a difference in both of us.  How we are no longer terrified by change.  A few years ago, all this little chaos happening outside my front door would have driven me to tears.  I’d see the $250 not as good but as something not to hold too tightly to.  My exact words would be, “This means some unforeseen cost is going to come up that’s going to take that away from me.”

Instead, I replied, “All I’ve been through has taught me to notice when God is moving the pieces of my life around.  That money will go somewhere.  Maybe savings or retirement.  Maybe a car payment or increased health insurance costs. Whatever it is, I don’t care. Because the pieces are moving to prepare for something new.  And I know I will be alright.”

[divinelydivorced]

Two Men, Two Earrings

Sleep has not been something I’ve gotten enough of lately.  It’s not that I’ve been out gallivanting around at all hours of the night.  It’s more that I’ve been distracting myself at bedtime. On nights prior to 5:00 a.m. mornings, being in bed at nine is crucial.  Yet nine rolls around and I’m still active on my phone or taking Sophie for another walk. When the alarm goes off at five (to the Mary Tyler Moore theme song, by the way), my body literally resists.  

Grumbling as I drag myself, limb by limb out of bed and up the stairs, I swear on everything I hold dear that “tonight I WILL get eight hours of sleep.”  But I never seem to hold true to my word.

There is no amount of vitamin D that can keep me fully functioning when sleep deprived.  First, my mind goes, forgetting where I put things or stopping in the middle of an activity to wonder what I was doing.  My body slowly joins in the deterioration process.  Last week on a walk with a friend, I tripped three times.  Only once did we see anything in the sidewalk that could be held responsible for this. The other two times my foot when told to move said, “Nah.”  

Well, last week my new point of frustration was when I’d look straight into the mirror as I put an earring in each year, then discover lately one was missing.  One hole in my ear is pierced far lower on my lobe, due to the “I could care less” Claire’s teen who pierced them back in the early 90s.  (This was and is every Claire’s employee.)  So, all I could figure based on catching myself doing it one other time, was that I thought I was putting the earring in the hole but instead was sticking it just under my lobe, never making proper contact. Thus, when I’d stand, it literally fall to the ground.

This happened on two occasions last week with my two favorite pair of earrings.  Each time I discovered one missing, I ransacked my place to no avail.  A few days later I was out on date with a new prospect.  We met at my place and since I was running late, he came in to wait.  When I went to grab my purse, there lying next to it, was one of the missing earrings.  Seeing me staring at it, my date commented he’d kicked it with his shoe.  

24 hours later, while on a second with a different beau, we were having fun singing, dancing, and cooking in the kitchen, when he lets out a horrifying scream and starts hopping about.  There on the floor, was the other earring, lying straight up like a tac waiting to strike.  

It could have been the lack of sleep or even my desperate attempt to make any hopeful connection from all these dates, but I started to wonder what the universe or God was trying to tell me.  I mean, two men, two missing earrings…that’s just too strange of a coincidence.  

Drifting off to sleep that same evening, I rolled the two earrings in my hand, praying for insight.  I must have passed out from exhaustion moments later because when I awoke the next morning, one was still in my hand and the other had fallen out, lost yet again.  A little more rested, I tossed my man/earring pondering out the window and instead spent my time on something more productive…scheduling another date.  I mean, I had to find that earring after all.

[divinelydivorced]

An Accidental Date with a Republican

I’m very honest in my Bumble profile when I come out and immediately say I’m Christian and vegan.  These are two things many people take issue with and I’d rather not waste anyone’s time by leaving them out.  I assumed men offered a similar respect when they mention they have kids or aren’t looking for something serious.  I’d equally assumed someone with extreme right wing ideals might make mention of that as well, until I recently found myself on a date with such a narrow-minded human being who offended me in more ways than I thought possible in such a small window of time.  The problem, I suppose, is when you believe your way of thinking is right, you don’t assume anyone else will disagree.  Censorship, in addition, goes way out the window.  So, how did I get there?  Well…to begin at the beginning…

His profile included a lot of my check list items. Religious, nature enthusiast, animal lover.  Turns out he and I have very different definitions of those adjectives.  For example, I, as an animal lover, never want to see any harm come to them, let alone be responsible for it.  Thirty minutes into our date, he was telling me how he had two pet turkeys but when one got annoying, he sold it to slaughter. When he saw my mouth-wide-open, appalled, vegan face staring back at him, he shrugged and said, “I tried warning him, but he wouldn’t shut up.”

Of course, this was around the same time he told me, “I need to pee” and demanded I produce a toilet immediately.  Annoyed with my Walgreens suggestion, he said he’d pee in an alley (ah, a nature enthusiast), and only when I insisted that public urination wasn’t an option, did he continue walking saying, “If Chicago doesn’t want you to pee in the alley, they should have more Porta Potties.” This was followed by a ten-minute monologue he performed on the erosion effects urine has on brick and mortar.  

