Internet Addicted

The more time I've spent tethered to wires, or gadgets or wifi waves
the more permanently solidified a shift in priorities has become inside the confines of my brain
External accountability became about appearances
It wasn't people I was accountable to anymore
not relationships, but likes and shares
follows and fame
What does it matter what the work or the moment does inside of me
if I can't tweet it
if others don't see it.
Mental health awareness campaigns became more important to me than the level of my own personal shame
accolades and virtual acceptance more important than face to face human connection
something precious lost along the way.

Balance they say
I say...
It is defensible, all of it has it's place.
But it's I who has to check myself and that is where the problem lay
A self defeating cycle
Until I'm rolling over in my grave
worried more about the wifi password than maggots gnawing away.

Is this bit of poetry I am writing pointless
further validated
or perhaps just transcendental
for the fact of my unwavering intention to share it on my blog, Twitter and Facebook page?

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Confession Time: Why I'm Not Doing NaNoWriMo

   I am the opposite of consistent. Always have been. Won't always be, but unfortunately, currently I still am. This is why I am not participating in NaNoWriMo. Because a life time of bad habits and inconsistency has made it far more difficult that it should be to create positive new habits. And I am not saying that to take away from anyone else's struggle in creating good habits because I am fully aware it is difficult for all of us. It goes against the natural flow of things. The old adage being true that when we are not pushing forward we are inevitably falling backwards, there is no such thing as true stagnation when it comes to the human state of being. So all that to say, I'm not there yet. I have barely solidified my basic writing habit, and knowing myself I am acutely aware that I am very easily demotivated by increasing my self expectations to steeply and suddenly.

   So no to NaNoWriMo (which for my non-writer readers stands for National Novel Writing Month) for me this time around, BUT! I am using the inspiration provided by the gallant strivings of my fellow writers to increase my daily word count requirements. Why am I telling you this? I mean other than that this mostly vacant blog you happen to be reading is vaguely constructed to be about me and my life... which, thank you by the way to anyone who keeps checking back through this dry period, you rock! ...well I'm telling you in order to gain some leverage on myself. A bit of external accountability.

   The goal? 1,000 words per day 5 days a week. Or 20,000 new words, added to my novel in progress between November 1st and 11:59pm on November 30th. For a little bit of perspective and brutal honesty about my progress so far, I started my novel in late June on the beginners, snails pace, first draft in a year plan of 350 words a day 5 days a week and I started November with 45,000 words. The goal is to have 65,000 by month end. That's big. Not NaNoWriMo 50,000 words in a month big, but it's huge for me. So I am crowd sourcing support. And also offering up some of my own. 

   If you're like me and can only focus on one endeavor at a time and constantly find everything else in your life falling apart when you consciously decide to put in the effort to improve one specific area, then lets band together. Tell me in the comments what area of your life you're trying to accomplish something in this month. Where you want to be by November 30th at 11:59pm and also what other areas of your life you are unwilling to drop in the name of this goal. Do you want to get on track with a family meal plan but don't want to get so caught up in it that dinner is perfect but you're so tired at the end of the meal that bedtime routines with the kids get pushed aside and everyone falls asleep in the living room watching TV afterwords? Do you want to get consistent with fitness and not derail your important personal relationships during holiday eating season? Lets cheer each other on.

   Where do we start? Here's something invaluable that was recommended to me that I'd like to pass along. Get fanatical if you have to, but schedule it. Schedule your priorities in 30 min increments. It sounds rigid but it's actually really freeing, even for, if not especially for, us creative types.

   Here's a free handout geared towards students that is actually good for any and all of us.

    I'm starting mine this week and would love to have some other people along for the ride to troubleshoot with. Let's see where we can get together by month end?

You in? Thought so.

Ready, Set.... GO!

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20,000 Words

Photo edit by Jason Frega

 
   About a month ago something magical happened... and I have held off writing about it specifically, and in a lot of cases even talking about it, because truth be told I am superstitious and suspicious and  fearful that by nature things don't tend to last. Most things don't, but there are plenty of things that do. Important things. Good things. Being fearful that acknowledging good changes in our lives will somehow change their status as a permanent thing, or speed the process bringing about an almost immediate departure time if those things were meant to be temporary, doesn't really do much in the way of allowing us the freedom to enjoy those things whatever they may be.

   So here's my good thing: writing healed the brokenness in my mind. Not all my problems and not just any kind of writing... but another big shift took place, this time in a really good direction, and I am damn grateful for it. If you were here back in April you most likely read my post in which I admitted that I had fallen back into a state of depression. I sought help like I said I would, I am still seeing a therapist (although less frequently now) and I am still experiencing anxiety attacks (something I actually didn't mention in that post) from time to time, but... BUT! Things are so much better lately. So. Much. Better.

    So, how did writing "heal my head problems"? Well, I received a very helpful recommendation that at the time felt akin to being backed into a corner, but when I responded in trust and stepped in a direction I thought to be backwards, on faith, I found a freedom I haven't known for a long, long time. I was told to funnel my writing efforts in a different direction. A direction that didn't involve direct self introspection or digging into seriously triggering topics anymore, at least for a time. Those things weren't bringing the joy and release that writing had always been for me. Sure it helped me work out my thoughts and crystallize my beliefs on many different topics. But it ceased helping me process my emotions. And that felt like a great big gaping loss.

   In the discussion which this recommendation stemmed from the word fiction was mentioned, and it scared me. It scared me because I had always held fiction up on a pedestal. I didn't trust my mind to formulate ideas worthy of weaving into a story. I had spent years adding more and more constraints to my writing, newer higher standards (that didn't fit my purpose) and ultimately I tried to force my idea of what I would do with this gift that I cherish, into a box that it didn't belong in. A box that allowed me very little room to breathe.

   I did the same thing in many other areas of my life as well, and together all those pieces, those misplaced principles, thoughts and beliefs, built a wall that when fully formed began to cut off my air supply. The good news is that the wall has come down and although a little damage was done in the process it made rebuilding a possibility.

   I am reading fiction again after a long self-imposed, guilt-ridden hiatus. I am also writing fiction for the first time since maybe Middle School. In fact if you follow me on Twitter or are a fan of my Facebook page then you may have already seen the news that I have officially broken the 20,000 word mark on my very first fiction novel. Will it be worthy of publishing when it's done? When I've done all the editing, re-writes, more editing, revisions, and even more editing necessary to turn a draft into an actual book? I don't know for sure. But I'm finally doing the right work. The work that I feel like I was always meant to be doing. I am writing 5 days a week, a minimum of 350 words a day, usually quite a lot more. Eventually that will all add up to a finished first draft, which I know to be only the beginning of a long journey. A journey that I am now officially on. That knowledge alone is enough for me in this moment.

