Category Archives: life stories

Everybody Cares, Just Not About the Things That Really Matter

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Balancing being informed and sane is the trickiest part of existing right now. Safety, freedom, survival – they are all at stake. It’s a daily parade of incompetence and cruelty.

We are assaulted as soon as we rise by a storm of content. These stories we are consuming are hard to shake. We want to take action, working hard to stay brave while also being really fucking scared.

I’ve had lots of moments over the last six months, year, 10 years….where I was running low on hope and purpose. Often, there has seemed to be little stopping this unguided mass of pure hate and greed from barreling down toward us. Not the courts, not Congress, but there are more and more of us every day who are punching back. It feels a bit like trying to hold off a fire hydrant with a dollar store umbrella.

We are in a 24-7 cycle of atrocities from this regime. The cruelty is, of course, the point. Even though I try to read and watch it with the intent to inform and counter, I’m not AI. I remain very human, this little box of empathy, compassion, and hope.

The contempt for humanity is playing everywhere, all the time. What kind of empty vessel do you have to be to post photo ops in front of tortured humans? How devoid of soul must you be to risk the lives of soldiers? What kind of sick fuck do you have to be to defund clinical trials and literally seize healthcare from the most vulnerable? It is unconscionable to celebrate murder, torture, and the downfall of what should make us human.

Today, I am still haunted by the video of Edgardo, the young man accompanied by Brad Lander and taken by ICE. The fear on his face was gut-wrenching. It fucking broke me. I cried big tears for him and every other person harmed by these profiteers of evil.

How anyone could look at this and the many more videos of inhumanity and not feel this way is beyond my comprehension. It’s disgusting, and I promise that if I’m ever in a position to do so, I will protect those who need it.

As we all know, none of us is getting out of here alive. Have we not earned the right to live whatever years we have left in peace? We have, and we want it for all. Yes, all, because I and those who I stand with actually see every human as something.

I’ve always had this gut feeling that this country has too often been the bad guys. All the good doesn’t absolve all the pain inflicted and the tragedy created. From the Trail of Tears to possessing people as property to burning women to the McCarthy inquisitions to Reagan’s war on the social contract, this nation has a lot of reckoning.

The latest is a war no one wants except the goons in the White House. They’re already in line with their talking points and “sleeper cells,” so they can manufacture fear to push people to be pro-war and use it to remove anyone it deems a “threat,” regardless of their citizenship status. Now, SCOTUS has given them the green light for third-party removals (or trafficking, but not deporting. That definition is a return to origin.)

When does this end? This is every fucking Black Mirror episode in one, all the time. People are just cattle to these folks. The dehumanization and fear crusades have been ongoing for decades. We are here today because people stopped caring about most everything that was worthy of it. Instead, they cared about their perceived superiority and persecution. How you can hold those thoughts together, I don’t know. They bend their beliefs with the wind.

So, they cared about their own interests as fleeting as those are, since there’s little loyalty or empathy found there. One could say I’m demonizing them. I’m not.

I gave people the benefit of the doubt and ignored that side. I’ve never had a MAGA in my circle, but there were some on the periphery.

In the end, how I care is different. I want no one to hurt or starve. I understand equality isn’t a pie that gets smaller as all people earn rights. Isn’t that rather insane to think that anyone not of the dominant party, mostly white men, have had to fight, protest, and sue our way to just be on the same level. And that’s one thing they care about, too, just in a different way. They care about being at the top, while others lose their ability even to remain free.

That’s the kind of caring that destroys people and the world around them.

For me, I can’t turn that way. I don’t have it in me to fall in line. Please keep caring about the right things with me.

Everything DOES NOT Happen for a Reason 

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I don’t think anything makes me angrier than the passive-aggressive whimpering of everything happens for a reason. It often comes from a misguided, problematic religious person as a way to somehow absolve tragedy. 

The reality is this is bullshit. It goes hand in hand with what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Trauma did not make me stronger. And there wasn’t some design-your-destiny plan for all these horrible things to happen, so I’d what? Learn lessons? Realize my place? Become some better version of myself? 

By these measures, I deserved abuse, neglect, rape, grief, and cancer. It was all destined so that I would struggle with my mental health and a desire to live. Lucky me!

When people say this nonsense, these are aggressions. These statements discount my experiences and losses. They say I needed to grapple with the hardest things anyone can go through. And my layers of trauma must mean that I was so in need of these lessons, I needed to go through them all. 

