Last night I mowed my yard for the first time since I had surgery on my finger back in April. Now lest you think I've been living in a jungle for the last four months, let me assure you that my yard has been quite adequately taken care of by one of my young neighbor boys over the summer. The truth is my finger's been healed enough for several weeks that I could have been mowing the yard myself, but I felt sorry for the kid and knew he could use the money so I just let him keep on mowing. He's been having some serious allergy issues for the last couples of weeks though, so I told him I'd just go ahead and mow this week. Of course, as fate would have it, it's like a gazillion degrees in Kansas City this week, so by the time I was done, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. I was dizzy and queasy so I went straight to the fridge when I came inside, knowing I needed to hydrate and fast. But even though I knew I desperately needed to drink something, even though I was devastatingly thirsty, I stood in front of my open fridge and said to my dogs, "What do I want, dogs? What do I want?" I finally settled on tea, and yep, I absolutely drank it straight from the pitcher ... you bet I did.
That question has been on my mind a lot for the last couple of days ... the "What do I want?" question ... mainly because of a conversation I had with my life-saving head doctor on Saturday. She was telling me that I need to care about myself the way I care about others, that I should stand up for myself and stop letting people treat me poorly, that I need to think about my own happiness for a change.
"No one ever asks me what I want ... no one ever just asks me what I want," I mumbled as gigantic crocodile tears rolled down my cheeks. "I ask them what they want, but no one asks me what I want. They don't ask me what I want on the little things in life, and they don't ask me what I want on the big things either. No one asks me what I want."
The dear head doc didn't miss a beat as she quickly asked, "So what do you want, Terrie?"
"I want to help people ... if I had tons of money, I would want to buy a ranch in Montana or Wyoming and open a retreat center for kids. Kids like me ... like the kid I was ... kids who are terrified of being who they are. It would be a place where kids could come and feel safe and accepted and loved. A place where kids could just be themselves ... where they wouldn't be judged or made to feel less than anyone else or like there's something wrong with them. I want to help people ... that's what I want."
"Well, I'd say that's a pretty wonderful want, Terrie," she said quietly as I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose. "But what do you want for you?"
Here's the thing ... it's easy for me to say what I want when it comes to my dream to help people, really super easy. But saying what I want for myself feels selfish to me, wrong somehow ... because down deep inside I don't believe that my desires or opinions or feelings are as significant as the desires and opinions and feelings of others ... because down deep inside I don't believe my wants or needs are as important as the wants and needs of others ... because down deep inside ... way, way, way down deep inside, I struggle every single day with believing I'm worthy enough to ask for or receive any of the things I want.
So ... what do I want? Believe it or not, I probably want the same things you want, friends ... to be happy, to be loved, to be needed, to be appreciated, to be shown kindness and respect, to be heard. I probably want the same things you want, friends ... because for as different as we all are, we are all very much the same in the things that matter most of all.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
If Nothing Else
Working in the advertising business means working with a lot of younger folks, some of whom are younger than my youngest child ... sheesh ... guess I really am getting old. I've written quite often about the family environment of our office, and about how in many ways I've sort of been the office mom. I'm glad the young people have always felt like they could come and talk to me about anything ... and I do mean anything ... I love, love, love that they knew beyond any doubt that they could trust me with anything and everything that was on their minds or in their hearts. I'm sure they didn't realize it, but their confidence and trust in me has truly been like medicine for my soul ... they thought I was helping them, but in reality, it was them who helped me. I'll be the first to admit that growing older isn't always much fun, but being a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on for those young folks has certainly been a wonderfully great part of racking up some years of life for sure.
Being available to listen to my young friends pour out their troubles or encourage them through difficult times has been quite humbling to me, and celebrating with them when they are excited or rejoicing with them when they succeed has been beyond exhilarating. But my most favorite part of being the office mom is when those young folks have babies ... yep, I love it when they have babies ... love it, love it, love it. You know why? Because when they bring those babies into the office, I get to play pretend Ghee with them for at least a few minutes. In just the last couple of weeks, I've gotten to sit in my chair at my desk and rock some of those babies. And I can promise you those young folks have no idea how much it means to me when they seek me out and pass their little ones into my arms ... there's no way they could even begin to know how very much that means to me for so very many different reasons.
Pretty often the young parents at work will ask for my advice on kid or baby stuff ... it seems like that type of questioning comes in waves; one parent asks me about something and then several others ask for my input about other various child-related situations. Like last week, for example ... I lost count of how many times a young parent said, "So did your kids ever ...? or "Should I be worried if my kid ...?" In answering their questions, I became perhaps more aware than I've ever been before that being Matt, Brad and Meghann's mom has been without a doubt the greatest blessing and highest calling of my entire life. For all my mistakes and disastrous parenting moments, they somehow managed to become amazing, wonderful, brilliant, caring, compassionate, understanding, loyal, talented adults in spite of all my failings.
Last night, I had dinner with my son Brad's girlfriend Shelby, her sister and her sister's friend. As many of you know, it's rare for me to go out anywhere on the weekend, unless of course, I'm spending time with one of my kiddos, and sometimes ... well ... suffice it to say that sometimes the weekends aren't exactly my favorite times of the week. I can't remember when I've spent a leisurely Saturday evening chatting with other gals, and it was absolutely wonderful. As is true anytime two sisters are together, Shelby and her sister had me howling with laughter as they told story after story from their childhood. I can't remember the context now, but at some point I asked Shelby what Brad tells her about me ... I asked her if he ever talks about the kind of mom I was when he was young. Her reply blew me away ... completely blew me away.
"Brad always says that you were his greatest encourager ... that you were his biggest fan."
While I know in my heart that Brad is being far too kind in his description of me, I also know that if that's what he remembers ... if that's the mom he perceived me to be ... then I at least got that part right. If my kids remember nothing else about me for the rest of their lives, I hope they remember I was always on their side cheering them on. Maybe that's the answer, you know ... maybe that truly is the answer for every parent, whether your kids are babies or young adults or even ... gasp! ... teenagers. If nothing else, be sure you are their greatest encourager ... be sure you are their greatest fan. Something tells me if you do, everything else will work itself out ... something tells me it will indeed.