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You Can Do Better

   I've spent a lot of time on YouTube these past few months and I have found some favorite artists and creators among this medium. One of those favorites is a hilarious guy by the name of Mike Falzone, and while digging through his extensive archives one day I happened to find myself listening to a cover he made of a song called Do Better by Say Anything. I'm not even going to attempt to lie here and pretend like I had heard the song before... but I will say that I couldn't bring myself to close the tab after listening to it that first time. And I haven't. For weeks. (sorry Jason, I know, too many tabs... always, way WAY too many tabs)

   I can't get it out of my head. Something about the lyrics and the mood of the song is entrancing... and I STILL cannot tell if it makes me feel incredibly better or incredibly worse. But either way it's strangely comforting.

Have a listen for yourself:

   After listening to it on repeat for way too long I finally decided to think through why this phrase "you can do better" is so disconcerting to me. Why I can't let it go. Why it is both soothing and painful in the way that hydrogen peroxide works on an open wound (which apparently you're not supposed to do anymore?)  I haven't figured it out entirely yet but I did write this the other night as I was trying to fall asleep:

For those who can't read my messy handwritting:

You can do better is quite a dichotomy of a sentence, especially for one so short. 
It's a perfectly fine thing to say to someone going through a rough breakup. 
In that context it obviously means 'you deserve better'... 'they're not good enough for you'. 

But when someone says 'you can do better' to you in regards to just about anything else, 
or worse when you say it to yourself 
it reverberates a double meaning through your cerebral cortex 
and you're left wondering which one is more true. 

Am I capable of immeasurably great things
or am I being compared against a standard to which I can never measure up? 

Should I feel inspired or ashamed?

What do you think? Has anyone ever told you that you can do better? Did it help or hurt? Encourage or Belittle? Perhaps both... share your thoughts and/or experiences in the comment section below.

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Book Writing and Fear of the Unknown

   I have decided. Decided, that I am going to begin work on a book. It wasn't easy... the deciding that is. It is often one of the hardest parts of life. Deciding to start. But then again this whole starting business seems pretty daunting too. As does the long term work of it. Seeing through the emotional roller coaster that will come with digging in to my past. Opening that big scary door I keep it all behind, in the back of my head. It's a heavy metal door with one of those really intimidating steampunk style, crank-turn locking mechanisms. The kind that seem to require a lot of upper body strength to open. That or a really intricate system of levers and secret keys.

   You see, what I will be writing about is me. And I don't feel like I know me very well. Who am I to be writing a book? How is my experience unique enough to be worthy of yet other autobiography on the shelves of your local bookstore? And can I really handle going back there? Reliving it all enough to be able to retell it? Am I really strong enough for that? I don't feel like I am. And how will I remember enough to piece together a cohesive memoir, when I have forgotten so much of it already? At 25. I've forgotten. And what I remember I don't trust. I don't trust it because of my knowledge of the fickleness that is memory, and because of I don't quite trust myself. I don't know for sure what I really experienced, what I merely think I experienced and what I flat out made up in my mind that has come to present itself as real as the rest.

   What if the people I knew then pick up the finished product expecting in some way a reflection of what they know of me now, only to find shock and horror at the things that I've managed to dig up that they never knew about. Things I never told them because I had forgotten. Or was too scared. Or felt that I had already gone too far. What if I hurt them again? Or myself? What if I can't break free once I go back seeking to remember what I thought and felt, but instead I wind up thinking and feeling those things all over again? What if some of the "characters" who are crucial to my story that didn't stick around, pick up my book and proclaim to the world that I am a fraud because they are unhappy with what they read? Or quite possibly because I am a fraud in the sense that my memories of them are in fact inaccurate, due to the years, a cloudy memory, or my admitted craziness at the time that caused me to see them differently than they were. What if I have to go through a whole second process of amends after the book because of how it affects those who read it?

   Where do I start?

   Where do I stop?

   I am flat out scared... But... but.


   I know that the fear is because I need this. I wouldn't be scared if it wasn't something I wasn't supposed to do. Not this kind of fear anyways. This isn't the brand of fear that is meant to warn me that I'm about to fall off a cliff or get bit by a snake. This is the type of fear that only exists in the face of a meaningful task. A significant, and essentially necessary journey. This is the type of fear that I must follow... because it means that I am drawing closer to my calling. I am making the Evil One scared. I am on the right path. A path I can't so much see, as sense.

   All signs are telling me that I need to start now. That though I can't see the path, it will unfold before me only if I take a step. Only if I apply pressure to the wound that has been growing upon my soul. I can't lick it any longer. The bleeding will only stop if I go straight to where it hurts most, and close the opening stitch by stitch. So many people, without realizing it, have encouraged me over these past few months. I have received the book question from many people both close and near. People who know my past and people who barely know me at all save for my current writings here on the blog. And that is the least of it. The road markers have been too innumerable to measure. It's time.

  And so, I will still be writing here. In much the same way that I have been. But keep in the back of your mind that I will also be storing away certain pieces as I go. Some I will publish online, but most I won't. I will work memory by memory as they arise. I will write each individual one to completion and then set it aside. Eventually it will add up to a complete account. It could be months. More likely years. In this decade I hope... only, God knows. But, someday it will become available to you. My dear sweet readers of whom I am extremely grateful.

   Have patience with me in this time, and please, continue to come here as you are inspired to do so, and read about how this is taking over an transforming my life. Tell me how your story is doing the same for you. We can traverse our own separate journeys together in this way. Drawing on our pasts where needed to create a new and special future.

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Happiness... The Place In Between

   Ask anyone in America today what the single most important personal goal or accomplishment a person could strive to obtain is, and you will likely get a one word answer; happiness. It is the grand be all, end all of aspirations. It is even in The Declaration of Independence "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness" right? What could be more desirable? More noble? More understandable?

   Well I am here to say that I am sick of it! Not happiness itself, necessarily, though I do believe it's definition has been cheapened and therefore the word itself does tend to upset me. But, what I am referring to is this overarching notion in our country today, that happiness reigns supreme above all things that someone could be. Or, better yet, want out of life. Particularly when we're referring to how the ideology is thrown around in parenting debates over which method is right. How the phrase "as long as my child is happy" is often times seen as an unopposable, conversation-ending defense for just about any theory espoused before it.

   The meaning of the word itself has become too muddled... so much so that in most people's minds it is synonymous with pleasure, or the experiencing of pleasure, contentment, ease, peace, etc. But happiness is not those things. Other things happiness is not include: joy, fulfillment and satisfaction.

   I don't want happiness if it doesn't come as a byproduct of fulfillment. Of living on purpose for my purpose and becoming a better person each and every day. I would rather be discontent but feel the pure exhilarating joy of knowing that I gave something my all, even if I failed. I would rather feel the discomfort of biting my own tongue when everything in my wanted the fleeting pleasure brought on by lashing out with hurtful words. Speaking my mind. Sure I may feel unheard, even unloved in those moments. But that is all they are, single moments, and the "happiness" that comes from serving my own desires only breeds more selfishness in my soul. Less sensitivity to others. More apathy towards my purpose as a human being. I notice that when I seek happiness for the sake of happiness I become numb. It is no different than the effects of a drug. And that is why this weird thing called happiness that floats around somewhere between pleasure and joy can be so dangerous if allowed to be our guiding force. It is a byproduct only, and when you take away the cause of it, the thing it was a side effect of, and try to get an isolated dose of it as it's own medicine it has new side-effects of it's own that weren't present before. Not to mention that it will be a knock off of the original and will never satiate the desire.