Do you see how ridiculous this all sounds? The truth is that really terrible things occur every day to many people, and there’s no system in place that’s handing them out. 

What did make me stronger? Dealing with my trauma and working very hard not to let it devour me. I’ve spent most of my life in therapy, wrestling every demon you could imagine. That’s the stuff that gets you to a place of healing. 

I did not deserve these things. Karma didn’t rain on me because I’m evil incarnate. I’m just a regular person who has good and bad days. My motto is to be good to yourself, others, animals, and the planet. It’s actually pretty simple to not be a complete asshole oxygen thief. It’s too bad that others can’t see it this way. They need to believe in fairy tales about things happening for a reason because they’ve got no soul or energy to do the hard work. They see the world as black and white. The truth is it’s every shade of gray. 

The series of heart-wrenching events in my life were not preordained. There wasn’t even a domino effect. All that’s gone down has shaped who I am, but I didn’t need them to make me a compassionate and passionate person. They didn’t build my character. I did, every day, based on who I wanted to be, influenced by my mom, grandparents, teachers, friends, and partners. 

I am a collection of everything good and bad that’s transpired and all the gray parts in between. 

But if anybody dares to say, everything happens for a reason, I’d simply say, no it doesn’t. If they say that trauma and tragedy made me stronger, I’d reply, so much in life can’t be fixed, only carried. 

Some days, it’s so heavy. But I make my story, my truth, and my ending. Everything can happen, and there is no real reason for a mother to die too young, a 23-year-old to get cancer, or a child to fear home. 

There is so much that happens, and there are absolutely no good reasons. 

We Matter

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This is for anyone who’s ever been told you don’t matter. That you’re nobody. That you’re nothing. 

As a woman, maybe I’ve had more than my share of these words thrown at me. They’ve come from a father, a teacher, a partner, a friend, a boss. 

I used to believe them. I agreed so easily that I wasn’t anything worth caring about. I had no value, just a vessel to trudge around the world. 

It didn’t matter that I always proved the opposite – in academics, loyalty to those I loved, forgiveness without an apology and excelling at my career. 

I was still invisible and disrespected – someone who should be lucky they were even given a chance. How’d I get that chance in the first place? Because I worked harder and was smarter. No one has given me anything in life. I clawed my way to it. There was no privilege buoying me up. It was pure will and fight. 

Ultimately, I’ve never wanted much more than to matter to someone. I just forgot I had to matter to myself first. My very busy brain, threaded with depression and anxiety, sometimes creates this state of amnesia. I forget all the inner work that helped me firmly believe I matter. 

I’m trying really hard to hold onto that when there are loud voices telling me I’m nothing and nobody. 

But they don’t get the last word. I do.  

So, if right now, you’re hanging by a thread and unsure if there’s anybody in the world who thinks you’re somebody, I do. Even if I don’t know you, I promise you matter. 

We’re inside this upside-down moment where empathy is called weakness, intelligence is labeled as indoctrination, and accountability has never been more scarce. 

I’m a fighter and a survivor. I’ve proved it time and time again. I hope the next time someone says you don’t matter; you’ll realize that those words said are the ones that don’t matter. 

Mourning Someone Like Me

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Mourning Someone Like Me

We would have fewer worries and more excitement if November had gone our way.

When it didn’t, I felt my body shift into mourning for the person who lived in a world where empathy won. It was in no way a mandate, but I also had to mourn the end of our rights as we knew them. We’ve been sleepwalking a bit on believing we are free. There’s a lot working against us.

I began to think about this after reading the brilliant John Pavlovich and his post on missing who we were and hoped to be before this regime.

I am so sad that the safer, hopeful me is gone. She was already weakened, but now she’s lost forever.

If this wretched system actually worked for “we the people,” I wouldn’t have to wake each morning in fear. What unconstitutional and evil thing has happened? Have more people been disappeared? What’s the latest blow to Health and science? Billionaires enjoy all the money they already have but want more. It’s insatiable – the greed, hubris, and bullshit talking points that up is down.

I fucking miss the hell out of the person who wouldn’t have to worry about cuts at work or job security. I’m the head of a department, but nobody is safe.

I’d love to wake up and be that Beth planning trips and new adventures. She was excited about visiting places of courage and resistance.

