Six Weeks and 17 pounds lighter

On November 20th, actually the 21st, I did my six week weigh in and boy did I feel good when the scale tipped at 250 pounds, which meant I was lighter than 250 which hasn't happened in a while. Although my goal was 20 pounds, 17 is close enough, 16 might of made me a little skeptical but 17 made me happy enough. What the number 17 did was allow me to recall all the hard work and dedication that I committed to over the previous six weeks. I was proud of my continued effort, I was further convinced that if I want something, I have what it takes to make it, I was also motivated to continue but more importantly, it changed my life. It changed the way I look at my future, it forced me to seriously look at my past and acknowledge all the ways in which I sabotage myself or simply give up on myself. The truth is and continues to be that I allowed myself to over eat which in turn, turned into increasing fat cells on my tall yet bulky frame. There were days within the six weeks when I cried about the days in which I played victim, the days I blamed everyone else (especially my mother) for everything that was going wrong in my life and all those days when I chose not to honor the truth about me. The truth is I am perfect, whole and complete, I have everything I need to make my dreams a reality, I am entitled to a good life, I am capable of excellent health and wellness, I may be old(er) but I have the strength and endurance to succeed.

I think the running helps me to really understand what I am capable of. When I take my long runs of 11 and 12 miles, I realize once I'm back at home that I'm only a mile away from running a half marathon. Who would of thunk (six months ago) that I would be able to run a marathon or even a half marathon. I am sometimes in awe and in wonder about how I do it. But with each step, each stride, with each forward movement, with each rounded intersection, with each mile marker, with each fast food restaurant passed, with each crack in the sidewalk, I am humbled by the experience of physical endurance. What happens next is the realization that if I have this type of endurance, surely I have mental, emotional and spiritual endurance to reach other goals in my life. This experience has also helped me to return to my hearts desire, to finally accept that I had a dream for myself and the time has come for me to actualize that dream for myself. I can do it and I know I can.

The next six week marker will occur on December 31st, how apropo but a nice ending to a year full of change, most of which was unexpected. I want to be down another 20 pounds or thereabouts. I hope despite the call of 'old man winter' I will continue to run and find the joy of increasing my mileage. I have a plan B if winter wants to drop too much snow for running, so no worries. I have plan A for my life which will require some major changes and some diehard discipline and mental focus but I'm up for the challenge, I'm up for what 2012 has in store for me, I get the sense that something really good is on the horizon or the good has already began, my primary goal is to stick with the good and let my life be a reflection of what is possible given a little stamina, patience and faith. Honestly, I just feel blessed, I am totally honored and humbled at the goodness within my life, moving through my body and swirling in my mind, I can't say thank you enough to the universal energy that supports my every effort. I am grateful for every little thing in my life, my prayer is to spread this joy quietly and fervently because what we all need now more than ever is some 'good news!'

10K on Sunday brings out "Fear of Success"

On Sunday, October 16th, 2011, I got up at my usual 5:00am and prepared for what would be my first official long run. I haven't run for this amount of distance or time in over ten years. The path was pretty flat and ended up being 7.4 miles, with a completion time of just under two hours. Yeah, I know it's slow but it's the best that I can do. I gave myself permission to give up, turn around or simply walk if I wanted but never once did it really dawn on me to quit. There were plenty of moments when my calves were on fire and my thighs were a bit achy. Let's not mention the crankiness of my lower back which I have learned to deal with and shift my weight a bit to help it subside. Honestly, over the last several years I've had this lower back pain, it has become a true companion, so much so I thought we would never court running but I've discovered something about the human body and that is your mind is greater that your physicality. I call my back pain Magdelene, she's rebellious, feisty, and often misunderstood. She thought she had me, thought I would let her grip my livelihood, I showed her what I was made off over the summer when I endured 12 weeks of bootcamp. She pushed back and let me have my victory but every now and then she likes to step out in to the open with her daggers to remind me of the neglect I've inflicted on the 44 year old body. She tried to have my way on Sunday but I gently stretched my legs, shifted the work of my run from my thighs and fully into my abdominal core, she went to sleep and left me alone. I can't say the same for her cousin Dom who enjoys inflicting muscle soreness at every chance. But more than anything, what this experience did was remind me of what I am capable of. What I can do when I put my mind into it. And what can happen when I put just a little amount of effort and belief. It also reminded me of how I like to sabotage myself and after getting on the tip of success, I partake in the most ridiculous behaviors that tumbles me back to where I started.

