Do Good, Be Good.

"Boy With Autism victim of ALS Ice Bucket Challenge Prank"

I read the above article today, and short of eating bad food, nothing has caused such an instantly negative, physical reaction within me. I started crying, I wanted to vomit, and then I wanted to hug the boy and his family. The fact that there are still such cruel and ignorant people out there (when they are imperfect themselves) breaks my heart.

My brother is 15. He is also Autistic. And to me, he is perfect. I wouldn’t have him any other way. We were all blessed to have him grow to be very high-functioning, but there were many days during his childhood where we as a family struggled with him. We did fear that he wouldn’t eventually go to school, make friends, get a job, drive, or have any other part in the “American dream”. But even with all of that, through the tantrums and communication barriers we never loved him any less.

When he was 5 he knew every state, state capital and state motto. He knows every make and model of any car. He is an expert on trains. He has GPS built into his head. He watches the news and the weather channel. And every day he hugs me and tells me, “You’re a good person, and a great sister.” Sure, not every family is as lucky as we turned out to be. But we had looks. Eye rolls. Stares. Glares. And sometimes, even compassion. Because the good people out there knew he couldn’t help it. Not everything is under the control of the child or the parent. But both the child and the parent deserve love and support. Even from strangers.

Everyone born into this world is born innocent. Even the deaf, blind, those with Autism, Downs Syndrome, MS, missing fingers, a multitude of freckles, or crooked teeth, are all worthy of love, and kindness and understanding. People are born the way they are born with no choice in how their DNA is structured. But everyone is born just the way they should be. And they are all beautiful.

No one is going to understand everything, and yet even without that understanding the world still turns.

What is the meaning of life? I don’t know.

How did we get here? I don’t know.

But what I do know is that one day we won’t be here, so why not make life be the best we can?

World peace seems like Miss America’s pipe dream. The biggest cliche. Even still, there is not one reason it shouldn’t be everyone’s dream. There is not one reason it can’t be possible.

Do good.

Be good.

It shouldn’t be so hard.

Not everyone needs to be the same, believe the same, or feel the same. We aren’t mass produced robots, nor should we want to be. Why is it that we can appreciate the beauty of every snowflake, each one different from the last, but strain to find anything beautiful and miraculous about each other? Accept the differences. You don’t need to conform, but accept what is.

Or don’t. Whether an individual likes it or not, people are still going to be white, black, skinny, fat, Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, or Autistic. It is what it is and it isn’t so bad. Love each other! Or at least be civil.

“Mother’s” from days of old sure had it right; “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Disagreeing is normal, our opinions are partly what makes us our unique selves, but there is a distinct difference in definitions between the words “opinion” and “fact”...and many people need to be aware that their opinions are not fact. Those opinions which spread hate, and hurt, and shame and fear are never fact. We may all be unique individuals, but at the exact same time we are all human. We all have skin and bones holding us together, and holding our beating hearts in place. The air I breathe in is the same air you breathe out. A smile means the same thing no matter who is doing the smiling or which continent it may be happening in. And so does a hug.

Nothing is without consequence.

No act of love.

No act of hate.

Something always affects someone.

It’s funny, how much of the world’s cultures are based on some part of religion. It’s also funny how many wars are being fought due to some religious clashes. Yet most religions, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, those who worship the Golden Rule, have the same fundamental base: Do good. Be good. So why the hate? I may not read the same book as you, but both of our books tell us to be kind, and to love each other. Maybe we need to work on our literacy.

In life, bad things will happen to you. Someone will leave, someone will die. There will be a tornado, a fire, an accident. The market will crash. You will get sick. Someone will say you look funny. You’ll forget to set your alarm. You will spill your coffee on your white shirt.

No matter what bad things happen, it doesn’t mean you have to become bad. It will be hard. It will change you. In life, the good and the bad form you. But you still have the final say in who you are.

Do good.

Be good.

Give when you can. Accept help when you have to.

See the beauty in the world.

Every act of kindness can prevent one act of hate. The storms will still rage and the coffee will still spill, but the cruel words and acts of violence are completely within our control.

"life, as beautiful as a rose can be as painful as a thorn, but through it comes faith, hope, love and the most memorable and vital lessons learned only through the experiences of it all"

Do good.

Be good.

Be empowered to spread it.