Being available to listen to my young friends pour out their troubles or encourage them through difficult times has been quite humbling to me, and celebrating with them when they are excited or rejoicing with them when they succeed has been beyond exhilarating. But my most favorite part of being the office mom is when those young folks have babies ... yep, I love it when they have babies ... love it, love it, love it. You know why? Because when they bring those babies into the office, I get to play pretend Ghee with them for at least a few minutes. In just the last couple of weeks, I've gotten to sit in my chair at my desk and rock some of those babies. And I can promise you those young folks have no idea how much it means to me when they seek me out and pass their little ones into my arms ... there's no way they could even begin to know how very much that means to me for so very many different reasons.
Pretty often the young parents at work will ask for my advice on kid or baby stuff ... it seems like that type of questioning comes in waves; one parent asks me about something and then several others ask for my input about other various child-related situations. Like last week, for example ... I lost count of how many times a young parent said, "So did your kids ever ...? or "Should I be worried if my kid ...?" In answering their questions, I became perhaps more aware than I've ever been before that being Matt, Brad and Meghann's mom has been without a doubt the greatest blessing and highest calling of my entire life. For all my mistakes and disastrous parenting moments, they somehow managed to become amazing, wonderful, brilliant, caring, compassionate, understanding, loyal, talented adults in spite of all my failings.
Last night, I had dinner with my son Brad's girlfriend Shelby, her sister and her sister's friend. As many of you know, it's rare for me to go out anywhere on the weekend, unless of course, I'm spending time with one of my kiddos, and sometimes ... well ... suffice it to say that sometimes the weekends aren't exactly my favorite times of the week. I can't remember when I've spent a leisurely Saturday evening chatting with other gals, and it was absolutely wonderful. As is true anytime two sisters are together, Shelby and her sister had me howling with laughter as they told story after story from their childhood. I can't remember the context now, but at some point I asked Shelby what Brad tells her about me ... I asked her if he ever talks about the kind of mom I was when he was young. Her reply blew me away ... completely blew me away.
"Brad always says that you were his greatest encourager ... that you were his biggest fan."
While I know in my heart that Brad is being far too kind in his description of me, I also know that if that's what he remembers ... if that's the mom he perceived me to be ... then I at least got that part right. If my kids remember nothing else about me for the rest of their lives, I hope they remember I was always on their side cheering them on. Maybe that's the answer, you know ... maybe that truly is the answer for every parent, whether your kids are babies or young adults or even ... gasp! ... teenagers. If nothing else, be sure you are their greatest encourager ... be sure you are their greatest fan. Something tells me if you do, everything else will work itself out ... something tells me it will indeed.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Where I Belong
Sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday that my three children Matt, Brad and Meghann were little tykes ... actually, the older I get, the more often I find myself wondering how all those years flew by so quickly. Matt turned 30 a few weeks ago ... Brad will be 27 in the fall ... Meghann is now 25 ... seriously ... where did all those years go? It couldn't possibly be 30 years since I first became a mom ... it feels like only yesterday that the three of them were playing in the sprinkler in the front yard or making sugar cookies with my mom or building Legos in the basement. As I'm sure is true with most of us who are parents, sometimes when I see the wonderful, caring, happy adults they have become ... well, sometimes I don't see two young men and a young woman ... sometimes I look at them and see my little ones. I see all three of them snuggled together in my bed as we read books on a cold winter's night ... I see three little heads of white blonde hair and piercing blue eyes ... I see my three precious babies as they drew their first breaths and wailed their first cries. Seriously ... where did all those years go?
People who are divorced often talk about how vulnerable they felt when their marriage ended ... about the overwhelming sense of loss they experienced as they tried to make new lives for themselves. And if you spend time talking with them, almost without fail, they will talk about how incredibly difficult it was to lose their sense of belonging. Think about it ... often, your couples friends feel forced to choose a "side" ... you lose the relationship you once had with your former spouse's family ... people don't know what to say or how to feel when they're with you. With the stroke of a pen and a decree from the court, you go from being together to being separate ... from belonging with someone to not belonging. If you've never had to experience those feelings yourself or walked through them with a friend or family member, you should get down on your knees right now and thank God because it's not an easy place to be ... trust me. In fact, I personally believe that having a sense of not belonging anywhere may well be one of the leading causes of suicide. It's tough to go from being "part of" to being "disconnected from" ... suffice it to say you can totally trust me on that one for sure.
Driving home after work this evening, I started thinking about something Meghann said to me one day when we were walking home after she got out of school. She was either in kindergarten or first grade ... I can close my eyes and see her blonde, blonde hair and those big blue eyes, her little pink backpack and her favorite sneakers. As we walked down the sidewalk, she slipped her hand into mine and sweetly said, "I'm glad I belong to you, Mom," to which I replied, "And I'm glad I belong to you, Meggers ... I'm so glad we belong to each other, babe." I remembered Matt announcing in a loud voice when Brad was a baby, "She's my mom, Brad ... she belongs to me." And I remembered a sobbing and terrified little Bradley falling into my arms one dark night as he said, "I belong with you, Mommie ... I belong with you."
The truth is I've lost my sense of belonging more than once or twice in my life ... okay, more like a million times in my life ... and some of those times, I wondered if I'd ever belong anywhere again. But I've come to understand something over the last couple of years ... pay attention because this is super important ... even when I don't belong anywhere else on the face of this earth, I will always belong in the hearts of those three little blonde-haired, blue-eyed kiddos who tore through the family room on Big Wheels ... those three little pranksters who dumped a whole bag of sugar on the carpet and topped it off with glitter ... those three little sweeties who sat in my lap, slept on my shoulder and snuggled in my arms.
If I'm blessed to belong somewhere, friends, there's no place I'd rather belong ... no place at all I'd rather belong than there.
People who are divorced often talk about how vulnerable they felt when their marriage ended ... about the overwhelming sense of loss they experienced as they tried to make new lives for themselves. And if you spend time talking with them, almost without fail, they will talk about how incredibly difficult it was to lose their sense of belonging. Think about it ... often, your couples friends feel forced to choose a "side" ... you lose the relationship you once had with your former spouse's family ... people don't know what to say or how to feel when they're with you. With the stroke of a pen and a decree from the court, you go from being together to being separate ... from belonging with someone to not belonging. If you've never had to experience those feelings yourself or walked through them with a friend or family member, you should get down on your knees right now and thank God because it's not an easy place to be ... trust me. In fact, I personally believe that having a sense of not belonging anywhere may well be one of the leading causes of suicide. It's tough to go from being "part of" to being "disconnected from" ... suffice it to say you can totally trust me on that one for sure.