The success of this run, the work that it took, the journey to keep putting one foot in front of the other for seven whole miles, the push to keep the body moving, the sweat, the tears, the miracle of doing what I thought was impossible just a few weeks ago was the beginning of my need to rethink my life. This run awakened in me something different and new. It reminded me of who I am. It inspired me to tap into that place that has an innate ability to succeed. I didn't really understand it when mentor and friend, Rose Martin, Executive Director of Peace Neighborhood once said, "your problem is your afraid of success." I thought people were only afraid of failure, why would someone be dumb enough to fear success? It would take many years and a long run on October 16th, 2011 to culminate into an epiphany, I had an aha moment. I realized that my fear of success stems from my deep seated belief that I don't deserve to succeed which is completely the opposite of my sometimes 'cocky' persona that exhibits high levels of entitlement. I gather that the entitlement is based on something more simplistic and the cocky rears its head because of the lack of success.

I want to tell you that it's not about the success, but the truth is this, if doing my best warrants success then I just want the ability to accept that that is what is in store for me in my life. I don't want to be less than I am, so as to not experience what I perceive is the uncomfortableness of success. What I really want is to wake up in the morning knowing I did my very best. My best is going to be good because that's just something that I've been given. People always tells me that what I touch turns to gold. What they don't realize is that, everything I put my heart, mind and soul into comes out great because there is something to be said for full effort and intent. I put my effort in to running while my intentions were to complete the 7 plus miles run.

On the other hand, no one ran for me, no one endured the wind when it felt like it was pushing me backwards although my legs were pumping my body forward, no one assisted in enduring with wet and damp running clothes that felt like ice cubes on my skin, no one was there to tell me how to get up that funky hill on Washtenaw Avenue when I was certain that my legs were going to give out, no one was there to enjoy the quiet rising of the sun as I ran past crisler arena and unfortunately, no one was there to enjoy the sense of accomplishment when I edged onto seventh street. Although seventh avenue was nearly two miles from home, it mostly down hill with a few up hills that could be overcome very easily, I was home before I even physically made it home because I knew I had the last leg of my run in the bag.

Today I kiss, hug and send off into an alternate universe my 'fear of success.' I let it go somewhere else where it can't have control over my life. I thank it for being present in my life for without it I would not know the true sense of 'real' personal accomplishment. I shut the door on it's divisive ways and the paralyzing  anesthesia it has inserted into my actions. I send it off with a care package, the type filled with all the moments when I sabotaged myself and I banish it all into the land of amnesia. I honor that success is not the true measure of who I am, it does not come from outside of myself but from inside that part of me that can run over seven miles. It comes from that place where determination and intent gently collide to produce a beautiful sparkling creation. Today I walk toward the light, illumined to be the best me, the God in me, the perfect me, the divine me, the me that has always been here but has finally decided to wake up. Good Morning Life, I'm here and thank you for having me.

End of Bootcamp and 24.6 pounds lighter

Okay, yesterday was the last day of Pete's Slim U Seminar (class) and I weighed in at a lovely 281.4, which totally surprised me because while I had done the work, I thought maybe it was time for a plateau. Thank goodness that the scale continues to be my friend because I've worked way too hard to not lose any weight, that would completely frustrate me, actually not really, it would challenge me to take a closer look at my diet and my exercise.

I've decided to complete my next stages of weight loss into 6 week increments. The first post boot-camp increment is Aug. 28th through October 8th. My goal is to lose 2-3 pounds a week, just I like I did this summer. My initial exercise plan consist of (4) weekday runs of 3 to 5 miles along with 3 days of high intensity interval training and on teh weekends, I plan to do a long run on Saturday and a 3 hour workout on Sunday, to consist of running, steps, resistance training and whatever else I can do to burn calories.

I ordered the DVD Insanity because I'm totally insane. I'll keep you posted on the details. But in the meantime, I'm going to continue to keep moving along with my healthy eating plan, I don't call it diet because it's essentially the way I should be eating under any normal circumstances. I feel wonderful despite still being slightly sore from boot-camp workouts.