UPDATE: Ice Bucket Pranksters Identified

Guest Post - Jonathan Densmore

In my opinion, the greatest thing ever invented is the camera. With this beautiful device, any single moment or memory can be preserved and revisited almost indefinitely. When the mind's remembrance begins to fade, the eyes can fall upon a photo and the past has become the present.

Today I am happy to have NYC photography instructor Jonathan Densmore contribute to this blog with a guest post on GoPro Digital photography.

Enjoy the article, and be sure to follow him on Twitter - @jondensmore

GoPro Digital Photography

Public radio personality Ira Glass gave an inspirational talk about the secret of success for people in creative fields. He says that the people who pursue work in creative industries are drawn to that kind of work have really good taste. Because they have good taste, they struggle with self-perception as they master their creative craft. For the first few years, they look at the work that they do and are frustrated because it doesn't live up to their exceptional taste. Glass reassures the creative that this frustration is normal and merely a symptom of their unique ability to identify greatness. The best thing a creative type can do, he claims, is to continue to put in work so that they can continue to improve. Eventually you will close the gap between your abilities and your ambitions.

Advances in technology have helped to improve the quality of creative production. In the past, people involved in creative occupations were required to put in significant time to master their skills. However, technological advances have made it easier for people to create exceptional products in virtually every creative field, including architecture, lighting, graphic design, art and photography.

In this current technology-driven age, digital cameras are everywhere. They are included in virtually all laptops, tablets and even cell phones. Because cameras are ubiquitous, amateur photography has become extremely popular as people use social media to document their lives and share their experiences with their friends. While technology has increased the popularity of amateur photography, camera technology has improved drastically, helping inexperienced photographers create incredible digital images.

GoPro creates digital photography technology that allows even amateur photographers to capture high-quality action shots. Go Pro accessories include wearable and gear-mountable equipment, such as the GoPro Stick, that make it possible to take photos on the go. These accessories are durable enough to wear even while you participate in extreme sports. GoPro has also created free apps that let you operate your camera remotely, providing countless opportunities to unleash your creativity.

The Return of the Emme Kay to the Double You Eye.

I’d been driving home at the same time throughout this past week, but suddenly the last few days were different.

This was of course, due to the Autumnal Equinox. The “Fall back” time change. Suddenly, 5 o’clock dinner time felt like bed time and the drive home had a new, yet nostalgic cold feel to it. Gusts of wind blew piles of leaves across the road in front of my head lights. Winter is coming.

3 weeks ago, I did something I hadn’t done in 15 years (the fact that I am now at the point in my life where I can say that about something nearly sickens me). I raked a yard full of leaves, and then jumped into a ridiculously giant leaf pile. It was AMAZING. The leaves smelled just like they did when I was little and jumped into leaf piles like it was the purpose of my existence. Fresh and crisp. And now, the crisp is turning into a chill.

The first couple houses and small towns begin to decorate with garland and twinkle lights. Some people still have their Halloween décor displayed, unwilling to let go of Fall. The first snow dusting was last week, and Thanksgiving is still around the corner. But the stores have begun to play the holiday classics over their speakers and I feel I too have the same right. Especially this year.

This is the first time in 4 years I have been home for the entire 2nd half of the year. Fall and winter. Not just 7 days for the Christmas season, but every day from the first leaf fall to the first snowflake floating in the air. And IT IS WONDERFUL. I’m finally home.

I drove 3 hours north last week to visit my parents and little brother. This was the weekend I inherited my childhood, and great-grandmother’s Christmas decorations. This was the weekend I once again had one of those “out of body experiences” where I could see myself growing up. I remembered each ornament, each snow globe, each music box. The old-as-me cardboard boxes holding these memories have this musty scent of holiday cheer that brings me instantly back to the annual childhood moments when I placed the needle on the Bing Crosby Christmas album and started the turntable.

It was a part of my life I had left and longed to return to. The last 4 years in the Sunshine State has thrown so much at me….most of which I suppose I had really thrown at myself…but here I am, dream into reality, and still, months after returning to my “homeland”, I still sometimes wake up wondering how long until I have to catch a plane back down south.

I initially left just to run away. Then to change. And it ended up being so much more. Such an intense journey I never could have imagined. I look back and think, “What a peculiar dream that was! So detailed!”, only to eventually return to reality with the sinking, heart-wrenching feeling that it wasn’t a dream at all. It was life. Pure life.