After we found a bathroom and continued our walk towards downtown, he proceeded to play with his new tech savvy watch non-stop, which included checking his never ending incoming text messages.  He soon showed me a pic on his phone of a new “prospect,” a client sent him.  A dating prospect…blonde and adorable.  He asked my opinion, and at this point, I knew we weren’t going to be seeing one another again, so I encouraged him to give her a shot.  (Why do guys think showing us or talking to us about other women interested in them will make us more attracted to them?  IT DOES NOT.)

He then dropped a homophobic slur that blew my mind to the point I convinced myself I must have misheard him.  When, ten minutes later, he followed it up with an unbelievably racist “joke,” I stopped in my tracks.  He then began bumping my shoulder with his hand as he threw his head back and laughed, saying “Do you get it?  Come on!  You’re not laughing?  What’s the matter?”  To which I responded, “I’m not laughing because it’s not funny.  It’s incredibly offensive.”  Still laughing he said, “What?  Was it going too far?”  When I came back, quite angry, with, “You know, maybe you should try running your ‘jokes’ by people rather than your dog and turkey.    Because anyone with common decency would have told you how inappropriate that was,” he shrugged.  I guess he missed the church sermon on “love thy neighbor.”

For some dumb reason, which I can only chalk up to being dazed and confused-assuming a Punk’d hidden camera would pop out at any moment, I kept going.  After making another potty stop for him, I found the closest and fastest restaurant to eat at.  I ordered fries, shoving them in my mouth in fist fulls to expedite the process.  Not that it mattered anyway because he was so busy dominating the conversation with how wealthy he was.  “I spent $30,000 on my new pond.  I loaned my brother $400,000 for a house.”  (Why do guys think talking about how much money they have makes us more attracted to them?  Not with this girl.)  When I offered him cash for my portion (because there was no way I was going out with him again-and wasn’t going to give him anything to hold over me), he scoffed and said, “I have more money than I know what to do with.  I don’t need ten bucks for fries.”

At this point I realized this was not a joke set up by Ashton Kutcher (old school Punk’d-yeah) or my friends.  I stood up, said I was tired, and that it was time to go. I power walked us back towards my neighborhood.  “Wait-I thought we were going to hang out at Navy Pier or walk along the lake,” he said. “No.  Nope.  Not going to be doing that,” I said, walking a few steps ahead.

We continued the walk home in near absolute silence, only interrupted when we would pass a bar and he’d ask, “Want to grab a drink there?” and I’d say, “Nope.”  You may be wondering why I didn’t hop in a cab and leave him behind.  I stayed with him because there was no way I was going to take any chance he might stay in the city.  No, sir…I was going to make sure he got in his over-sized, pimped out truck and drove far, far away-back to his thirty-acre plot of land before I closed my eyes that night.

When we got to his vehicle I gave him a pat on the back and said, “Well…this was…well.  Thanks for the fries.”  He stared at me, silent and unmoving.  He continued to stare at me with wide, hopeful eyes.  I raised my hand and said, “Bye.”  He stood there, and I wasn’t leaving until he was in that truck.  “Okay…so long,” I said.  Still staring.  “So…alright then.  That’s about it I guess.”  Now backing up, watching him continue to stare.  “Yep.”  Another wave. “You should go.”  Ah, he needed specific instructions.  He lifted himself into his truck, started it, and I watched as he drove away.

The next afternoon I was stunned to get a wordless text from him, containing only a photo of his hand holding nearly wilted wild flowers.  I kept opening it, thinking there was a message there.  Not wanting to risk uncertainty, I replied and let him know things weren’t going to work out.  His response? “Yeah, I got that (“DID YOU?” – I wondered).  Can I ask why?  Is it because of my looks?”  

WHAT IS HAPPENING.  Ignorance is running rampant in this country…and it’s looking for a wife to breed with.  

[divinelydivorced]

Beauty in the Choas

While at the New Kids on the Block concert last Friday night, something unexpected happened (other than my inner nerdy teenager finding her voice again).  When the gorgeous five went to the center stage, we all stood up on our chairs.  It was at this point in the night when I really lost it, screaming, dancing, if I’m being honest, getting a little shaky from the excitement.  They sang a few songs and were so close, even taking turns going out into the audience, that the entire crowd was falling apart.  It’s like a tiger escaping its cage at the zoo: you know you should remain calm but the experience is so overpowering that you lose all control and go crazy.