Kudos to me for a job well done and I'm excited about continuing this journey because losing the weight is not only the shortest phase but the easiest and only the beginning. The goal from this point forward is to keep in mind the ways in which I can keep the weight off for the rest of my life.

Peace and Blessings

Importance of Stretching and Black Planet Comment

Morning Family,

So I get up this morning and decide to do some stretches. It's the first time that I have ever stretched in the morning before doing anything and it's 8:00am and I feel fantastic. Okay, I know your thinking that it's early but I've done my workout, walked to work and normally, I struggle with lower back pain but this morning I'm free of the back ache. I suspect that it will remain this way for the rest of the day and I will let you know either way on tomorrow.

So, I'm a member of Black Planet and have been so for many years. When I first signed up back when it first started, it was truly a networking site and I tended to get great job leads but nowadays it's more of a dating site, which I can't wrap my mind around and as such, don't visit the site very often. However, given my feel good morning, I see that I am favored by someone on BP. I go to their site and they have no picture and little info about themselves, so I look at their friends and favorites. I see this guy, he looks interesting, so I click on his profile, only to discover that he's looking for a fuck buddy (that's cool) and I read his blog. I read blogs to get a sense of who people are and he writes about how all the men around him treat their women horribly, yet he is a good guy who is single and he begs the most ridiculous question I've ever read in my life, which is 'should he treat women differently?' In other words, should he start treating women disrespectfully because maybe that's the only way he will get a woman. Below is my response:

I must be in rare form this morning because I never comment on blogs but your question was truly evocative. You inquire about how you should treat women but I wonder when will the men who treat women respectfully learn to pull to the side the other men they know (the men that treat women disrespectfully) and check these men on their behavior or engage them in a conversation that encourages them to treat women with more respect? Why do men feel that because most women accept this behavior that somehow they need to engage in this dysfunctional behavior? And lastly, when will black men like yourself, stand up for a definition of manhood that includes treating women with respect and having functional and healthy relationship with women? peace and blessing always

Can I get an amen or have I gone crazy?
Enjoy your day, wishing peace, light and lots of good old fashion LOVE!

Weight Loss Journey Update

I ran for 4o minutes this morning, total 50 minutes with warm up and cool down. I haven't truly ran in over 10 years, wow that's a long time. It all happened when I signed up for this nutrition class with the local recreation department called Lose It Fast, Lose It Forever with Pete Thomas. I had no intentions of signing up for the boot camp that goes along with the course, I felt at the time all I needed are some instructions and I would figure out the rest. The truth is, once I attended the first class, I was so inspired by Pete, I signed up for the boot camp (Tuesday, Thursdays and Saturdays).

The first day of boot camp was Tuesday, June 21, 2011 and after nearly two hours of high intensity interval training, I could barely breathe and felt nauseous. I knew that people claimed to have this feeling after working out but I had never experienced anything like this. My body was completely sore for two full days. I could barely move and when Thursday came around, it was unclear if I would return. In the end, I went to Thursdays class but gave myself permission to leave if things got too hard. Would you believe that I, not only went to class but stayed the whole time and wasn't nauseous like the first night. I've been diligent every since.

Nine weeks later, with a starting weight of 306 pounds, I've lost over 20 pounds. My last weigh in was Monday, August 15th, 2011 and I weight 285. What I do know is this, I feel strong and despite my lower back pain, I am able to do the boot camp and can run again. Hip, hip hooray!

What I also realized a few weeks ago is that I have to love the body I am in. So every day I try to lovingly rub my fat rolls and thank them for a job well done, however, I tell them that they may shrink and eventually go away. I will miss my fat rolls but as the old saying goes, there is a time and place for everything. I look forward to the continued journey because I'm just at the very beginning but if this morning is any indication of things to come, I'm well on my way. I'm so proud of myself and it feels so good to accomplish something I thought I would never be able to accomplish ever again.

peace, light and much love

The Mother, Daughter and the haunted ghost

There is a closeness between my mother and sister
I witness with a rattled yearn and weep the night
To quiet the starved adolescent craving is to
loosen a flat sheet in memory.

It is the way they yield into each others
karmic space, twirling between the generations
enacting a replay of womb time
enacting a replay of my time as if without womb.