And where do I go from here? What do I do with everything I hold in my heart?

I guess I let it out…and keep going.

This is usually the part of the year where people subconsciously “reward” themselves…less days of working out, more cookies and wine. Indulging in overindulgence. Happiness and wishes are bountiful. Of course, all of this can also bring forth the more-than-occasional holiday-induced-mental-breakdown, which is often cured with more cookies and more wine. And even less working out.

I’ve decided, this year (or the end of this year, rather) that I will start early. My New Years Resolutions will be perfected before the New Year. I have finally returned home, in time for the best part of the year. I keep getting this feeling something big is coming…something wonderful. Maybe it’s my confidence and determination, with a sprinkle of no more homesickness and a dash of holiday spirit. Maybe it’s naiveté.

But here I am. And everything will be awesome.

She

I was never angry with my mother for leaving…she never promised she’d stay. I’ve never felt a loss, or that something was missing. I was just…curious. This is how I feel it happened, by way of some telepathically divine being.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. She watched her chest rise and fall. the black void in her eyes grew larger. One more breath. “Ok, you can do this.” Her mind’s voice echoed in the middle of the night.
One more glance at her husband in the mirror. He must have felt it. As he repositioned himself on their waterbed he asked, still half asleep, “Did you say goodbye to her yet?”
“No, I was just about to.”
“Ok, I love you, have a good trip.”
“I will…I love you too…” the ellipses could be heard in her voice.

She kissed him quickly, missing one side of his lips. He had already returned to sleep as she walked out of the bedroom. The 5 foot hallway to her daughter’s room seemed like a mile, but she could still make out a toddler-sized silhouette. Each step felt like walking upstream through a churning river. The walls spun into a blur and each breath was louder in her ear.
She breathed in her daughter’s scent before she kissed her and whispered, “I love you”…hoping there would be an eternal echo. The words left a heartbreakingly putrid taste in her mouth. Another deep breath.
She walked around the hall through the kitchen and looked at her baby blue Ford Escort through the window, she decided against taking one last look at everything else. The car was already waiting out front anyway, she rationalized. She grabbed her single suitcase and turned the handle. She walked with a costume of confidence to the car in the dark morning hours of December 6th, 1989.
With her last ounce of mental energy she calmly spoke, “Good morning, I’m all set.” She rode away, already trying to block out her life thus far. She was unable to see the shadow of the elderly neighbor woman watching from her window.
Soon, along with the car and the smoke from the exhaust, she was also gone. Missing to everyone, and maybe even herself.

My father received a phone call at work that morning.
“She didn’t show up for work today, and hasn’t called in. Is she ok?”
“Well, she left for that conference in Wyoming this morning.”
“What conference? There is no conference.”

And with that, chaos was unleashed.

For the longest time I had said the only thing my mother gave me was the gap between my teeth, and the only thing she taught me was to leave.

After my first heartbreak, as my cold heart began to quickly melt, I realized she never taught me how to leave. There was no nurture there. It was all nature. I was in my genes. In my blood.

I’d spend years growing up thinking one day she’d return. When the day came that I finally realized she and I were the same, it was the same day I realized she’d never return. I never did (return to anything). I avoided confrontation, apologizing and fighting for my heart. And so did she. It was finally being able to let go of her that allowed me to let go of myself a little. To feel something and show it. To be vulnerable. Lose control, stay around and see how things go. To forgive her when I never thought I was even angry with her. And to forgive myself, because angry was all I ever was with myself.

I have 3 memories of her. They weren’t the most comforting of memories, which may have aided in my temporarily successful yet ultimate failure in detaching myself from her.

1. We took a shower together. Possibly my first, I was around age 3. I remember stop-motion type snippets. Flesh. Steam. Hot water. That’s it. But I know it happened. I was a toddler, and remember feeling like such a "big girl" since I was taking a shower with my mom instead of a bath by myself.

2. She and my father were arguing. Over bills. In the kitchen. (With Colonel Mustard, and a knife…) I toddled in, as most kids do when their parents are fighting (proof that yes, children notice!) and it was my father who comforted me. She was sitting at the table. The side closest to the window. My father was standing, but leaning over the papers on the table. He gave me a kiss and said everything was fine. I left to go play.