Driving home after work this evening, I started thinking about something Meghann said to me one day when we were walking home after she got out of school. She was either in kindergarten or first grade ... I can close my eyes and see her blonde, blonde hair and those big blue eyes, her little pink backpack and her favorite sneakers. As we walked down the sidewalk, she slipped her hand into mine and sweetly said, "I'm glad I belong to you, Mom," to which I replied, "And I'm glad I belong to you, Meggers ... I'm so glad we belong to each other, babe." I remembered Matt announcing in a loud voice when Brad was a baby, "She's my mom, Brad ... she belongs to me." And I remembered a sobbing and terrified little Bradley falling into my arms one dark night as he said, "I belong with you, Mommie ... I belong with you."
The truth is I've lost my sense of belonging more than once or twice in my life ... okay, more like a million times in my life ... and some of those times, I wondered if I'd ever belong anywhere again. But I've come to understand something over the last couple of years ... pay attention because this is super important ... even when I don't belong anywhere else on the face of this earth, I will always belong in the hearts of those three little blonde-haired, blue-eyed kiddos who tore through the family room on Big Wheels ... those three little pranksters who dumped a whole bag of sugar on the carpet and topped it off with glitter ... those three little sweeties who sat in my lap, slept on my shoulder and snuggled in my arms.
If I'm blessed to belong somewhere, friends, there's no place I'd rather belong ... no place at all I'd rather belong than there.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Wait ... Power Clashing is a Good Thing?
Some of the biggest arguments I remember ever having with my mom took place in one certain store in the town of Red Bank, Tennessee ... Cooley's Fine Clothing on Dayton Boulevard. Yep, Mom and I had some knockdown drag-out fights in that old store ... you betcha we did. Our heated disagreements had nothing at all to do with the store itself or with the family who had owned it for generations. The store was one of the nicest clothing stores in town at the time, and the Cooley family were all great people. It was the clothes that caused Mom and I to almost come to blows, or more specifically, the clothes Mom wanted me to wear and the clothes I wanted to wear instead. I hated it when Mom would tell me it was time to go shopping for new clothes ... I remember once I wedged a chair against my bedroom door in a stand of defiance, confident that my obnoxious behavior would mean never having to go to Cooley's Fine Clothing store again for as long as I lived. Suffice it to say that it only took a few minutes for Mom's unleashed fury to crush both my no-shopping plan and the hinges on my bedroom door as well. Mom was a little thing, but nothing could stop her when she got mad ... and certainly not something as insignificant as a chair wedged against the door or the smart-mouthed teenager behind it.
Those of you who've been reading along with me for a while know how much I don't like to shop, unless I'm shopping for Converse shoes for my granddaughters ... or anything else for them for that matter. I don't like to shop for groceries or lawn mowers or eyeglasses or pretty much anything really. And I especially don't like to shop for clothes ... I really, really, really don't like to shop for clothes because I have zero confidence when it comes to choosing clothing for myself. What I like and what I should like are on opposite ends of the spectrum ... shopping for clothes is best described as the most stressful situation you can possibly imagine times a gazillion for me. Choosing styles and colors and trying to figure out what goes with what or what's appropriate for a certain event or ... sheesh ... my palms are sweating and my stomach is churning even just writing about it. But there are times when I have no choice but to shop, you know ... times like last Saturday when a friend I haven't seen in a couple of years was in town for the day AND I had a 30 percent off coupon for Kohl's.
It's more than a little ironic that I first met my friend at the last Christian women's retreat I spoke at before ... well, you know ... it's ironic because he's a man, and trust me, it's not often you see a guy at a Christian women's retreat. He was there as a special guest to teach the women how to make floral arrangements and bows and wreaths and stuff, and I knew the moment I met him that he was a great guy and the kind of guy I would be honored to call friend. It turns out my instincts were right for once ... he stuck by me when a ton of people decided to leave, and he blesses me over and over with his quick wit and positive and upbeat attitude. Needless to say, when he messaged me to say he was coming to town, I was over-the-top excited to see him. I knew it would be a fun time no matter what we did, but shopping? Seriously? Our shopping excursion would have to rank right up there with the one when my friend helped me shop for clothes for my first-ever office party outing ... too, too, too much fun on both counts. Those two friends of mine are expert shoppers for sure ... mixing and matching and putting items together to create outfits and looks that I never could on my own. And ... they make it look so stinking easy ... it's like they have special shopping powers or something. Watching them shop is like watching a famous painter create a masterpiece work of art from a blank canvas ... don't laugh ... I'm dead serious.
Last Monday when I put on my new pink and white checked shirt, black jeans and new pink and purple and white and orange paisley tie and looked in the mirror, a smile crossed my face as thoughts of Mom and Cooley's Fine Clothing store roared into my mind. Checks and paisley together? "Mom is turning over in her grave, dogs," I said to Julie and Ollie as I tightened my belt and slipped on my shoes. "She would have an absolute fit that I'm mixing checks and paisley together ... nope, old Mom wouldn't like this mixing of checks and paisley one little bit." I got a ton of compliments on my outfit that day, including several of the young people telling me I was "totally rocking the power clash, girlfriend." After about the fifth time, I went back to my desk and got on the Google and typed the words "power clash in fashion." It turns out my dear shopping friend was correct in his choices on my new shirt and tie ... power clashing is all the rage in fashion right now ... mixing differing patterns and textures in clothing is cooler than cool. I'm pretty sure I smiled a little more that day ... I mean, after all, who wouldn't smile when they are rocking the power clash, eh?
Here's the thing, friends ... sometimes being a little different is a good thing, and I think maybe, just maybe, being myself, different though myself may be, is the best thing I can be. And a bonus "here's the thing" tonight ... I should never shop alone ... wait a sec ... I got a call last week telling me I've won an award and the lady asked me to attend a special event in November to accept it. I'm thinking my two friends and I should shop together for something for me to wear ... a shop-off competition between the two of them for the sharpest outfit for me ... oh, my, that could be some serious, serious fun.
Here's to power clashing ... here's to friends who stay ... here's to love and laughter and life.
Those of you who've been reading along with me for a while know how much I don't like to shop, unless I'm shopping for Converse shoes for my granddaughters ... or anything else for them for that matter. I don't like to shop for groceries or lawn mowers or eyeglasses or pretty much anything really. And I especially don't like to shop for clothes ... I really, really, really don't like to shop for clothes because I have zero confidence when it comes to choosing clothing for myself. What I like and what I should like are on opposite ends of the spectrum ... shopping for clothes is best described as the most stressful situation you can possibly imagine times a gazillion for me. Choosing styles and colors and trying to figure out what goes with what or what's appropriate for a certain event or ... sheesh ... my palms are sweating and my stomach is churning even just writing about it. But there are times when I have no choice but to shop, you know ... times like last Saturday when a friend I haven't seen in a couple of years was in town for the day AND I had a 30 percent off coupon for Kohl's.