   But the happiness that comes from putting both purpose and people ahead of my own pleasure. That then is closer to joy and it, while elusive, is worth chasing. The only way to catch it is to not seek it. To seek instead ways in which we can serve others. Improve ourselves. Challenge preconceived notions. Fail. Get back up. And always, keep moving forward.

   That is the happiness I want. For myself. For my family and friends. For my readers. and most of all for my kids.


   Let us be more concerned in this kind of "happiness" for our children, before worrying about their moods, or selfish desires, or comfort. Let us teach them the lost meaning of happiness instead of this world's definition. Let us allow our children to dislike us for a time when it means that they will eventually know the joy of having parents that cared more about who they turned out to be in the long run, than they did about their feelings in a single moment.

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Tidal Waves and Major Changes

Well, after a super awesome crazy weekend of (seriously) epic proportions here I am sitting back at home, laptop on my lap taking a quick breath as my son naps in his crib upstairs. I keep going back and forth on whether or not to blog about the events of the past few days. I still feel, well, undecided. But since writing is on my daily checklist and I have nothing else pressing on my mind in that same sort of way, the "I've got to get this down in words" sort of way... here I am.

For several years now I have been a part of a leadership development organization that is world-class... head and shoulders above the rest. And for that I have been so extremely grateful. But It would be lying to say that I didn't spend a lot of that time just sitting around waiting. Knowing that the world is in the process of changing, not fully preparing for it but knowing just the same that I would be playing a part in it when the time came. I have known that the way we make money in the Western World is shifting drastically and that out of that shift new industries will be formed and that if I just stuck around I could be one of those people who gets out there on my surf board at the right time and ride a massive wave. And though I am sad to say that instead of practicing my surfing skills and spending time in the water I have been sitting on the shore simply keeping my toes wet... I am happy to report that I never packed up my beach bag and towel, I never strapped my board back to the top of my car and drove "home"... and now I am paddling... now the wave is forming beneath me and I may not be the best surfer on the water but it's power can carry me nonetheless.

A lot of lives are going to be changed for the better. I am honored to have the opportunity to be a part of that...

http://www.livingforexcellence.com/

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Paradigm Shift: Value in Tragedy?

I'm not sure when it started or even what it was in particular that made it change so suddenly but I've always viewed my life as a story, a novel that would someday be read, thought on deeply, discussed at length. Something inspiring, and no doubt dramatic. Something victorious in ways but mostly just beautifully tragic.

That association in my mind between beauty and tragedy is something I always assumed to be part of my internal hardwiring, present since birth and essential to my unique personality. I always felt it was the thing that made me artistic in nature, and for that reason I cherished it. Clung to it. Revered it as sacred, a piece of myself to be left untouched in my attempts to become the very best version of myself.

Recently however it has come to my attention by way of a slowly building momentum of personal progress finally picking up some speed, that this trait may not be what I always thought it to be. It may in fact be another of the many ways in which I have been programmed by the media. I realized it because a trend caught my attention... my generation as a whole romanticizes tragedy. Since I first came upon this thought I have been experiencing something akin to what happens to a woman who becomes pregnant, suddenly everywhere she looks she sees babies, and tons upon tons of other pregnant women. Where did they all come from? Had they been here all along? Why are so many people having babies all at the same time as me? Is this another baby boom? ... in reality there was no spike in procreation just in the woman's perception. Her personal worldview changed and suddenly she sees things that were around her all along that she had never noticed before. It now makes sense.


Now everywhere I look I see this stream of glamorized images of suffering, tragedy, even torture. We are being taught to revere struggle for struggles sake, instead of in an attempt to better ourselves, our communities, our society. I've known for some time that America has been guilty of putting mediocrity up on the pedestal as something to aspire to... but I was blind to just how strongly we are barraged by the message that tragedy is beautiful. Our suffering alone is what makes us valuable, regardless of whether we make something of ourselves as a result of the suffering. We've lost the value of the struggle when we take success out of the picture. Struggles have become the end and not the means to the end. So many of my peers have succumbed to the notion that going out in a tragic blaze of glory or squandering the blessings they were born with will make for a much better life story than struggling and then attaining greatness.

We've been sold this bill of goods that the American dream we used to strive for is tainted and not worth the price. We've been told that the price is our values and our sanity anyways so why not just dispel with those things from the get go and strive instead to make our lives into the most dramatic story we possibly can without ever really challenging ourselves. Lets board the wild pleasure-seeking roller coaster ride and endure any amount of hardship in the name of that goal.

Well, I tell you what, I don't want it. Suffering isn't beautiful. There is no meaning behind pain in the pursuit of pleasure. We struggle so that we can stretch our capacities enough to handle the success we seek, the struggles alone do not add value to us. It's the learning and growing that those struggles inspire. The hero of the horror movie is not more valuable in the final scene than in the opening credits simply because they survived... they are more valuable because they decided they had something to live for and the worked in attainment of that goal... if they then never devote the life they barely made it out with to that purpose that inspired them, the value they gained in surviving is quickly lost.

Getting through a struggle and coming out on the other end is not something to trivialize. Some don't even get that far and sometimes getting out at all is worthy of some serious acknowledgement... but no one need feel that their story should end there. This is life, not a neatly wrapped up song or movie or novel. We have no way of knowing when our personal end will come so let's not assume it's over and miss out on what could be. What makes a compelling tale doesn't always make for a well lived life.

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Elephant Sized Belief

After days full of dancing and cleaning... unpacking and chasing around an increasingly mobile (and cute) little monster, taking extra time for working out is not always on the forefront of my mind. It's easy to dismiss exercise when I feel like I've been on my feet all day anyways. But bodies need constant maintenance just like cars, and lawns.

So do our minds.

I've instituted daily checklists for myself in the past to make sure that I remember to get my priorities taken care of each day before time gets away from me and I've wasted my day on tasks that have nothing to do with accomplishing my goals or living the type of life that I want to live. They were extremely helpful, when I did them consistently, but we all know how easy it is to fall off the wagon so to speak. What I didn't realize was that falling off the wagon had more side effects than forgetting to do things now and again. When I made my lists and committed to completing them each day, in essence my conscious mind made a promise. I said that I was going to do something... then I didn't. Not consistently, so over time my subconscious mind learned not to believe my conscious mind when it said it was going to do something.

This can be very detrimental to someone like me who has some pretty mountain-sized dreams and has spent a decent amount of time working on instilling visuals in my subconscious of those dreams as a reality.