3. In our basement I had an entire section devoted to my toys, but this one particular day, I decided to go to the other side, and in "Sleeping Beauty" style, pricked my finger on a cactus I’d constantly been warned about. Well it fucking hurt and I ran upstairs screaming as if I was really surprised (my goodness are children dumb sometimes!) at my condition, only to be rescued at the doorway by my father. He took me to the bathroom, sat me down on top of the toilet where I had the perfect view of my mother. She was sitting on the couch in the living room reading a magazine. She did manage to look up, just for a second, then return to her page. I remember the sinking feeling that she didn’t care, and the comforting feeling that my father did, as he bandaged me up.

It wasn’t until my 23rd Christmas, spending 8 hours talking (and laughing and crying) with my grandmother (paternal) that I came to realize how much my mother may have actually loved me. While I have heard stories of my mother’s infidelity, my grandmother tells me how she made it known that between the hours of 8-9pm she would not take phone calls, as that was the time she put me to bed. Stories of how she debated not returning to work as a journalist/editor until I attended preschool in order to spend more time with me. She left before preschool began.

My father always told me she was sick. An unknown blood disease constantly gave her stomach problems. He said she was depressed and felt she was an unfit mother and wife. Maybe he was right, and maybe it was true. I had a very happy childhood and I never remember feeling like anything was missing. It wasn’t until I was 20 years old, and placed my first child (daughter) up for adoption that I understood and truly believed that maybe, and even most likely, she gave me a better life, and through that, loved me as much as she possibly could. (Life lesson #1: Single fathers don’t get enough credit. My father is the most amazing person in the world. I am 100% sure that is a fact.)

It’s funny, the saying, “you grow up to be like your parents”…she and I have so much in common, I feel like I’m growing up to be like someone I don’t even know. I just hope I’m done running. I’m tired.

KERRY O’BRIEN KRUEGER:
Missing person info:
http://www.charleyproject.org/cases/o/obrien-krueger_kerry.html

No Me Mientas.

“It’s not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.”
-William Shakespeare

all the vampires walking through the valley
move west down ventura boulevard
and all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
all the good girls are home with broken hearts
and i`m free --- free falling
yeah i`m free --- free falling
- Tom Petty

“Life, as beautiful as a rose, can be as painful as a thorn, but through it comes faith, hope, love, and the most vital and memorable lessons learned only through the experiences of it all.”

I wrote that when I was 17. We had to pick a quote for underneath our senior picture for the yearbook. So, I wrote my own rather than use someone else’s. How “foreshadowing” of me in so many ways. The funniest part though, I was 17...what the hell did I know about life? Yet somehow I knew something, and knew someday I’d know more, and this quote would gain truth and meaning with each passing year.

I used to want the Chinese symbols for “FAITH. LIFE. HOPE. LOVE.” tattooed on my back. Why Chinese? I have no idea. Maybe I thought it looked more decorative, or was a cover so no one would really understand the permanent statement across my skin. Maybe it just seemed hipster. The words however, were the most important things to me at the time. My FAITH in God. My FAITH in myself, in my family, in my LIFE. The precious gift of LIFE. HOPE that everything will be ok. And LOVE. FAITH in LOVE and LOVE in LIFE. Everybody just wants someone to LOVE and be LOVEd in return.

Now, I erase all of that and just want the Chinese symbol for PEACE. Chinese again? Makes it seem more universal…like “world peace”. and PEACE? If you have FAITH, LIFE, HOPE, and LOVE, you have PEACE. Everything we desire summed up in 5 little letters to create such a powerful word. Tom had the Chinese symbol for PEACE tattooed on his shoulder. Looking back now, I see he had a desperate desire to achieve it. Now, years later, and following his recent suicide, I wonder if he ever found it…

LIFE. DEATH. I’ve been so terrified and unsure of both lately. I KNOW that one is inevitable, and that’s LIFE. In my quick yet infinite 23 years of life, there are a few things I have learned:

1. Some people are meant to be in your life. Sadly, they may not always arrive at the right moment, but no matter when they do, hold on for dear life in anyway you can. It’s a gift to find your match.

2. Don’t dismiss something that may seem ugly or deformed for it just may turn out to be a life-changing saving grace. And then, it’ll be gone before you quit taking it for granted. Love everything from the start.

3. Fuck society and trying to make people happy or proud of you. If they love you, they love you no matter what. Don’t lie to me about love. Don’t lie to others about your love.