It's more than a little ironic that I first met my friend at the last Christian women's retreat I spoke at before ... well, you know ... it's ironic because he's a man, and trust me, it's not often you see a guy at a Christian women's retreat. He was there as a special guest to teach the women how to make floral arrangements and bows and wreaths and stuff, and I knew the moment I met him that he was a great guy and the kind of guy I would be honored to call friend. It turns out my instincts were right for once ... he stuck by me when a ton of people decided to leave, and he blesses me over and over with his quick wit and positive and upbeat attitude. Needless to say, when he messaged me to say he was coming to town, I was over-the-top excited to see him. I knew it would be a fun time no matter what we did, but shopping? Seriously? Our shopping excursion would have to rank right up there with the one when my friend helped me shop for clothes for my first-ever office party outing ... too, too, too much fun on both counts. Those two friends of mine are expert shoppers for sure ... mixing and matching and putting items together to create outfits and looks that I never could on my own. And ... they make it look so stinking easy ... it's like they have special shopping powers or something. Watching them shop is like watching a famous painter create a masterpiece work of art from a blank canvas ... don't laugh ... I'm dead serious.
Last Monday when I put on my new pink and white checked shirt, black jeans and new pink and purple and white and orange paisley tie and looked in the mirror, a smile crossed my face as thoughts of Mom and Cooley's Fine Clothing store roared into my mind. Checks and paisley together? "Mom is turning over in her grave, dogs," I said to Julie and Ollie as I tightened my belt and slipped on my shoes. "She would have an absolute fit that I'm mixing checks and paisley together ... nope, old Mom wouldn't like this mixing of checks and paisley one little bit." I got a ton of compliments on my outfit that day, including several of the young people telling me I was "totally rocking the power clash, girlfriend." After about the fifth time, I went back to my desk and got on the Google and typed the words "power clash in fashion." It turns out my dear shopping friend was correct in his choices on my new shirt and tie ... power clashing is all the rage in fashion right now ... mixing differing patterns and textures in clothing is cooler than cool. I'm pretty sure I smiled a little more that day ... I mean, after all, who wouldn't smile when they are rocking the power clash, eh?
Here's the thing, friends ... sometimes being a little different is a good thing, and I think maybe, just maybe, being myself, different though myself may be, is the best thing I can be. And a bonus "here's the thing" tonight ... I should never shop alone ... wait a sec ... I got a call last week telling me I've won an award and the lady asked me to attend a special event in November to accept it. I'm thinking my two friends and I should shop together for something for me to wear ... a shop-off competition between the two of them for the sharpest outfit for me ... oh, my, that could be some serious, serious fun.
Here's to power clashing ... here's to friends who stay ... here's to love and laughter and life.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Rampant Empathy
When I was a teenager, I piled into a car with a bunch of my friends and we headed to downtown Chattanooga ... and yes, we were most definitely on a mission. Maybe some of you are old enough to remember the television shows The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bionic Woman, and if you're just a young pup, you should Google them and take a peek ... if nothing else, you'll be blown away by the difference in technology between then and now. The stars of those two shows, Lee Majors and Lindsay Wagner, were more than just famous, they were cool, too ... cool enough that my friends and I, along with most of the teenagers in Chattanooga, headed downtown to try and get a glimpse of them, or better yet, an autograph, at the event they were co-hosting. I ended up getting Lee's autograph, which I promptly sold to one of my female friends for a tidy sum, but I was bummed for quite a while that I didn't get to meet Lindsay. I had a ginormous crush on her and Lynda Carter (aka Wonder Woman) ... of course I did, duh. It wasn't the mesmerizing beauty of the two women that drew me to them, however, but rather the compassion and empathy embodied within the characters they portrayed ... it was their never-ending desire and quest to help others and make the world a better and safer place that garnered my admiration.
I'm well aware that I've written about the death of Robin Williams in my previous two posts, but something happened on Tuesday evening that I simply cannot get off of my mind ... something I feel I must write about tonight. I was at a meeting when a gentleman rose from his chair, climbed up on a table, and with tears streaming down his face said, "O Captain! My Captain!" There wasn't a dry eye in the room as the man spoke, his voice trembling with emotion.
"I became a teacher because I was so impacted by the way Robin Williams acted out his role in the movie Dead Poets Society. I always thought someday I might meet him and tell him I'm the man I am today in large part because he was my inspiration and my hero. And not just because my desire to be a teacher was sparked by that movie, but because his performances and natural gift of comedy brought light to me in my darkest hours. I know it's dumb, but I feel like I've lost one of my best friends."
And then I watched in amazement as first one and then another and then another and then another person rose to their feet until we were all standing ... the room's silence broken only by the sounds of people weeping.
As I, along with most of the world, have read and watched the coverage of the death of Mr. Williams this week, I've been most captivated not by the stories of how he died but by the stories of how he lived. By all accounts, he was a kind and generous man, and he helped people in ways that most of us can only dream of. I was especially struck by the words from one of his close friends who said, "Robin had rampant empathy." Rampant empathy ... rampant empathy ... rampant empathy ... each time those words pop into my mind, I can't help but think of a line from the movie Patch Adams.
"See what no one else sees. See what everyone chooses not to see."
Just think, friends ... just think how different the world would be if we all had rampant empathy. Think how it would be if we truly felt the pain of others ... if we truly saw their needs ... if we truly shared their struggles ... if we were all truly rampantly empathetic to others. I've got a feeling it would change the world ... I have a feeling it would indeed.
I'm well aware that I've written about the death of Robin Williams in my previous two posts, but something happened on Tuesday evening that I simply cannot get off of my mind ... something I feel I must write about tonight. I was at a meeting when a gentleman rose from his chair, climbed up on a table, and with tears streaming down his face said, "O Captain! My Captain!" There wasn't a dry eye in the room as the man spoke, his voice trembling with emotion.
"I became a teacher because I was so impacted by the way Robin Williams acted out his role in the movie Dead Poets Society. I always thought someday I might meet him and tell him I'm the man I am today in large part because he was my inspiration and my hero. And not just because my desire to be a teacher was sparked by that movie, but because his performances and natural gift of comedy brought light to me in my darkest hours. I know it's dumb, but I feel like I've lost one of my best friends."