I’ve had to mourn many versions of me in my life. My mom’s death forever created a chasm; coming out the other side, I was different. Then there was who I became after starting over at 30. I had no husband, a drive to disappear and a final awakening.

A healthier and less scotch-taped soul emerged after my second marriage. This version of me was really happy. Then, I decided to test the norm and move across the country. After six years, I can say I’m a Las Vegan.

The pandemic reset everybody in a way. It eventually led to my living a healthier lifestyle.

All the people we’ve been. Sometimes sadder; other times braver.

I’m devastated that a better life for all of us didn’t happen.

The rally call remains the same. Create unity, share your knowledge, and get involved.

Please consider joining your local Indivisible chapter. These are your people.

This current version of me – she’s still in progress. I’m sad more than I’m not. Hearing about how you’re doing could help the rest of us.Insightful!Interesting!FollowingShare

Why I Left NC: It May Have Saved My Life

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Sometimes, you need to be 3000 miles away from your past. Growing up in a small, Bible-belt, southern town was not my choice. No one gets to decide their initial home, but that place always felt inhospitable to me. I was always an outsider and couldn’t wait to get out. 

The truth is my environment was homogenous – white, Christian, and conservative. Yet, I was raised to think critically, be curious, and shape my own opinions. It seems simple and basic, but it was and still is really uncommon. Despite the sameness of my bubble, I emerged with empathy and equality in my heart rather then judgment or hate. I have my mom and grandparents to thank for this. 

At 18, I left that town for the city. But it was still a NC city. Eventually, I landed in Charlotte, the state’s largest city, which was diverse but also a place built on banks and bibles, two things that should never share a sentence. But they do, for this is a place where people use religion to justify their condemnation. You know, the “hate the sin, love the sinner” bullshit. It’s a simplistic response from those who know nothing of grace or compassion. They just want to justify their fear of those who don’t fit their primitive ideals. They “other” the fuck out of anyone who doesn’t fit the mold. 

Along with the zealots, there are also those clinging to the myth of the confederacy and heritage that makes them hold boldly to a flag whose only true symbolism is white supremacy. 

These are all part of why I found NC a place I could no longer call home. But there’s more to the story. 

For me, physical places hold trauma. I’ve felt it in locations where atrocities have occurred, from the library repository museum in Dallas to Mandalay Bay in Vegas. I can’t explain it exactly. But it’s a physical and emotional response. 

It’s even more intense in places where the trauma that happened involved me. I would never want to return to the house I grew up in or my father’s home. The gravity of pain from those places is too heavy. Not all memories from those places are bad. But the good does not erase these. They are simply part of the whole. 

When I used to visit where I grew up often, I would notice that the closer I got, the more elevated my heartbeat was, and my anxiety increased. My body, still digesting the horrors, was telling me it wasn’t safe there. 

While I lived a big city life, Charlotte was also the center point of tragedy. Going for checkups with my oncologist at the hospital required a mental prep. Living across the light rail tracks from a building where I was raped took a lot of compartmentalization. 

As much as I have healed from this trauma (and still am), I knew that to really and truly do so meant I had to leave. It wasn’t easy.

Moving across the country and starting over will bend you and devastate you in so many ways. These years were hard and lonely. There was sickness, heartbreak, and a very near suicide attempt. Yet, I’m still here, a fighter with much more grit than anyone should. 

From this came a renewed passion for telling my story, resistance, and hope. 

There remains love in my heart for NC, especially people who are now a country away. I’ll always think of it as a beautiful state, but its history and mine there are dark and shameful. 

Its politics twisted, its progression stalled, the state has much to learn still, even though it was an original colony. 

I’m unsure what my headspace would be if I were still there or if I’d even be here. It was one of the hardest decisions to make and execute, but I believe it saved my life.  

My Pop Faught Nazis and Delivered the Mail

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My grandfather was a tall and humble man. By the time I came along, he was retired from the postal service. This meant I got to see Pop a lot. He took me to dance class, taught me how to play Monopoly, and watched game shows with me. He was an amazing father figure, but I never got the chance to have adult conversations about his life.

I knew he was in the Army. There was a handsome photo of him in his uniform. I think he was drafted into World War II. Before serving, he played on a minor-league baseball team.

I also knew he’d been wounded and received a Purple Heart. He was shot in the hip, so it bothered him the rest of his days and ended his baseball days.