4. It’s not always LINEN and LACE staring at you in the doorway in a provocative pose begging you to take her to bed, but never forget that sight, and never ignore it.

5. Don’t say no to sitting in the Emergency row on an airplane. Don’t you want the opportunity to be a hero? Even if you don’t, it’s highly unlikely you’ll crash and burn, and if by chance you are crashing and burning, you’ll most likely not make it no matter which row you chose to move into.

6. You know the saying “If it’s too good to be true it’s probably a lie”? Take that into consideration when something comes upon you really sudden, and goes really fast and seems like the ultimate perfection. It isn’t. It will be the hardest fall and biggest heartbreak.

7. It’s the oddest thing returning home after a long absence. Everything is so familiar. The scent, the settled dust, yet something as simple as the inside of the fridge you’ve had for over 13 years can seem so foreign. This contradiction is both lonely and depressing as well as comforting and euphoric.

8. A sunset lasts longer and is much more beautiful when you are 34,000 feet in the air and above the clouds.

9. My body has a set number of tears it can make in a lifetime, and I’m pretty sure I’ve used most of them up already.

10. Quite the contrary my darling Watson, smart things do NOT always happen when one is high.

11. We spend so many breaths asking people if they are ok, but rarely think to ask ourselves.

12. “We think too much and feel too little“ as Charlie Chaplin said. Sometimes, I would call that “Survival of the Fittest”, and other times, I’d call that a cold, sad, lonely life.

Yes, I have learned so much more. Most of that “more” is also probably more important, but these are the things that have been truly shaping me lately.

I’m a writer. I write. I know that. Even other people know that. When I’m dealing with the conflicts in life and I go to a friend for advice, especially recently, I’m given the same advice no matter who I talk to. “Megan, write it down. You’re a writer. that’s what you do. You’ll find your answer in the words.” How true, how true.

It’s odd to have someone know you so well, sometimes to the point that makes you wonder if they know you better than you know yourself. A slight movement of my hand and he knows I am deciding something. A quick raise of my eyebrow or bite of my lip and she knows the exact emotion I am feeling. It feels nearly like an invasion of privacy, except that my “privacy” is weaved throughout my entire physical appearance. An invasion that makes me want to scream, “Get out of my head! And stop interpreting my face!”.

Do I truly know myself? I don’t know. I can learn about who I am by who I used to be. Sometimes I fear I am incapable of loving someone truly, and deeply, and forever. I knew my mother for such a little amount of time and yet I feel her presence in my blood as I make each social and emotional decision I come to. The fear, the resistance, the foot facing the door, ready to run. I want LOVE in my LIFE yet I fear it. This contradicts what I see, know, and want. Here is the perfect example for a high school experiment. Nature vs. Nurture. Is it in my DNA to run from everything (Nature - Mother)? Or is it simply the only impact/lesson I have learned from my mother (Nurture)? It’s interesting, I’ve spent years denying her effect on me, yet now I blame her either way.

I’m not a fan of cop-outs, yet that sounds like one. A cop-out is just a nicer version of a lie. I don’t like lying. I “tried it once”…not fun. Raw, honest brutality is the way to go. Maybe I should get the Chinese symbols of those words tattooed across my back (RAW. HONEST. BRUTALITY. ("deep man, and so WWE at the same time. whoa.")).

I took 5 years of Spanish. I’ve managed to retain quite a bit, yet, at one time, years after my education, there was a phrase I just couldn't remember. At the time, I was living in Florida, where many people speak Espanol. One random day at work I asked Mike (a native of Puerto Rico), “Como se dice ‘don’t lie to me’ en Espanol?” To which he replied, “No Me Mientas.”

And i kissed you in a style that clark gable would have admired
(i thought it classic)
I want so badly to believe that "there is truth, that love is real"
And i want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd
I know you're wise beyond your years, but do you ever get the fear
That your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by?
-The Postal Service

We're goin down and you can see it too.
We're goin down and you know that we're doomed.
my dear we're slow dancing in a burnin room.
I was the one you always dreamed of.
you were the one i tried to draw.
how dare you say it's nothin to me.
baby, you're the only light I ever saw
-John Mayer

First Steps

Misguided by the 405 'cause it lead me to an alcoholic summer.
I missed the exit to your parents' house hours ago.
Red wine and the cigarettes:
hide your bad habits underneath the patio
~”405” -- Death Cab For Cutie

My biggest problem with myself is that I became the person I looked down upon in my past. I became the exact person my father feared I would and my mother predicted I would (“You‘re going to end up pregnant…or worse“). And then, I spent the next few years hiding from myself and everyone around me. When I finally began to emerge from my shell as a scared, abused, addicted, 90 lb 20-year-old, the self loathing began to take over. Self loathing only leads to more bad decisions.