I should take a step back here.

A little over a year ago I read a book that changed my life, The Ant and the Elephant by Vince Poscente. I've read quite a few leadership/self-improvement books but this one really stuck out since it fed my deep fascination with psychology, while feeling like a light read. The book makes the really powerful illustration of the difference in size, power and functionality between the conscious and subconscious parts of the human mind as being an ant and an elephant. It was groundbreaking for me despite having read a bit on the subject. And so since reading the book (which I highly suggest reading if you have not yet) I have gone back and forth between actively attempting to apply the principles it teaches, and avoiding it because the changes it caused in me, though positive were painful... I couldn't figure out the piece I was missing. I wound up frustrated. It took someone saying the same thing I am sure I read in different words for me to get it. I was undermining the mental work I had been doing by not being consistent with the little, seemingly insignificant things in my day to day life. So in simplest terms my subconscious just didn't buy it.

Now I've decided that instead of trying to bite off more than I can chew, as per my usual, I am going to start small, using daily checklists again but this time with a different purpose... the purpose of building a foundation of consistency so that when I say I am going to do something, I believe myself. I trust based on the examples I've seen lived out before my very eyes that over time that self-trust will translate into a subconscious that works for me when presented with a challenge. Unconscious competence.

One more check on today's list and I will have 5 whole days under my belt!

Wish me luck! ...Er, self-discipline.

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On the Mic and Off the Air

As if things hadn't been going well enough for me already, I got a call Wednesday afternoon from one of my very best friends Leanne with some really awesome news... she had gotten a free ticket to the 2011 Unity Tour with Sublime and 311 for each of us through her brother's work (more on that part later). After jumping for joy and screaming to each other back and forth over the phone for a little while we both agreed we'd figure out the rest of the details the next morning and from there I tried to go on with my evening as normal, but lets just say I had a difficult time getting to sleep.

So after a few minor mishaps yesterday morning I made my way out to my hometown so we could take the train into Chicago together. There is something about hoping on a train and walking around downtown that feels so, I don't know... adult, to me. Maybe it's because when I was younger I couldn't be trusted to do such things and so when most of my peers were collecting ticket stubs I was staying closer to home. Or it could be because I'm navigationally challenged and on the whole the train system is intimidating to me, something you have to be an insider to understand. There never seem to be any signs posted and yet everyone but me seems to know inherently which side of the platform to wait on, which train their supposed to get on, where the darn bathroom is. But all of that is an aside from my story....


The show itself was awesome. Sublime played well and it took me back to some of the more pleasant memories I have of my teenage years, something about their music manages to put a positive spin on a negative time in my life for me so it was a very welcome dose of nostalgia. Really though, I was blown away by 311's performance. They have so much energy live and yet manage to sound so polished and practiced... flawless really, yet not that overproduced sound I'm getting so tired of from the stuff passing as music lately. They were absolutely real and raw and all of those great things that make music an experience instead of just entertainment. One of the few bands I've seen that sound just as good, if not better live than they do in their studio recordings.


Letting loose like that with such a close friend was so very awesome, and the whole concert on it's own was a great experience to be able to tuck away in my memory banks, but honestly my favorite part about the show wasn't something about the show at all... it was watching some of the people there enjoying themselves. One guy in particular who had a spot near where we were standing for the entire duration, and I could not stop myself from looking over and just smiling. At first I thought it was funny... in a "look at that crazy guy over there, doesn't he care that everybody is staring at him?" kind of way, but my initial reaction quickly changed. I realized that he wasn't, like some of the other people there, acting out under the influence, trying to escape from something or get attention or anything other than share the happiness he had, something I sensed was completely sincere and genuine. Refreshing. So I took his lead... and for the rest of the night I let myself express my happiness, and excitement without worrying about those who may think it was silly or awkward. I figured that maybe some, or even a lot of people would think I was crazy but maybe a few would look at me and find themselves smiling like I did when I looked to my left and saw this guy, slightly older than the majority of the crowd, dancing and singing by himself while those around him nodded their heads and pumped their fists now and again... all with a huge smile of his own spread across his face... or maybe it was just his spirit I felt smiling.

There were probably plenty of others like him, but it only took one person to inspire me to open up. I tend to guard myself quite a bit in terms of how much I show of my excitement. Not usually disappointment or upset. I tend to be most uncomfortable sharing my happiness with people, like if I am bubbly and enthusiastic my authenticity will come under question. I feel most awkward in those situations, the ones where I'm really enjoying myself but don't know how it will be received if I show it, and that my friends is a sad state of affairs. Luckily one that can, and will be corrected. Not starting now either; starting yesterday.


By the end of the concert my legs felt like noodles from jumping and my head was pounding but God did it feel good to just expend all the energy I had into a complete head to toe physical expression of joy. And my night was not even over...

From the concert Leanne and I were invited to stop by her brother's place of work to run up, grab his bag and look around real quick. What made that such a treat (albiet a somewhat bittersweet one) is that he works, or I guess now the appropriate term is worked, for Q101 and when we arrived they were in the process broadcasting for the very last time over the radio waves. It was sad, and awesome and momentous. We had roughly 40 people all crammed in the studio with Chris Payne at the mic. Everyone cheering, clapping, laughing, making toasts, cracking jokes... trying not to get too sentimental, but often failing. It would have been impossible not to get somewhat mushy here and again though, I am not a member of the Q101 family and I felt myself getting teary-eyed! You could just sense the camaraderie and love in the room. It was amazing to see; to get a glimpse into the heart of something like that. This strong sense of community, and not just between those in the studio, it was a feeling of connection with this huge family of people that were listening in that moment and also those who had built an emotional connection with the radio station at different points throughout it's nearly 2 decade run.


How do you put experiences like these into words? Because, seriously... I'm out of them and yet what I've written above does not even come close.

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Amityville: A Squeamish Horror Fan's First Movie Review

I'm always a bit cautious about asserting myself as a horror fan. The need to clarify what I mean by that term is ever present and that compulsion only grows stronger as the "horror" genre falls further and further into the trend of glorified depictions of torture as entertainment. I personally find those movies disturbing more-so than scary, which kind of defeats the purpose for me. In fact, the fear I experience as a result of most modern horror movies comes from people's enthusiastic support of them. But then again, for a "horror fan" I am uncharacteristically opposed to gore. Blood, no problem. Gore? Too much and I'm out. (It's a fine line)

All that being said, I love me a creepy movie! Especially haunted house movies. Which is why it's so odd that it took me until last year to actually sit down and watch any of the Amityville films. I decided to dive in to the first film in the franchise late on in my pregnancy with Bastian when despite my heightened sensitivity to scares I still had the urge to consume some horror media. During that time I relied heavily on the Parental Guide feature on IMDB to prescreen movies for content I knew I would be unable to handle. I still do. After completing my due diligence I determined that this one would be sufficiently creepy without having any ill effects on my stress level. I get mega-stressed out when I'm scared, and though I love the feeling, I wasn't too keen on the idea of putting my passenger through those side effects in exchange for a little bit of an adrenaline rush. Now eight months post-delivery I finally got around to seeing the re-make.