And then I watched in amazement as first one and then another and then another and then another person rose to their feet until we were all standing ... the room's silence broken only by the sounds of people weeping.
As I, along with most of the world, have read and watched the coverage of the death of Mr. Williams this week, I've been most captivated not by the stories of how he died but by the stories of how he lived. By all accounts, he was a kind and generous man, and he helped people in ways that most of us can only dream of. I was especially struck by the words from one of his close friends who said, "Robin had rampant empathy." Rampant empathy ... rampant empathy ... rampant empathy ... each time those words pop into my mind, I can't help but think of a line from the movie Patch Adams.
"See what no one else sees. See what everyone chooses not to see."
Just think, friends ... just think how different the world would be if we all had rampant empathy. Think how it would be if we truly felt the pain of others ... if we truly saw their needs ... if we truly shared their struggles ... if we were all truly rampantly empathetic to others. I've got a feeling it would change the world ... I have a feeling it would indeed.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Behind Closed Doors
I know I said in last night's post that this evening's post would be about my shopping outing last Saturday, but I feel like it would be wrong for me not to respond to the flood of messages I received concerning my previous post's subject matter. While I haven't been able to read all of them yet, I've read enough to know tonight's post needs to attempt to address what thus far has been a recurring theme in the notes that continue to fill my inbox. To my friend who endured shopping with me, don't think you're off the hook, good sir ... our shopping extravaganza post will be written soon.
Details concerning the death of Robin Williams have flooded the media today, and again, my heart is so very heavy for his family and friends ... I cannot begin to imagine the depth of their sorrow today nor can I fathom the sorrow they will surely carry with them forever. Along with the reports surrounding his death came the discussion and revelation of his long-term struggle with depression. Mr. Williams had been very open concerning his battle with alcohol and drug addiction, speaking out about his times in rehab and his daily quest to remain sober. From the accounts I've read and heard, however, it seems I'm not alone in saying I never knew that he also suffered from clinical depression. I haven't been able to shake the tremendous irony in that ... it wasn't the disease he openly discussed that eventually claimed his life, but rather the one he tried so desperately to conceal.
As I mentioned, there's a common recurring theme in the messages I'm receiving ... people who have never faced the beast of depression themselves or witnessed it firsthand in someone they love have little to no understanding of what it can and does do to those who are affected by the disease. And yes, it is a disease of the brain, just like diabetes is a disease of the pancreas. I, like so many of you who have written to me, often wish that others could spend a day inside the brain of a person with clinical depression ... I'm pretty sure if they did, very few of them would say, "Oh, you're just sad ... snap out of it ... put a smile on your face ... get happy ... stop being such a downer ... you're a drama queen ... geez, what a baby; suck it up." I've thought all day about how many times I've heard those words over the last few years of my life ... and I want people to know ... I want to help people understand at least a few things I've learned.
I remember when I used to be able to smile no matter what was going on in my life, even when I was hiding my true identity and pretending to be someone I wasn't. Even then, I had a base, a foundation of stability and happiness. I was always the life of the party ... yep, I used to actually be invited to parties, believe it or not. I made friends easily and sincerely, and other people commented often on my outgoing and helpful nature. I played with my children, and I laughed with my family and friends. I was a fun, gregarious, friendly, afraid of nothing kind of gal. Until one day when something happened inside my brain, and I wasn't. I learned that it was a combination of both chemical abnormalities and trying so desperately to not be who I am, but when it all first started ... I honestly thought I was losing my mind. And now ... now I fight every single day not to let the beast win, and the truth is, chances are pretty great that I'll have to fight it for the rest of my life.
There's been a lot of discussion and questioning today about how to know when it's depression and not just sadness that will pass in a few days. Depression is when you go for days without showering or leaving your house because you don't have the strength or desire to get out of bed or off the couch. It's when you believe no one would care if you lived or died, or even more, that they would be better off if you were gone. It's when you become convinced that no one cares, that no one loves you, that you are a burden to everyone around you. It's when you are surrounded by people, and you feel more alone than you ever have in your entire life. It's when you know people you love don't want to be with you because you aren't happy or fun. It's when you feel worthless and empty and sad and ashamed. It's when you feel you have nothing to offer anyone and that you don't fit or belong anywhere. It's when the silence becomes deafening, and the noise becomes silent. It's when you try and try and try and try and try and try and try and try to find your way out of the darkness without success. At least that's what depression is for me anyway ... it's when I desperately want to rid myself of the disease and the medications and the stigma, but I can't ... it's when I would give everything to just be normal, to just be happy, to just be well.
Many of you have asked how best to help someone who's been diagnosed with depression, and the best answer I can come up with is actually pretty simple ... just love them. Don't leave. Don't run away when the going gets tough. Be the family member or friend who refuses to give up, who won't let go of the rope. Pay attention. Notice the signs. Don't be judgmental. Ask the hard questions. Make eye contact. Put down your stupid phone and really, really, really listen. Check in. Care. Know that depression is an illness and not a choice ... people don't choose to have cancer, and they don't choose to have depression either. Please, please, please understand that it's not their fault or an attempt to garner attention. Depression is a disease, and the people who suffer from it need your support and unconditional love.
Be kind to one another, friends ... look out for one another ... watch over one another ... shield one another ... love one another ... above all else, friends, please love one another.
As I mentioned, there's a common recurring theme in the messages I'm receiving ... people who have never faced the beast of depression themselves or witnessed it firsthand in someone they love have little to no understanding of what it can and does do to those who are affected by the disease. And yes, it is a disease of the brain, just like diabetes is a disease of the pancreas. I, like so many of you who have written to me, often wish that others could spend a day inside the brain of a person with clinical depression ... I'm pretty sure if they did, very few of them would say, "Oh, you're just sad ... snap out of it ... put a smile on your face ... get happy ... stop being such a downer ... you're a drama queen ... geez, what a baby; suck it up." I've thought all day about how many times I've heard those words over the last few years of my life ... and I want people to know ... I want to help people understand at least a few things I've learned.