I remember sitting in Jule’s Coffee Shop on Pearl St. in LaCrosse, WI every day during the end of winter through the summer of 2006. I was pregnant. I would walk there from my crappy little efficiency 9 blocks away, every day and spend anywhere from 4 to 8 hours there. Free WI-FI, fair-trade coffee, acoustic guitar slipping through the hidden speakers, and vegan hippies coming and going between Jule’s and the used book store connected through an open doorway. I’d spend the entire time listening to music and writing my way to carpel tunnel syndrome, spilling out my pathetic feelings and transcendental thoughts:

Friday, February 17th, 2006. 1:41 PM
Once again I’m sitting at Jule’s and I keep stopping. Staring. I made a play list of music…it’s over 14 hours long…although I suppose I plan on being here that long. Coffee shops always make me feel better; always have…sitting, sipping, reading, writing, listening, watching. I can breathe here, and that’s a feeling I haven’t had the luxury of having in a long time.
I love Jules. The table tops in the booths are black with green wisps of smoke painted in. Something to stare into when I fall into thoughts of love and life. The booth seats aren’t the most comfortable, but it turned out to be ok since I had to move to a table next to an outlet on the wall, just so the music can continue playing on my laptop. From my new point of view I am able to see the blowing sparkles of the 8 inches of snow we received yesterday. Every school in the area was closed. If I had continued with my semester at the local college I would have enjoyed this as a snow day. I wonder if I look sad to those around me. Or maybe they think I’m crazy because I keep staring. Luckily I’m just staring outside or at empty chairs instead of people. I used to want to meet a “coffee shop boy”…now I don’t want to meet anyone.

So she was right, my mother. I moved out of my parents house at 19 because I didn’t agree with having a curfew (especially when I was covering for my father and his affair…yes, it was pure blackmail). I quit going to college because I was too busy drinking and smoking pot and experimenting with a few other random options. Because my parents and I weren’t getting along (up until now, my father was my best friend) I also would go several weeks without talking to my little brother (my other best friend…only 5 years old, Autistic, and unable to understand my selfishness).

It all killed me inside. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat much. Mostly that was due to being poor. I rarely paid rent. And sure enough, only 3 months after running out, I was pregnant. I found out just a week or so before New Years. My father found out the same day I did. He had burst into my apartment because he didn’t know if I was alive. It had been weeks since I returned his calls. My brother spent each night in tears. Little did anyone know, but so did I. After putting me in my place, as usual, his eyes drifted to the empty E.P.T. box lying on my floor. “You’re pregnant now too? Great. Great job. What are you going to do? You really got yourself in a mess now.” I remember each word. And then he left. And I threw up. .

Of course by now I had also lost contact with all of my close, true friends from high school, and only because I would ignore all of their efforts to keep in touch, mainly out of sheer embarrassment, and the wasted hope that they wouldn’t find out. I was being naïve. I lived in a small town. They probably knew the second that god damn pink plus sign appeared on that urine-soaked stick. Mistake after mistake, and I couldn’t stop the avalanche of “fuck ups”. And I was student body president in High School. 4 year veteran of Spanish, and Show Choir and Summer Musicals. I was even the president of History Club. What happened to this nerdy, wholesome little girl? Honestly, I was never either of those. There was always a bit of darkness inside. A hidden Gothicism, revealed only under the most uncontrollable bouts of depression.

It took a long time before I made that first phone call to an old friend, agreeing to meet for lunch. I’d consider her one of my few saviors. We still meet at that same restaurant whenever I’m back in town.

I’ve realized, as it has been 3 years now and I am finally able to have the desire to love and forgive myself, that hiding this, hiding her, would only continue to hold me back. My significant other of almost 3 years knows, but I’ve made it clear I don’t want his family to find out, for fear they may then hate me, look down on me, or think I am no longer good enough. Well I already feel that way about myself and I hate it. I now know what an amazing experience it was and no longer regret it. Each time I see her face reminds me of this. I choose to no longer be ashamed. This is my first step to happiness.