The 2005 version, though it was definitely missing some things that were crucial in making the original so great, turned out to be a good movie all on it's own as well as a good reinterpretation of the story. I was disappointed that the sense of the house being a living, breathing, thing pulsing with evil from it's very foundation was not present in the remake when it was such a hingepin in the atmosphere and suspense depicted in the 1979 film. The first few ghost "scares" were far from scary and almost took away from the building tension, but things became more realistic and frightening as the movie progressed. Eventually the presence of actual ghosts in place of a malevolent house became a real positive in terms of overall effect, especially in the moments after the first roof scene with Chelsea and the scene between George and Billy's dog in the boat house. Without the presence of these ghosts the pit in your stomach created by those scenes just wouldn't be there. So, while this change was still disappointing I feel that it allowed for an increased level of character development that wasn't achieved in the original Amityville.

On that point, the acting, in my opinion was much better in the 2005 film. I may be alone in this but I never got the sense from the 1979 movie that George Lutz had ever been a nice guy. That lack of likability made it difficult for me to discern whether certain performances throughout were supposed to be evidence that the house was breaking him down/posessing him or if he was just being a your standard Jerk. Reynolds did a much better job highlighting the difference between his character under the influence of the home's horror and his normal state when away from it's supernatural hold on him. He managed to be much more menacing than Brolin even though Brolin's physical side effects seemed more believable the emotional element just wasn't as raw as the unraveling Reynolds portrayed. Also, while I did appreciate Margot Kidder's performance I could relate to Kathy's motivations and desperation as played by Melissa George a bit more. In fact the only character I felt was less believable than the original was the babysitter. I don't even know where to begin with that one... her performance outside of the few moments inside the closet was laughable.

The new(er) movie did have quite a healthy dose of religious symbolism which I felt was important, but even so I sincerely missed the interactions with the priest and his local parish that were left out. The somewhat separate storyline depicted in the 79 version was extremely compelling and lent quite a bit to the building of suspense while also adding an element of syncopation in the pacing of the film (if that makes any sense to anyone but me). The back and forth between the house and the church also played up the theme of demonic energy which to me is far more frightening than the direction the new film took by highlighting the notion that past human misdeeds, however horrific they were, left angry spirits behind to haunt the homeowners.

Also, while I would much rather live in the house from the '05 movie (oh, to have a house like that) the original was much creepier. I felt like the time era in the remake wasn't very well established, it was as if it took place today but had retro inspired elements that weren't fleshed out well enough to feel authentic. It all seemed too new. Any elements meant to indicate a different time felt like afterthoughts.

I would like to see a combination of the positive elements of both of these films put together in one piece someday. The character development and paranoia achieved by the remake melded together with the missing storyline of the original and the sense of the house itself being completely enveloped in demonic forces. Now that would be truly nightmare inducing... come to think of it, that may be a little too scary for me. Because after all I am a real wimp of a horror fan!

What is you favorite horror franchise? What elements do you feel are necessary to a good horror flick? Or a good movie in general?

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Musical Musings

   A deep love of music is not an uncommon self-professed characteristic... it can be found in the "about me" sections of many a social networking profile. It's no surprise either seeing as music is a universal language in many senses, due to it's ability to convey a feeling instead of simply a message. The transfer of emotion from the artist to the listener is nothing short of profound. As human beings it only makes sense that upon hearing something so expressive we go about personalizing what we've experienced, turning the mere act of hearing an intentionally crafted series of sounds into an intensely intimate encounter.

   I don't claim to have any more musical prowess than anyone else out there, and in fact the wide majority of what I listen to would likely be deemed "too mainstream" by most aficionados... but what I do know is that while many of my peers were catching up on the latest and greatest shows on TV I spent hours upon hours of my high school years laying on my bedroom floor, motionless, taking in every nuance that I could discern from the music pumping at top volume from my boombox speakers. Unfortunately since those days I haven't had much time to delve further into this aspect of my creative self, but from time to time I luck into a rather amazing musical discovery or two.

   I can't take much credit for this particular discovery as it had absolutely nothing to do with my ability to seek out and find phenoms among the masses. Actually it just so happened that in the continual growth of my extended family I wound up being somehow connected, however distantly, to this amazing couple with more musical proficiency and creative potency between them than most music festivals boast in an entire weekends worth of featured artists! Today I share with you a masterpiece by The Felix Culpa but I also highly recommend checking out Venna, which is the couple's shared endeavor and is equally as impressive in an entirely different way.

If you are as in awe of this as I am do not hesitate to head on over to AltPress and let them know what you think of this amazingness!

More musical musings to come... in the mean time I would love to hear what's playing from your speakers these days that keeps you coming back for more. 

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Be Careful, It's [Their] Heart...

   I have a confession to make... my internet problems mentioned in my last post aren't the reason I've been non-existent these past few days. It was the issue the day of my post, but the connectivity/speed problems resolved themselves withing 24 hours. I stayed gone because this has been a very strange and
uncomfortable week in our household. There has only been one thing in my mind begging to be written about and everything else seems trivial in it's shadow... the problem is that it is not my story to tell.

   With the internet and social networking having become such pervasive forces in our day to day lives we often don't notice new pitfalls in interpersonal relations rearing their ugly heads until the damage has been done. We're so used to sharing what's going on in our lives on the web (to varying degrees based on our personal comfort levels) that we often don't even think about whether a given piece of information is truly ours to share. How do we balance our need to reach out and share our experiences with others, to connect in times of joy or suffering, with our responsibility to protect the privacy of the people who are more directly impacted by the events or circumstances to which we so feel the need to respond? We have been introduced to a whole new platform of social interaction as a society pretty much all at once. There was no learning etiquette by example from someone who had been there and done that, the way a child learns social conventions from their parents. We all jumped in together with only common sense as our guide (and you know what they say about common sense not being very common).

   Things were difficult enough before we all had our own online presences, but now well-meaning people can do more harm then good at break-neck speeds. Not until you find out that you're pregnant do you think about the fact that you not only have to figure out in what order you will spread the news, but you will have to preface every conversation with "don't put this on Facebook until I give you the go-ahead, but..." and make sure that anybody they tells knows... because a congratulations on your wall before you got a chance to tell your boss on Monday morning could make for a rather awkward start to your work-week. Not to mention that you'll just have to resign yourself to the fact that everyone you know will have posted pictures of your newborn before you got a chance to see them yourself, or heaven forbid make your own birth announcement (I was lucky in this department, but know others that weren't). But, when this tangled mess of online communication suddenly requires people to become their own pr departments in the wake of personal tragedies we need to tread very carefully. The last thing someone should have to think about after losing a loved one is playing policeman online to make sure that no well-meaning condolences wind up appearing in the news feed of family members before they get the chance to tell them the news directly.