I remember when I used to be able to smile no matter what was going on in my life, even when I was hiding my true identity and pretending to be someone I wasn't. Even then, I had a base, a foundation of stability and happiness. I was always the life of the party ... yep, I used to actually be invited to parties, believe it or not. I made friends easily and sincerely, and other people commented often on my outgoing and helpful nature. I played with my children, and I laughed with my family and friends. I was a fun, gregarious, friendly, afraid of nothing kind of gal. Until one day when something happened inside my brain, and I wasn't. I learned that it was a combination of both chemical abnormalities and trying so desperately to not be who I am, but when it all first started ... I honestly thought I was losing my mind. And now ... now I fight every single day not to let the beast win, and the truth is, chances are pretty great that I'll have to fight it for the rest of my life.
There's been a lot of discussion and questioning today about how to know when it's depression and not just sadness that will pass in a few days. Depression is when you go for days without showering or leaving your house because you don't have the strength or desire to get out of bed or off the couch. It's when you believe no one would care if you lived or died, or even more, that they would be better off if you were gone. It's when you become convinced that no one cares, that no one loves you, that you are a burden to everyone around you. It's when you are surrounded by people, and you feel more alone than you ever have in your entire life. It's when you know people you love don't want to be with you because you aren't happy or fun. It's when you feel worthless and empty and sad and ashamed. It's when you feel you have nothing to offer anyone and that you don't fit or belong anywhere. It's when the silence becomes deafening, and the noise becomes silent. It's when you try and try and try and try and try and try and try and try to find your way out of the darkness without success. At least that's what depression is for me anyway ... it's when I desperately want to rid myself of the disease and the medications and the stigma, but I can't ... it's when I would give everything to just be normal, to just be happy, to just be well.
Many of you have asked how best to help someone who's been diagnosed with depression, and the best answer I can come up with is actually pretty simple ... just love them. Don't leave. Don't run away when the going gets tough. Be the family member or friend who refuses to give up, who won't let go of the rope. Pay attention. Notice the signs. Don't be judgmental. Ask the hard questions. Make eye contact. Put down your stupid phone and really, really, really listen. Check in. Care. Know that depression is an illness and not a choice ... people don't choose to have cancer, and they don't choose to have depression either. Please, please, please understand that it's not their fault or an attempt to garner attention. Depression is a disease, and the people who suffer from it need your support and unconditional love.
Be kind to one another, friends ... look out for one another ... watch over one another ... shield one another ... love one another ... above all else, friends, please love one another.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Monsters Are Real
I had planned to write about what a fun time I had on a special shopping excursion with a dear friend last Saturday, but I'm going to save that entry until tomorrow. Tonight, my heart is aching for the family and friends of Robin Williams ... the news of his death today by apparent suicide has left the world stunned and saddened.
Most days before I leave the office, I jump on the Internet to check the news ... most days, but not today. Today was super busy and by the time 5:30 rolled around, all I wanted to do was come home and rest my eyes for a while. I had just sat down on the couch to eat dinner when my phone rang and I saw that it was my son Brad. I had barely gotten out the words, "Hey, buddy," when Brad said, "Mom, have you seen the news today?" I told him I hadn't, to which he replied, "Neither did I ... Mom, are you sitting down? You need to sit down ... I have some bad news ... some really bad news." My heart make a quick jump into my throat as I assured Brad I was indeed sitting down and asked him what had happened. His voice cracked with emotion as he said, "Mom ... Robin Williams committed suicide today. I can't believe it, Mom, he committed suicide." As I tried to wrap my mind around Brad's words, my heart screamed, "No, no, no ... that can't be true ... that just can't be true."
As I've read and listened to the news stories about Mr. Williams this evening, it's a painfully personal reminder to me of the beast that is depression. Robin Williams had the life that many people dream of having ... to those of us looking in from the outside, he had everything in the world to live for, and yet today, he took his own life. The death of Mr. Williams proves that depression is no respecter of persons ... it is a monster that knows no boundaries of race or position or sex or creed ... it is a monster that is real, and it is a monster that can strike without warning or reason ... it is a monster that must be recognized and revealed.
I've said it many, many times in my posts, friends ... if someone you love is dealing with depression, step up and step in. Stop worrying that you might make them angry or hurt their feelings or push them over the edge ... step up and step in. One of the commentators on the news this evening said something that really, really struck me. Something we would all do well to do.
"Pay attention. Ask if they are okay. Watch for the signs. And then do something, anything it takes, to help them. Robin Williams was a much loved son, husband and father, and yet, he died alone in the prison of depression, convinced that death was the only way to end his pain."
Rest in peace, Mrs. Doubtfire ... you will be sorely missed ... you will be sorely missed indeed.
Signs and symptoms of depression include:
- Feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. A bleak outlook—nothing will ever get better and there’s nothing you can do to improve your situation.
- Loss of interest in daily activities. No interest in former hobbies, pastimes, social activities, or sex. You’ve lost your ability to feel joy and pleasure.
- Appetite or weight changes. Significant weight loss or weight gain—a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month.
- Sleep changes. Either insomnia, especially waking in the early hours of the morning, or oversleeping (also known as hypersomnia).
- Anger or irritability. Feeling agitated, restless, or even violent. Your tolerance level is low, your temper short, and everything and everyone gets on your nerves.
- Loss of energy. Feeling fatigued, sluggish, and physically drained. Your whole body may feel heavy, and even small tasks are exhausting or take longer to complete.
- Self-loathing. Strong feelings of worthlessness or guilt. You harshly criticize yourself for perceived faults and mistakes.
- Reckless behavior. You engage in escapist behavior such as substance abuse, compulsive gambling, reckless driving, or dangerous sports.
- Concentration problems. Trouble focusing, making decisions, or remembering things.
- Unexplained aches and pains. An increase in physical complaints such as headaches, back pain, aching muscles, and stomach pain.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
What I Should Have Said
A few nights ago when I couldn't sleep, I decided I would try to make a dent in the mountain of unread emails in my inbox. As is always the case, there were some that were positive and encouraging and some that were just plain old mean. It was after reading one particularly scathing rant about me burning in hell for all eternity that I decided I'd read enough for one night and was getting ready to close my email when the notification of a new email popped up. I sat with my finger on the button trying to decide whether to read it or not as I said aloud to the empty air around me,"Maybe I should read just one more ... maybe just one more." And with that, I clicked open the email and began reading ... I began reading a letter from a mom whose daughter had committed suicide on the night of her 17th birthday. The woman's words were heart-wrenching ... absolutely heart-wrenching as she painted a perfect picture of the young woman who was her daughter, and I wept as I read. Their story is one I've read too many times over the last couple of years ... far, far, far too many times, my friends ... too many young lives lost, too many grieving parents left behind.