Her father and I chose to place her for adoption. We didn’t decide this until I was 6 months along and just beginning to show. We picked out the family from their hand-made portfolio, among several others we looked at. They were the perfect choice and it was an “easy” decision the moment we met them. I do believe we actually said yes on that first meeting. AJK turned 3 just a few days ago. She’s the most beautiful angel. She came out perfectly. Yes, I still cry at night when I think about that first night she slept in my arms in the hospital; my only company through those dark hours. I still cry when I think about the court date where I signed away my rights. I still cry when I receive new pictures, or when I make the annual trip to visit her. But I cry different tears when I think of how happy she is, how happy her family is, and how much more blessed my life is now that she will always be in it. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Anyplace is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe well make something
But me myself I got nothing to prove
You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so you can fly away
You gotta make a decision
You leave tonight or live and die this way
~”Fast Car” -- Tracy Chapman

A Good Stand In The Rain

A corpse-looking man told me today, through his black gums and rotting teeth, “the worst line ever written was ‘you complete me’. The best came from Thoreau who said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation’. It is through that desperation that individuals learn they must complete themselves.” A funny little monologue for my ears to hear as I have found myself lost and broken…in need of being “completed”.

It seems to be one of those days where only standing in the rain will make me feel better.
Beyond the usual uppers and downers I have counted on in the past to keep me trudging through my days, it’s several words between quotation marks that help keep my wings flapping.

“We loved with a love that was more than love” - Edgar Allen Poe
“There’s too much beauty to quit” - from the movie “Stay”
“The waiting is the hardest part” - Tom Petty

During trying times people always seem to veer toward the same cliché’s to help others out. One of the most common, which I have heard 3 times already today is, “It’ll all work out over time”. The problem is, to avoid disappointing you, they never finish the rest of the phrase, “It’ll all work out over time, the way it’s supposed to work out”….and we all know we WANT it to say, “It’ll all work out over time, just the way you hoped.” But I guess that’s too much romanticism to be true.

It’s sad, I cannot even look into a mirror for more that 10 seconds without being utterly disgusted with myself, both inside and out. These regrets I have been holding on to have turned into parasites that are destroying my body. The sole cure is forgiveness and acceptance of myself and to listen to everyone else who tells me that I am indeed a beautiful person. Right now though, I’m pretty sure all of those people are on drugs. Or they are retarded blind. Or maybe, I’m really not that bad. Maybe we all really do make mistakes. Maybe we all are a bit crazy. And maybe, there is someone out there who will love us for who we were and are, and we should just let them.

Sometimes it’s good not to forget, other times, it’s torture. Without the rain there is no rainbow. Without the pain, there is no true joy.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what feels completely right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be completely right, and maybe that’s not even possible.

But alas, as always, it is the way it is and there’s nothing I can do about it. Whatever will be will be. Que sera, sera. Cliché’s mask nothing. I hate them. I need to stop asking so many questions. I need to be able to give up some control. My metaphorical knuckles are always white, clenched tight with anxiety. I need to let go, only then will I see. When I’m not looking, I’m sure I will find it. At times I have felt close, and now, my heart and mind are thinking more deeply, considering all possibilities and viewpoints and things are happening. Maybe I am closer to my epiphany than I thought. Stop worrying. Stop making up all possible outcomes. I’ve thought about and prepared myself for all of them already anyway. More “preparation” is NOT going to help. But relaxation will. And sadly I have to remind myself that relaxation does not equal day dreaming…especially not daydreams that something amazing will happen and all my troubles will fade. Even more sadly, relaxation does not equal sleeping the day away and hiding under the covers waking up only to wipe away tears.

Life really can’t be that bad can it? No. “There’s too much beauty to quit”, remember? And if I’m sick over the fear of the loss of love, if it’s true love, if it’s fate or destiny, or a match, or if “We loved with a love that was more than love”, then time can do no harm. It’s always nice to have answers. It would be even nicer sometimes, to know the future. To know the outcomes of each possible decision. But life wouldn’t be interesting and we would learn nothing and cease to develop into the wonderful person that might have been. It’s all about time. It’s all about waiting. And, “The waiting is the hardest part.”

Sweet Dreams,
Me