   It's not just the speed of information anymore that overwhelms us like a drink from a firehose, it's the speed of our relationships. Our best efforts to connect with and support each other are often times undermined by the methods we choose to conduct our interactions through. I am guilty of it I am sure. But if this week has reminded me of anything it's the importance of communication. Real one on one, person to person communication.

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Having Been Translated

    Something happened in me that Sunday morning, something that was hard to explain, but seemed so simple to understand once it revealed itself to me by way of the sermon unfolding itself before me. I had accepted Christ as my savior many years ago.... and many, many times since then, and never was I insincere in doing so. But still something had been lacking in my faith. It was more of a lack of belief in how the truth I had come to know applied to me. If it applied to me. I believed in the crucifixion, resurrection and the ascension and the redeeming power of it, but somehow I was unsure of my status in all of this. Without realizing it I had allowed myself to believe that somehow I had the power to make myself "unsaved", or worse that Christ's death on the cross wasn't enough to absolve me. I didn't mean to think those things of course, but they must have been there under the surface, because I felt the need to not just recommit myself to my faith but to fully go through the process of accepting the Salvation provided to me... over and over, and over again.

    If I remember correctly the topic of the sermon was Luke 13: 22-30... specifically verse 27 where Jesus states "But he will say, 'I do not know where you come from; go away from me all you evildoers!'". The pastor was expounding on the idea that although we are all children on God and known intimately by Him, some will not be recognized when they come knocking on Heaven's door. The reason for that being that in life they had not become translated from the language of the world into the language of Heaven (by way of accepting Christ's gift of salvation). I had never, ever thought of it that way. Once a book is translated into a new language it cannot be untranslated. That act cannot be undone. The book can be burned or otherwise destroyed, but once it's message; it's contents have been known in the new language it cannot simply be erased from the mind of the reader. At the very least it took root in the mind of the translator if no further audience was reached. The only way to break that bond is to re-translate it into something different. An intentional act, in this case to renounce the original belief and confession of salvation and make a new claim.

     This analogy hit home. I understand books, reading and writing has kind of been my "thing". I've always seen people as stories, living novels. It all made sense to me now, the Word had suddenly been translated for me into a language that I understood. My "status" was not in jeopardy. I was now free to move past that initial step of faith into a deeper more personal relationship and understanding.You see it's hard to give your will over to a force greater than yourself when you're not really sure that you've been sealed into it, if that makes any sense. It's also hard to be grateful for a blessing that you're not entirely sure you've actually received. This grave misunderstanding had been such a roadblock to me in ways that I was completely unaware of until that moment. I felt free.

     I researched for some time trying to uncover an international publishing symbol meaning "this text has been translated" but came up with no definitive results. Even so the word had become a part of me; in an instant it seemed to rise up out of the depths of me to the very forefront of my being. A permanent fixture in my identity. I thought on it, prayed on it for several months and this past Sunday I made it a permanent part of my physical presence as well.

 Greater is He that is in me, than he that is in the world. - 1 John 4:4

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The Misdefinition of Materialism

     I have a confession to make. I am one of those people. The ones with dream boards, dream journals, pictures all over my fridge of my future lifestyle and inspirational quotes on post-it-notes just about everywhere in my home. I intentionally seek out things that I desire, that I cannot currently afford, to motivate myself. And I have to say that it never ceases to amaze me just how much opposition I encounter for simply dreaming of a better life for myself and my family. When I talk to people about dreaming I tend to get a lot of the same responses over and over again but the most disturbing argument against having such aspirations is the notion that it is inherently materialistic. I believe this response to be a defense mechanism of sorts, and a product of our countries unhealthy understanding of success and economics.

     First, let me just say that desiring material things is natural and all human beings do to some extent, though some do more than others. Second, desiring material success and being materialistic are not mutually exclusive. Materialism is defined as "preoccupation with or emphasis on material objects, comforts, and considerations, with a disinterest in or rejection of spiritual, intellectual, or cultural values". Therefore it is entirely possible to chase after material success without being materialistic, as long as the person doing the chasing is a) doing it for the right reasons (to provide for their family, etc) and b) not at the expense of their values. The problem is that it is all too common in today's world for people to assign a higher value to material success than they do to their personal character and they go about trying to obtain it in unethical ways, making it their priority above all else and causing much destruction along the way. 

Image c/o SweetOnVeg

    It's a sad state of affairs we find ourselves in when it's completely normal to go out and buy things we don't need (and often times don't even want) with money we don't have to impress people we don't like, but it's considered materialistic to set a goal for a dream car (or house, or any other thing) and save and stretch and grow as people in order to obtain it. Maybe it's because the later requires us to think more about the material thing itself, and do so for an extended period of time and the former only requires that we sign up for a credit card and allow the mainstream culture to dictate for us what is and what is not a necessity. When we buy things on whim, or don't deny ourselves for a time until we earn them then we do think less about our "things", that's true; but just because we may value our things less this way doesn't mean we value our intangible blessings such as faith and family any more. I would prefer for the material things I do possess to hold a greater meaning to me than their monetary cost, because of what it took me to acquire them. 


     As stated in one of my favorite books on the subject of success and leadership Launching a Leadership Revolution there are three levels of motivation for all people. 1) Material Success 2) Recognition and Respect 3) Purpose or Legacy. Of course a person's purpose in life, their passion, and the legacy they leave are far more important things to strive for than material success, but often times until one obtains at least a small measure of material success they do not have the freedom to chase those higher goals with their full drive; they are generally caught in a survival cycle. As Orrin Woodward and Chris Brady point out in the chapter on this subject (Foundational Qualities) "With material success in the hands of those who care, significant differences can be made." There will always be those that take goal setting in the material success category too far and wind up allowing themselves to be lured in by the stingy type of money love they portray in movies and on TV, but more often material goals are tools to great personal growth. I believe that those desires were put inside of each person for a reason and just as good people do good things with money while bad people do bad things with it, so too do good people use material desires to gain leverage on themselves to grow into the person they were meant to be. That is, if those good people don't get suckered into believing the myth that aspirations equal materialism. Sure if people were 100% altruistic they wouldn't need material motivation to become who they were intended to be... but not a single person on this planet is. That being the case it is far better to use those dreams to create positive than to deny yourself on principle to the point of martyrdom (which is a self-focus presenting itself in the opposite direction).

Photo c/o merulu5

     If the true definition of materialism is someone who puts material things ahead of more important matters, how then did we as a society get so confused? When did we start labeling entrepreneurs with big dreams and correct priorities as materialists and yet those people who would rather spend money on cable television and the newest iPhone every time their plans expire are the altruists because they don't spend thought time on what they desire. Instead they buy small luxuries the moment the impulse arises, leaving themselves no space left to dream of bigger successes in those previously mentioned categories. 