When they made their way back to the main stage, we all stayed on our chairs for a while until security demanded we get down.  This is when I noticed the woman beside me had been sitting the whole time.  At first I assumed she, like me, had an old body that was screaming for her to take a break and rest, and she, the smarter of us two, was following its instructions.  But as they continued to sing, I noticed she was looking down at the floor and trying to cower a bit in her chair.  

Assuming she was getting sick from the heat and the lights, I sat beside her and said, “Are you feeling okay?  I have some peppermint gum if that might help.”  She looked up at me to reveal she was crying and said, “My friend just died.” Out of instinct, I opened my arms, she collapsed into me and started sobbing.  After a few moments, I asked what happened and when it happened.  She said a text had popped up on her phone, she’d seen the first part letting her know her friend was dead, but chose to not read the rest.  

She had come with a group of friends, some sitting on the other side of her and some in front.  I asked if she’d told them, and she said no. Apparently, they didn’t know her friend and she didn’t want to ruin their night.  This was at the height of the concert, it was chaotic and her friends hadn’t even noticed she was no longer standing up.

As she continued to cry, my arms around her, I looked up.  They were releasing white confetti from the ceiling.  The whole moment was surreal.  Here was this stranger in my arms, her world having changed for the worse, while thousands of other people were dancing, screaming, and having the time of their life.  As I looked up at the ceiling, watching these white blobs fall slowly, it was breathtaking. The light shown through each piece, reminding me of those movie moments where thick snow is falling from the evening sky, illuminated by street lamps.  

I immediately thought of my sister.  It’s always baffling what triggers her memory.  I wrote before that when she died I became obsessed with snow globes that Christmas.  I’d stand for what seemed like hours in department stores, picking them up, shaking them, and watching them intensely as the snow fell.  What once was still and in order was now flipped upside down and upright again, only to rain down a blur of white that was somehow gloriously serene, despite its chaos.  I watched in hopes of learning how to be the inside of the globe.  To stand, unwavering in both the stillness and in the disarray.

And here it was happening again.  Only this time I was inside the globe, playing the supporting role.  It was if someone on the outside saw us, lifted us up, shook us, and then turned us back upright and placed us down again, watching what ensued.  For every other person in there, they were unphased, simply reveling in this moment of bliss and havoc.  But one person had just had their world flipped upside down, never to be the same again.

Her friend finally noticed and bent down to see if she was alright.  She quickly responded she only needed to sit for a moment and that, yes, she was fine.  She’d tell them afterwards, I supposed.  Her and I both rejoined in the singing and dancing, at moments throughout the night her gaze would lock with mine.  I’d see the tears forming, I’d rub her back, and she’d nod, then look away.

Life goes on.  Whether we like it or not.  The way to survive is to embrace the beauty in the chaos and to simply try and keep up as the rest of the world moves ferociously forward.

[divinelydivorced]

The End of Silence

On Sunday, the Chicago Tribune came to my church to photograph the dogs in attendance.  One of the things I love about Lincoln Presbyterian is their new dog-friendly policy.  They recognize dogs as a big part of people’s lives and families, so they are testing the waters with allowing them at church.  Currently there are three regular attenders, with a few occasional guests.  I like to think of those in the latter category like the people who only come on Easter and Christmas.  Sophie has come with me three times.  

This week, with the photographer present, our pastor started the service by saying, “If you are visiting our church for the first time, you will see we have several dogs present.  You may notice at times they choose to be a little more active in our service by barking, growling, or making other noises.  Sometimes when these things happen, whether with dogs or kids or people, we start to feel anxious because we worry the distraction is troublesome.  But we want you to know, here at Lincoln Presbyterian, we are okay with commotion.  We do not demand silence in all ways.  Rather, we welcome it and encourage you to let your voice be heard.”

This simple statement speaks volumes.  In today’s world so many people are afraid to speak their truth.  Yet it is when we find a safe space to share our voice that we often are more able to find common ground with others.  When there is fear, there is fighting.  When there is freedom, there is reconciliation.

This made me wonder in what ways was I restricting the voice of others.  As a professor, it is easy to assume I know a question being asked and jump to the answer. It is equally easy to make the mistake of pre-judging a student’s behavior as “not caring” or “lazy,” when really there is so much more going on outside of the classroom that is effecting their schoolwork.  

Sometimes with family or friends, I make the mistake of telling them what they should do because I don’t want them to take risks or I worry they may get hurt.  Or worse, when a friend comes to me and voices a fear, I find I’m quick to say, “It will be okay.  Don’t worry.” Instead, I should encourage them to tell me more.  It’s so hard to admit when we are scared.  There’s vulnerability that is hard to reveal.  Me, patting them on the shoulder, and quieting them is the worst thing I could do.