While all of the woman's words were powerful and touching, there was one paragraph that left me reeling ...
"There are so many things I should have said to her. I should have said it was okay to be who she was. That I knew. That she could tell me. That it didn't matter. I should have said I loved her. That nothing could ever keep me from loving her. That she was perfect just the way she was. There are so many things I should have said that I will never have the chance to say now. My beautiful daughter is gone because I didn't say what I should have said."
Regret is such a tough thing ... perhaps one of the toughest things in life to deal with. The standard dictionary definition of regret is "the feeling of sadness, repentance or disappointment over something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity." The last two words of that definition are particularly haunting to me ... missed opportunity. One of the biggest regrets of my life is that I didn't have "that" conversation with my mom and dad ... I should have talked to them about who I am. I had countless opportunities both when I was young and as I grew older, but I never said what I should have said to my parents. I should have trusted their love for me ... I should have believed in them ... I should have told them the truth. But like the mother who will never have the opportunity to say what she should have said to her daughter, I will never get to say what I should have said to Mom and Dad ... and I will regret it for the rest of my life.
I've read a lot of letters over the last couple of years from a lot of hurting people ... from teenagers who are afraid to go to school because of the names they are called ... from middle-aged folks who are terrified of what they might lose if they tell the truth ... from senior citizens who have lived in hiding their entire lives. I've read letters from children who have lost their parents and parents who have lost their children. I've read letters from people who are sick, people who are lonely, people who are overweight, people who are struggling in their marriage, people who are gay, people who are straight, people who are depressed ... I've read a lot of letters from a lot of hurting people. Take a guess as to how many of those letters are laced with regret ... how many of them contain the words, "I'm sorry I didn't ..." ... how many of them are filled with the words they should have said.
Say what you need to say, friends ... say what you need to say to the people you love before it's too late. Don't let what you need to say become what you should have said.
While all of the woman's words were powerful and touching, there was one paragraph that left me reeling ...
"There are so many things I should have said to her. I should have said it was okay to be who she was. That I knew. That she could tell me. That it didn't matter. I should have said I loved her. That nothing could ever keep me from loving her. That she was perfect just the way she was. There are so many things I should have said that I will never have the chance to say now. My beautiful daughter is gone because I didn't say what I should have said."
Regret is such a tough thing ... perhaps one of the toughest things in life to deal with. The standard dictionary definition of regret is "the feeling of sadness, repentance or disappointment over something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity." The last two words of that definition are particularly haunting to me ... missed opportunity. One of the biggest regrets of my life is that I didn't have "that" conversation with my mom and dad ... I should have talked to them about who I am. I had countless opportunities both when I was young and as I grew older, but I never said what I should have said to my parents. I should have trusted their love for me ... I should have believed in them ... I should have told them the truth. But like the mother who will never have the opportunity to say what she should have said to her daughter, I will never get to say what I should have said to Mom and Dad ... and I will regret it for the rest of my life.
I've read a lot of letters over the last couple of years from a lot of hurting people ... from teenagers who are afraid to go to school because of the names they are called ... from middle-aged folks who are terrified of what they might lose if they tell the truth ... from senior citizens who have lived in hiding their entire lives. I've read letters from children who have lost their parents and parents who have lost their children. I've read letters from people who are sick, people who are lonely, people who are overweight, people who are struggling in their marriage, people who are gay, people who are straight, people who are depressed ... I've read a lot of letters from a lot of hurting people. Take a guess as to how many of those letters are laced with regret ... how many of them contain the words, "I'm sorry I didn't ..." ... how many of them are filled with the words they should have said.
Say what you need to say, friends ... say what you need to say to the people you love before it's too late. Don't let what you need to say become what you should have said.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Stepping on the Clean
As I'm sure is true of many of us who are parents of adult children, sometimes I think back to when my kiddos were young and wish I would have done some things differently. For the most part, I think I was an okay mom ... at least I tried to be anyway ... but there are definitely some things I wouldn't mind having a do-over on. Some of the things I was so adamant about back then were just ... well ... stupid things that in the grand scheme of things weren't nearly as important as I thought they were. I wish I would have spent a heck of a lot more time listening to my kids ... really, really listening to my children ... more time playing with my children ... more time reading with my children ... instead of worrying about whether or not the house was clean. Back then, I was way too focused on the way things looked on the outside than the way they really were on the inside ... go ahead and chew on that for a bit ... I'm talking about way, way, way more than my house being clean, friends ... way, way, way more. Yep, there are definitely some things I wish I would have done differently when my kids were younger.
My son Brad along with some of my friends at work have been telling me forever that I needed to sign up for Netflix, and I finally succumbed to both peer and son pressure ... that's right, I now officially have a Netflix account. Since I'm like the last person in the world to finally get Netflix, I'm sure most of you have heard about the original Netflix series Orange is the New Black. It's a show about women in prison ... and it's intense, funny, emotional and raunchy all at the same time. It took less than one episode of watching for me to become completely and totally hooked, and I now fully understand what the term "binge TV watching" means ... boy, do I. I'm not sure what I'll do when I get through all of the first two seasons and then have to wait for new episodes to come out each week ... ugghh.
There are some truly interesting characters on the show, but one of my favorites is an African-American gal who is nicknamed Crazy Eyes. I spent the first few episodes thinking she was just over-the-top insane, but as the show progressed and more was revealed about her, I realized that she's actually a very intelligent woman with a good heart. I'm not far enough along to know what crime she committed that resulted in her incarceration, so don't spoil it for me by telling me if she is like the worst serial killer ever in the history of the universe. Just when I was convinced that all of the scenes featuring Miss Crazy Eyes would be at least somewhat comedic in nature, one of the episodes I watched last night was anything but funny. It was so powerful and conveyed such raw emotion that I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.
The scene takes place in a prison restroom when Crazy Eyes comes in to mop the floor and encounters a fellow inmate ... a fellow inmate whose boyfriend had appeared on a radio talk show and told the world that Crazy Eyes was ... well ... certifiably crazy and should be in an institution. When she walked into the restroom and saw Piper, her fellow inmate who had betrayed her trust, I fully expected Crazy Eyes to beat the crap out of her. But instead, she simply told Piper she was a mean person ... that she wasn't nice and that she was mean. As both Piper and Crazy Eyes mopped their respective parts of the floor, Crazy Eyes spoke the words that now refuse to release their grip on me.