     Instant gratification has replaced the American Dream. It's easier for the individual and seems more rewarding in the short term because with instant gratification comes pleasure, however fleeting it may be. This mindset is reinforced at every opportunity by the media because that's how they make their money. TV executives, advertisers, credit card companies, banks, loan agencies and mortgage brokers all make money by keeping people in their debt. You will never see a furniture store advertising "save up this next year and come buy your new leather couch from us when you have the cash in hand". Of course not. The truth that most people have been blinded to is: bad is not the enemy of great, good is. We've sacrificed the happiness we gain from the process of earning material success (notice the happiness comes from the process of earning not from the things we earn) in order to get the pleasure that comes from small luxuries along the way... things we've been told we need like a phone per person instead of per household, central air, microwaves, a TV for every room, and cable programing to go with them (I'm pretty sure it's called programing for a reason; it programs the viewer), etc. These things are usually good (though I won't vouch for the cable) but in almost all cases there is something great just around the corner if we pass up distracting conveniences and entertainments in favor of stretching ourselves enough to get that next great thing in our path. I wonder how much farther along we all would be if we lived by this principle. I wonder how much farther along I would be if I were more consistent in practicing it myself. 

'People often overestimate what they can reasonably achieve in a year. But they vastly underestimate what they can achieve in 5 years." - Steve Pavlina

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The DVD Cabinet Debacle of 2011

The time of baby/child-proofing is creeping up on us fast. Bastian is rolling over now, from his back to his tummy with the greatest of ease throwing in an occasional maneuver in the opposite direction (though this was is still a source of frustration for him most days) and he has skillfully begun the art of pulling his legs up underneath himself raising himself up on knees and belly... only to flop back down again moments later. The motivation is there. This means Mommy and Daddy need to kick project "get our place in shape" into hyper-drive.

As I mentioned to a potential babysitter visiting our condo for an interview last week, we are (at best) recovering slobs. Most people marry their opposite, and while Jason and I do have many glaring differences, in many of the major personality traits we are the same. Unfortunately for us I don't have a neat freak to balance out my inner pigpen, and neither does he. The odd thing is that we both have strong melancholy tendencies, which equates to over-organized perfectionists. What many people don't realize about the melancholy crew, however, is that if we can't get something completed up to our own standards in one foul swoop... well then we'd just assume not start at all. We are those people who buy artwork and stack it up in the corner against the wall for years, never to see the light of day, because we just can't decide where it would look best, and if we did decide it was highly unlikely that at that very moment we had a bubble level, measuring tape, picture hanging kit, etc. and so on.

Also, we are both major packrats. Especially when it comes to toys, and I don't mean toys from our childhood that have sentimental value, Bastian's toys, or other types of toys... I mean "Oh look hunny isn't this figurine of Jack and Sally
adorable? How about this mini Superman lunchbox? Did you see that hilarious little bobble-head over there?". I digress...

Today I became all too aware of my attachment to my "things". The discussion started rather innocently by way of me bluntly informing my husband that our DVD shelves are both heavy and unstable, a dangerous combination with a soon-to-be mobile baby in the house; we would need to replace them with "real furniture"; cabinets with doors that close (and preferably lock). It was going to be expensive, and that was that. Or at least I thought that was that, until he came up with a completely brilliant idea that would not only get rid of our old flimsy shelving units, but would also eliminate our need for a new expensive cabinet and thus give us more space (something we are sorely lacking)! Bonus, right? Wrong! At least in my head it was. I instantaneously had a strange sinking feeling in my gut and I quickly jumped in on the defense coming up with every asinine reason possible why his idea wouldn't work until finally I realized just how silly I was being. I wanted to spend upwards of $300 for the privilege of cluttering up our home further, all so that I could keep my precious physical DVD's in favor of a system where I could simply turn on my TV choose a movie and press play. I wouldn't even have to get rid of them, they would simply be going into storage, FREE storage, until a later date when we have a house large enough to accommodate my compulsion to have them properly on display... behind a cabinet door.

Why was I so quick to assign a higher value to my "hard copies" than creating more space for the things that are necessities. At first I thought to myself "for the same reason that I detest eReaders" but that didn't hold up, books are tactile, you can hold them while you read, write notes, dog ear pages, underline, highlight, draw pictures in their margins, sometimes even allow their pages to soak up your tears. Plastic discs and their plastics cases provide none of these comforts.

 
There were of course multiple reasons for my reaction. One being that this solution would not warrant me buying something new, and buying new things gives me a thrill, a cheap, fleeting thrill. The cabinet I had chosen wasn't even pretty (the pretty ones cost more), and I had no intention of keeping it around long term. I'm sure there was also a tinge of "but I'm right" in there somewhere too; probably mixed in with a little "this is the way we've always done it". There may even have been some of my technology fear tied in there. But I believe the main reason for my upset to be this; I am just, plain and simple, far to attached to my things. Somewhere along the way I began to equate the size of my music and movie collection with my level of adulthood. It could have been due to the withdrawal I suffered when I moved out of my parent's place and no longer had any Christmas movies or CDs when that first holiday season "on my own" rolled around. All those movies I grew up on that none of my friends had even heard of now required a 45 minute drive for viewing. What I never consciously realized was that it took years... a decade or two even, for my parents to get where they were.

In all actuality what I experienced on this small scale has become somewhat of an epidemic in our country. Generations growing up and moving out, expecting to live the same lifestyle their parents live right off the bat, never stopping to think about how long it took them to acquire what they have. What it took to earn it. They went out and purchased houses they couldn't afford on jobs they assumed would have forever. Creeping essentials.

My goal for 2011 is to live entirely within my means. I have every intention of expanding those means, but before that can happen I need to learn to make the absolute most of what I have, and that includes taking advantage of creative space/cost saving ideas instead of resisting for the sake of being surrounded with what I have already accumulated. Which is quite a lot if I do say so myself.

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New Mommy Paranoia or New Level of Awareness?

Am I the only one, or does parenthood really bring out a whole new level of paranoia in a person? It may have something to do with the fact that I'm already somewhat of a paranoid person to begin with, but since giving birth I have discovered a plethora of new preoccupations.

I know plenty of completely sane individuals become obsessively protective and overly worried when they become parents for the first time; it's almost cliche. "I logged every diaper's output with my first child and got up every hour during the night to check that they were still breathing, but now that I've been there and done that I'm just happy as long as they're not running out into the street or drinking Ajax from under the sink!" That makes sense to me and I do not worry when my little guy sneezes or goes two days without pooping... but I'm beginning to think about a lot of other things in a different light.

Does my lotion/shaving cream/face wash have chemicals that are seeping into my body and more importantly my breastmilk? What exactly do they put on those sticky hand thingsto make them stick? Does the adult humor in kids shows/movies get stored in a child's subconscious for future recollection when they are old enough to understand it?