Even with strangers, I find I do more talking than listening.  God seems to be sending people my way (old Greek ladies in need of being carried home, for example) where I spend too much time trying to figure out the “why” of us meeting versus the “what” needs to be done.  I’m always so eager to get to the adventure in the story, I forget that sometimes the most important part is being the observer, not the participant.

Needless to say, even though it was only an announcement and not the message of the service, it left me unbelievably inspired and encouraged.  I want to be a person known for “not demanding silence in all ways.”  Instead, I want to be a sanctuary for others to feel safe, an open place for them to allow their voices to be heard and supported.  

It’s always amazing to be reminded of how little choices we make can change the world.  As I sat, smiling, the sound of my poodle interrupted my thoughts.  I looked down to see her with eyes closed shut, passed out and snoring as loudly as ever.  How embarrassing.  Apparently, she was not afraid to let her voice be heard and it was saying it was far too early to be at church.

[divinelydivorced]

Abundance Is Coming

In church this Sunday, the pastor challenged us to embrace beauty, even amongst the chaos.  It was more than seeing the bright side of life.  She described her partner, who wakes up each day, looks at her and says, “THIS is the most beautiful day yet, because…”  The sentence may be finished with something expected like, “…I get to see my best friend” or “…my baby turns one.”    But she said her favorite times are when her partner says something completely unexpected. Perhaps, something like “…I will be working closely with someone who has caused me conflict.”  

Embracing beauty and reframing are two very different things.  Reframing involves acknowledging the negative truth first and then attempting to look for a positive twist.  Whereas embracing beauty means not giving your mind or spirit even a second to acknowledge the negative, but rather jumping immediately to the overwhelming joy you are about to experience.  This may seem extreme, perhaps even impossible.  But I think it’s the opposite.  If every morning, when you open your eyes, your first thought is that THIS is the most beautiful day yet, imagine how empowering you would feel when placing your feet on the ground as you rise out of bed.  If every day is better than the last, well…who wouldn’t want to live that life?  We all wake with so much energy and leap out of bed when we are about to catch a flight to a week-long beach vacation.  That’s easy. But doing the same thing on days filled with boring or dreaded tasks is much harder.

Yet the key here is to change your human nature. Someone who used to suffer from obesity but is now in great shape told me, “Every day is a battle against my body. Even though, for the last few years, I’ve eaten better and exercised hard on a daily basis, my body still wants to be overweight.  It wants to return to the state it has been in for the longest amount of time.  I must continue to act as if this new me is my natural state, fighting the daily fight, until my body catches up and realizes it must let go of the old.”  This philosophy is the same for our emotional and spiritual sides as well.  There is comfort in our natural form, yet we must fight hard to get our whole selves to become the new, more improved version of ourselves.  If you’ve been a negative, angry, or fearful person for decades.  The next ten or more years will be a struggle to resist your common nature.  But eventually, your new you will prevail.

When God is often trying to teach me a new lesson, it is not uncommon for Him to present it repeatedly in a variety of ways. Yesterday, on the way home from Starved Rock, my friend put on a new podcast, Yoga Girl.  She picked out the second episode, and, yes, it had a very familiar message.

The woman talked about how she struggled, living in a shack in Costa Rica, broke and not knowing if she’d ever be anything other than extremely poor.  She became engrossed with the practice of meditation, so whenever she’d start to panic or become worried by a new problem she knew she did not have the solution to, she would drop to her knees.  She’d pray and meditate on a single idea, “Abundance is coming.  Abundance is coming.  Abundance is coming.”  She talked about three very specific times where she was not going to be able to pay for something she needed, yet days after this deep meditation, the money appeared from a surprising, and sometimes unknown, source.  

Her message in the podcast was to not give yourself room for doubt.  Instead, put out into the world what you want and expect that result to find you.  We waste so much time worrying or problem solving when the reality is we are ALWAYS okay.  We are ALWAYS taken care of.  We ALWAYS survive.  It doesn’t mean things become easy or that the struggle disappears.  But we always come through on the other side.  Therefore, if that is the ongoing end result, why do we waste time doing anything other than reminding ourselves of that end result?

All of this reminded me of Matthew 7:7 in the Bible: Ask and it will be given to you.  Seek and you shall find.  Knock and the door will be opened to you.”  Much of my day is spent trying to prepare for the next day…all of them combined trying to prepare for a fuzzy, vague future.  I fail to remember my future is pre-determined and all I need to do is follow where led, allowing the rest to fall into place.  I believe in God.  Perhaps you believe in another higher power or being, nature, or simple good will. Whatever it is you put your faith in, we are meant to be taken care of.  We often fail when we are most afraid.  Instead, we must replace doubt and negativity by immediately embracing the beauty that is THIS day, and put out into the world what we want, knowing abundance is coming.