I wish I’d had the chance to ask him about all these experiences. He was a brave man with layers of life-lived. I could have learned so much more from him.

Later, I found some tokens from the war. There are several documents about his service. There was also a Nazi pin and a letter from the Army authorizing him to take this object. I don’t know why it was in his possession. Maybe it was common, or maybe it was something he needed to do.

What I do know is that my Pop was the only dad I ever had. He loved me with all his heart. I always felt safe when I was with him.

After the war, he worked for the postal service for many years. My grandmother, a teacher, continued to receive his pension benefits after he passed.

I will not let his sacrifice be in vain. He deserves better than that, as do so many veterans. If my grandfather was brave enough to fight Nazis literally, I can be, too.

Birthdays: I’ve Had a Few

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A birthday is just a day, right? It’s simply the anniversary of your birth. Is that celebratory? Maybe I can just celebrate the miracle of being alive against a lot of odds, some self-inflicted, others not.

My birthday brings about mixed emotions. Mostly, I’ve wanted to avoid it. There’s a long list of disappointments that led me to this apathy. I had this audacious hope that being the one to organize it would mean others would show up. I may have never felt so alone as on the weekend of my 40th birthday. I invited a small group of friends one year in advance, and I sat alone on the Friday afternoon. Later, two would join me.

My husband’s not great at birthdays either. He never had one growing up, which makes me sad on completely other levels. So, there’s no expectation now.

But I have the gift of memories of special days—parties, special homemade cakes, and presents. There was always a theme, and my granny baked me delicious cakes with calligraphy-style frosted birthday wishes. I was a lucky girl.

My mom let me know every day that I was the most important thing to her; my birthdays were what many kids would have dreamt of. It’s one of these small but meaningful things that kept me from being completely fucked up.

But, without her, the day has been sometimes a burden. Why even acknowledge it? I’ve had 27 birthdays without her. I’d rather forget the day. I have no madness or sadness about the many disappointments that have followed.

It’s for the simple fact that I used to be someone’s everything. Most of us have just been nothing.

As this birthday arrives, the country’s in chaos, rights are falling by the day, and evil is beaming. I have no birthday wish for myself. I need no candle to blow out, for there is a gushing fire in my soul to resist and fight.

When you’ve had at least one person in your life love you without conditions, no matter all the traumas that happened too, you can be brave. I hope my love for my small circle lets them be courageous.

A happy birthday isn’t necessary, but a life of freedom, equality and empathy is.

I’ve Lost My Hearing, So It’s Time to Lose the Ego

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I have no idea what I’ve agreed to the past few years. If you’ve whispered something to me, or we’ve been somewhere with a lot of background noise, there’s a 97% chance that I didn’t hear you. And while I will say pardon or what was that to clarify; twice is my limit. Then I just nod. It’s embarrassing and isolating. It makes me feel old and broken.

But I finally went to the ear doctor. I’m facing up to the fact that not hearing is impacting my life. I can easily turn on closed captioning on TV. But that doesn’t exist in the real world. And my lip reading skills aren’t great.

So, I took a hearing test. And failed hard. I already knew that I had some hearing damage. But to be told it’s significant in both ears is not the best news. On top of not being able to hear, I have regular ear pain and vertigo. There’s constant popping and ringing as well. My ears rank the lowest of any of my existing organs. The type of hearing loss I have is nerve damage. It’s not reversible and will only continue to worsen.

I go to the doctor quite a bit. So a diagnosis that’s not what I hoped for isn’t new. At least they don’t make you get on the scale.

So, yes I need a hearing aid, or rather two. But I also may have other ear issues. I’ll be having more tests on the inner ear to see if there’s a problem. Because apparently, my ears look excellent. “Best ears I’ve seen today,” the doctor said. But it’s only 10 AM so not sure this will stand. Also, lots of love to all the medical professionals I saw that kept telling me I’m so young.

Then I get the pleasure of discussing hearing aids. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. Not hearing means I’m missing out on life experiences. I’m more concerned about that. Besides, they are so small, they’re very hard to see.

I will just choose to embrace and accept the fact I have hearing loss. I’ve faced much worse diagnoses than this. I’ve been sliced and diced so what can be so bad about a little wire in my ear.

I’ll just consider this another one of my superpowers (if you do didn’t know I have a super palette aka as I’m picky), and I’ll have bionic ears.