Over the past couple of years I have begun to heavily screen what I let into my mind. The husband and I canceled our cable a long time ago and we don't even have our TV set up to get the basic channels (I do not miss it). We also don't get the paper or subscribe to any online news sources. Trust me, we still find out important happenings in our world with plenty of ease (if it's important enough somebody inevitably tells us about it) and the purging of all the excess negativity that comes with almost all news media sources has done wonders for our attitudes.

We put garbage in our bodies and we all know what happens (the obesity epidemic in America is no secret to anyone these days not to mention heart disease, diabetes, cancer, etc.). Our mind works exactly the same way.

Input > Thoughts > Actions > Habits > Results

I'm nowhere near I want to be in terms of ensuring the proper input for my mind and body on a daily basis and to be honest I was ok with that as long as I was making progress... until Bastian was born. Now, I am truly scared by the amount of things I am entirely ignorant of. What really is in all my frozen meals and my beauty regime products? What about all my household cleaners? And how about the "kids" media they have out there today? Why does every baby toy have to have an electronic mechanism inside to make noises and flash bright lights at them? Heck, my son is still discovering the different textures of fabrics and noises things make on their own without the help of batteries! Does he really need to learn the distinction between the noise a wooden toy makes when you throw it and the man-created noise a plastic one makes when you press a particular button at 4 months of age? Better yet, can he? And if so, does it cause more confusion than curiosity? Overstimulation instead of internalizing and learning?

It's almost dizzying!

We are so constantly bombarded by input of all different kinds. Mentally we a are barraged by information, advertisements, and other people's opinions. Physically we are constantly taking in unknown toxins through our food, our medicines, topical products be they beauty related or cleaning agents. Even the air we breathe has all kinds of pollutants we are not consciously aware of when we inhale and exhale!

For now I simply resolve to silence the "noise" where I have the control to do so in my life and in my Son's. I will ask the important questions, and seek the important answers. Most of all I will try to let be those things that are outside of my sphere of influence.

“One thing only I know, and that is that I know nothing.” – Socrates

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Destruction, Construction and Paula Cole.

For my birthday this year my mom took me to see Paula Cole. I saw the concert details in a flier sitting on their computer desk a month or so before the event and was immediately taken back to teenage days driving around top down in the purple Jeep I owned at the time (and miss dearly) singing my lungs out along to "This Fire". In the midst of my moment of nostalgia I mentioned that it would be a cool show to see and from there plans were made (it was my first time leaving the little one for over an hour).


The date came quickly and soon my mother and I were sitting side by side in a small intimate theater both in awe of the amazing talent and passion being displayed on the stage before us. As the concert went on and I sensed it was nearing it's end I remember thinking to myself "I won't be disappointed at all if she doesn't play "I Don't Want to Wait" or "Where Have All the Cowboy's Gone", she probably feels tied down by the obligation to sing the major hits. I'll be happy as long as she sings the song, the one that made it's home in my heart all of those years ago... Please, oh, please." And then as if she read my mind Paula began telling us that she had been informed on many occasions by therapists that this next song had helped a sizable number of their teenage patients. I knew then that a lifelong memory was about to be made... I felt the tears well up in my eyes before a single word left her lips. I grabbed my moms hand and we shared a knowing look as Paula filled the air with the words I had repeated to myself so many times "I am not the person who is singing, I am the silent one inside, I am not the one who laughs at people's jokes, I just pacify their egos".

I have been self-destructive for most of my life in one form or another, at times in more dangerous ways than others, and I hurt many people outside of myself in the process, especially during my teenage years. My mom took the brunt of the abuse during that time and I committed many acts that tore at the foundation of that relationship. I am happy to report that we now have a stronger relationship than ever before and we can both look back on those times with a healthy dose of humor and humility. I admit however that my guilt remains and has actually reached a new depth since becoming a mother myself, but she reminds me often that all is forgiven. I am not going to attempt to express my gratitude at this moment as it would require a novel.


I have explored many of the extremes of my personal self-destructive nature as well as many of the more seemingly insignificant behaviors. Despite the urgency and obvious danger of the actions and habits I engaged in on the more "extreme" end of the spectrum I have to say that in really studying human-nature, history and leadership it has been revealed to me that it's the seemingly insignificant daily thoughts and actions over time that tear ourselves down. It's similar to the train of thought that a drug overdose and a lifetime of smoking cigarettes are both forms of suicide (whether intentional or not), one simply takes a much longer time to accomplish the end result. 


Although I do not deny there being outside factors in everyone's lives (challenging or unfortunate circumstances and a slew of negative temptations on a constant basis) Paula's word's ring true:

"It's me who is my enemy

Me who beats me up

Me who makes the monsters

Me who strips my confidence"

There are many blogs, books and numerous other resources warning of the dangers that negative self talk has in our lives. It's no secret that we are privy to our own mistakes, imperfections and personal weaknesses unlike those of the people around us. It is all too easy to assume that because their faults aren't as glaringly obvious to us as our own, that they simply don't exist. We know everything we have ever done wrong and we punish ourselves by believing we don't deserve success. Yet another self-fulfilling prophecy.

I am in complete agreeance with the prevailing wisdom out there encouraging individuals to refrain from this negative self talk and suggesting they replace detrimental thought patterns with positive reaffirming mantras. I don't however think that it is safe to stop there. Based on my personal observations I don't feel that simply replacing adverse thoughts about ourselves with affirmative ones has the desired affect. More often than not if we succeed at that, all we have really succeeded in (if we don't add action to the mix) is implanting more firmly in our own minds the rather unpleasant entitlement mindset that has become somewhat of an epidemic in our modern society. 

Humans were not created to be idle, no amount of positive self talk will cure the inadequacies felt as a result of not chasing after our dreams and passions without the full breath of life. When we are not actively pursuing our purpose, having positive or negative self talk only determines whether we are insecure masochists or insecure entitlement theorists. It is an uphill battle. We are either spending our time actively becoming the person we want to be, a person we can be proud of and whom we believe deserves success, or we are falling backwards into self pity or bitterness, both of which over time will destroy our quality of life. I may be wrong, but I am of the opinion that we cannot simply avoid being destructive; the only way to not be destructive is to be constructive.


Paula may have simply written "Me" as an announcement of sorts, a discovery that one is only truly held back by themselves. I do not know the story behind her song but I know that for me it is a reminder to be constructive rather than destructive. I attempted to thank her for that in person after the show but stumbled over my words like a star-struck child. I did manage to get out "I was one of those teenagers that was helped by that song" ...very smooth-like. Her response said it all "I guess I was too". I can't speak for her, but that was all I needed to hear to know that she is a constructive being. 

There were many other enjoyable moments throughout that evening that I will remember for a long time to come, she did perform both of the aforementioned hits with the same level of passion as her newer creations, and did a cover of Jolene that blew the original out of the water... and who knew that Paula Cole could beat-box? Because I sure didn't! Definitely a pleasant surprise.  But most of all I will cherish the lesson learned, the journey that has sprung from that lesson, and the deepening of my relationship with one of my biggest heroes, my mom.

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