"You gotta start from the inside out, or else you'll step on the clean."
Here's the thing ... I've done an awful lot of stepping on the clean over the years because I was mopping the wrong way. I've stepped on the clean over and over and over again because I wasn't starting in the right place ... I wasn't mopping from the inside out. And my guess is ... my guess is I'm not the only one who needs to change the way I mop ... my guess I'm not the only one who's stepping on the clean, friends ... my guess is I'm not the only one at all.
"You gotta start from the inside out, or else you'll step on the clean."
My son Brad along with some of my friends at work have been telling me forever that I needed to sign up for Netflix, and I finally succumbed to both peer and son pressure ... that's right, I now officially have a Netflix account. Since I'm like the last person in the world to finally get Netflix, I'm sure most of you have heard about the original Netflix series Orange is the New Black. It's a show about women in prison ... and it's intense, funny, emotional and raunchy all at the same time. It took less than one episode of watching for me to become completely and totally hooked, and I now fully understand what the term "binge TV watching" means ... boy, do I. I'm not sure what I'll do when I get through all of the first two seasons and then have to wait for new episodes to come out each week ... ugghh.
There are some truly interesting characters on the show, but one of my favorites is an African-American gal who is nicknamed Crazy Eyes. I spent the first few episodes thinking she was just over-the-top insane, but as the show progressed and more was revealed about her, I realized that she's actually a very intelligent woman with a good heart. I'm not far enough along to know what crime she committed that resulted in her incarceration, so don't spoil it for me by telling me if she is like the worst serial killer ever in the history of the universe. Just when I was convinced that all of the scenes featuring Miss Crazy Eyes would be at least somewhat comedic in nature, one of the episodes I watched last night was anything but funny. It was so powerful and conveyed such raw emotion that I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.
The scene takes place in a prison restroom when Crazy Eyes comes in to mop the floor and encounters a fellow inmate ... a fellow inmate whose boyfriend had appeared on a radio talk show and told the world that Crazy Eyes was ... well ... certifiably crazy and should be in an institution. When she walked into the restroom and saw Piper, her fellow inmate who had betrayed her trust, I fully expected Crazy Eyes to beat the crap out of her. But instead, she simply told Piper she was a mean person ... that she wasn't nice and that she was mean. As both Piper and Crazy Eyes mopped their respective parts of the floor, Crazy Eyes spoke the words that now refuse to release their grip on me.
"You gotta start from the inside out, or else you'll step on the clean."
Here's the thing ... I've done an awful lot of stepping on the clean over the years because I was mopping the wrong way. I've stepped on the clean over and over and over again because I wasn't starting in the right place ... I wasn't mopping from the inside out. And my guess is ... my guess is I'm not the only one who needs to change the way I mop ... my guess I'm not the only one who's stepping on the clean, friends ... my guess is I'm not the only one at all.
"You gotta start from the inside out, or else you'll step on the clean."
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Cheers to the Copycats
It's hard for me to believe that I've been working in the advertising biz for more than 17 years ... that's more years than some of you have been alive. I'm not sure which is more astounding to me ... the fact that I've worked in the ad world for that many years or that so many of my readers are young folks. I've seen a ton of changes in the way businesses market themselves since I first started out as a proofreader all those years ago, not the least of which is the incredibly fast-paced explosion of social media as a means to share information. If you know anything at all about Facebook or Twitter or Reddit or any of the gazillion other social sites, you know that it doesn't take long for things to spread like wildfire once they are posted. Trust me, I know that to be true ... boy, do I ever know that to be true in a big, huge, gigantic way.
When I was in Canada at Christmas visiting my oldest son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter, it didn't take me long to become completely enamored with some of the adorably precious things she would say. Okay, okay ... I loved every single word that came out of her mouth and still do ... duh. One night as I was sitting on the couch with Matt and Becca after C.J. had gone to bed, I logged into Facebook to see what was going on with everyone back in the states (that's what the Canadians call the U.S., you know ... the states). On a whim, I decided to post a simple conversation C.J. and I had earlier in the day ... one that ended with her saying, "I Ghee's buddy." I was so surprised when the number of "Likes" on my status began to climb ... and climb ... and climb ... people loved it. That simple post began what has now evolved into weekly posts recounting parts of my weekly Skype conversations with my precious C.J. And people love them; in fact, I've started getting messages asking me to put my "Chats with Boo" into a book ... maybe that's not such a bad idea, eh?
Recently I've noticed that quite a few of my Facebook friends have been posting status updates that are quite similar to my chats with C.J. ... conversations with their kids or grandkids. If they had been doing those kinds of updates before, I never noticed it ... and my initial reaction was ... well ... ummm ... I was a wee bit irritated that they were copying my idea. Actually, that's kind of an understatement ... I was stinking ticked off that they were stealing my awesomely original and incredibly genius idea. But the more of the conversational updates I read, the more I realized that it was really pretty darned cool that other people had been inspired by my chats with C.J. ... inspired enough to perhaps pay a little more attention to their own conversations with the little guys and gals in their lives.
You see, here's the thing ... I've gone from arrogance to humility in regard to my Facebook status updates with my baby girl C.J. It doesn't matter whose idea was whose first or who recounts the most clever or humorous stories ... all that matters is that families and friends talk to one another ... that families and friends listen to one another ... that families and friends love one another. That's why people like my conversations with Boo ... because they know those chats are about love.
Cheers to the copycats ... cheers to the copycats, indeed.
Recently I've noticed that quite a few of my Facebook friends have been posting status updates that are quite similar to my chats with C.J. ... conversations with their kids or grandkids. If they had been doing those kinds of updates before, I never noticed it ... and my initial reaction was ... well ... ummm ... I was a wee bit irritated that they were copying my idea. Actually, that's kind of an understatement ... I was stinking ticked off that they were stealing my awesomely original and incredibly genius idea. But the more of the conversational updates I read, the more I realized that it was really pretty darned cool that other people had been inspired by my chats with C.J. ... inspired enough to perhaps pay a little more attention to their own conversations with the little guys and gals in their lives.
You see, here's the thing ... I've gone from arrogance to humility in regard to my Facebook status updates with my baby girl C.J. It doesn't matter whose idea was whose first or who recounts the most clever or humorous stories ... all that matters is that families and friends talk to one another ... that families and friends listen to one another ... that families and friends love one another. That's why people like my conversations with Boo ... because they know those chats are about love.
Cheers to the copycats ... cheers to the copycats, indeed.
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