Next week, I’ll return to choose the right device. It will depend somewhat on my insurance. Because hearing aids aren’t cheap. The new models even connect to your iPhone. They are just another tiny computer.

Hopefully I’ll be back in the land of the hearing soon. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

Why Did You Park There?

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Why did you park there-

Thoughts on what it means to be decent

I’d never call myself a rule follower. I’m creative and a dreamer so I don’t care for boundaries. But I do have an unfaltering desire to be decent. I don’t won’t to infringe on the rights of others. You’d think we’d all be in agreement with this. But it’s not so, on either the micro or macro level. Instead, we have a world of people who invade your personal space, tell you what to do with your body, and yes, park wherever they please.

I, like many, live in a community with assigned parking. While I get the occasional inconsiderate driver parked in my spot, I’m left baffled more by those who park in no parking zones. They park in fire lanes or areas where it makes it hard for others to get out. I honestly want to go up to those people, and ask them why they parked there. It’s not that every other space was taken, that’s not the problem. The problem seems to be that they think the rules don’t apply to them. They’ll park where ever they want. Drive how they want. Act like they want. And say what they want. And most of the time, there aren’t any consequences.

How did we as humans, the most advanced of all Earth’s creatures, end up so unaccountable? Every day, I witness adults doing whatever they want, including hurting and disrespecting others, with zero consequences. This is only going to end badly. As the “leaders” of the animal kingdom, aren’t we somehow supposed to be better than this?

So, it’s as good a time as any to start taking responsibility. Own your actions. Stop encroaching on others. Call others out who are making the world a less civil place. Don’t shove your beliefs down others’ throats. Get right with yourself. When you become emotionally healthy, you’ll find you have no desire to tear down others. Because isn’t that the ugly truth about human behavior? Most of those who want to condemn others or believe the rules just don’t apply to them, are just emotionally unavailable and impaired. So while they often present themselves to the world like a proud bird, they’re really sad and broken and insecure.

Do yourself and your fellow humans a favor, and get some therapy. I highly recommend it. Facing your truths, gives you the best shot at some kind of happy.

I’ve been known to say, only slightly in jest, that I don’t like people. I do like some of you (you know who you are). But honestly, I like you all enough to not object to, harm, inconvenience or hurt you. Your life is not my business. And mine isn’t yours. You can count on me, every day of the week, trying to be decent, which means I’ll park where I’m supposed to.

Turbulence Let’s Me Know I’m Alive

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And other crazy things we tell ourselves in a modern world 

I would classify myself as a seasoned traveler. I’ve flown probably thousands of miles in my life, including a 15 hour flight to Australia and two trips across the Atlantic to Europe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have anxiety about turbulence. On a recent cross country trip, we experienced bad turbulence going and returning. I was with one of my besties who hadn’t flown in years, but I didn’t act cool about it. I was scared. All these irrational things run through your head: like have I lived a good life, have I written everything I wanted to write, have I taken chances?

So, with all these questions running through my head and my hands gripping the seat, I realized that turbulence does let me know I’m alive. 

It’s a bit of a crazy conclusion. That doesn’t make it any less true. We tell ourselves all kinds of crazy things in the modern world. Most aren’t truthful. Much of what we tell ourselves is rationale for what we did or didn’t do. Often, in moments or situations where we are scared or see finality, only then are we honest. But why? Why does this act as a catalyst for us to get our shit together. Does almost dying, make us feel more alive?

I’m on a mission to do shit that scares me. I want no part of the comfort zone. As a writer and liver of a believable life, there are still subjects I am afraid to write about. They are very personal and aren’t the kind of things that go down smoothly. Yet, these things are important. They made me who I am. They are part of my story. It doesn’t matter that they are the part of my story’s fabric that are sharp and cut easily. These “sharp” bits of life experience are often what makes us compassionate, empathetic and human. 

While turbulence is terribly uncomfortable and scary, so is life at times. You can either buckle up and expect constant bumps or stand outside, always looking in at the world, as if it were a TV show. I refuse to be a bystander in my own life. 

I won’t let the bad stuff keep me from the good stuff in life. It did for awhile. I made all kinds of mistakes like marrying a man I didn’t love and pushing away people that mattered. But I own them as mistakes. I don’t pretend that they didn’t happen. But back then I didn’t feel turbulence. I didn’t feel anything, happy or sad. 

So, today right now, I’m grateful to say, “Turbulence lets me know I’m alive.”