I try to catch Mommas' gaze for a resurrection
ignored tantrums fail to incite, fail beyond the shadow
pieces of us and I struggle to phantom myself toward
be a big girl for Momma. be a big ghost for Momma.

The living room mantel testifies an evolution
a preferred pictorial proliferation
Sister's immigration and the end of the first act
swept inside photo albums couched just outside of important.

But I hang next, hold pleading hands cupped
meander over and over an requited prayer.
Sharp intuition begs for mercy but I wait for Momma
wait but never want, wait but never forgive why
a couplet instead of a holy hallowed trinity

Three

Three

for Oona, Brian and Jeremiah

You are like mustard seeds
that I wished upon after hip hop
angels whispered in my ear.

Never had a green thumb
just a red heart, and white filled
nipples that nourished you
into yourselves.

You are light, constant
willowing in my arms
I thought I'd never leave my night
never leave my night.

You are babes with mouths
that utter truths, I want to pull you
back into my womb
for that is when we danced.

You are gifts wrapped in a
mixture of hues from plantations
that tried to keep you from
coming over to this side.

You are amazing remains of my labor
I'll never work that hard again
never get paid
abundantly.

You are my stars. The one's
I wished upon at Girl Scout camp
somewhere between the can of "off"
and tie knots on logs that hold us
over broken waters.

(c) 2007-2009 Charlotte Young Bowens
This poem was published in Shenandoah's Fall 2008 issue

buried in boxes (poem)

He is a mountain-ness man. Looks
nice enough. I'm dressed anew and
extra pretty clean like the house
with freshly plaited hair.

I enter the front room marching
as if a church aisle. Momma and the man gaze
upon me, for I am "show and tell." Maybe special
I smile as practiced and shake vigorously.

Momma tugs the limp doll of me and demands
I say "hi" to the man named, this is
your father. I look for her, to him, to laugh perhaps
for him, to her, for signs of dream in sleep.

But you said he was dead. I thought you said he was ...
Words unleash the sunset of eyes, Momma pretends to chuckle
he groans, her legs uncross, her hand is swift
one palm covers my mouth now emptied.

Momma pats the non-existing wrinkles
of my polyester dress. this is your father lunges forward
hugs me hard, I hold hands collapsed at sides. I perch my chin
over his shoulder and consider my little brother's wallpaper
fingerprints.

Now a box fills his lap. A gift for this is your daughter. The next day
I look inside for answers. With every box thereafter I look inside
a search, a reason, something about why my Father has come back
to life and why he is gone
again.

Journal Entry of my future lover

June 2, 2012
There is a bit of overcast and it looks as if some wetness dripped ot the ground in the fresh morning air. I've just withdrawn my soul from the cradle of my lover's arm. It is similar to torture perhaps a masochistic but this love is to tender for description that veer on violence or negativity. The back and fort h of my mind but one thing is clear, today is a good day.
Today I search my mind for the beginning, that precocious time when I let this man enter into my heart and three calends have journey with us. We have watched the cyclic annuals crested with our love and passion. It's a record for me because I tend to cut into my intimacy before a year can gather round. I tend to judge people to quickly, too abruptly and too critically as if I am without flaws. I tend to want to keep this heart encased in a metallic structure. But then I learned the other day that when it gets cold enough, metal's strength is as weak as a baby's behind.
This is how he came into my life. I had become so cold that the metal around my soul began to loose it's pliability and it became brittle. Over the years and bit by bit and every so often the hardened substance flaked off like. There had to be a whole somewhere, a space worn and lacking any coverage because otherwise I had no intent on abiding intimacy ever again. I suspect that God's got a plan or some really good jokes. The ying and yang is there for a reason I suppose, all though I had hoped I would nestle into the comfort of my ying for the yang seemed a distant fantasy at best.
I prayed for this lover even while my heart was casted off into a chamber with a missing key. But as they say, if you can't get though the door, there's always a window. I sometimes wonder how I had the courage or even the wherewithal to know, to pray, to want and to finally give in to the thing that I least expected to happen to me. What was that sliver of something, that size-of-a-mustard-seed yearning for more out the human experience. I had comfortably settled into my non-existence, needing very little, only air and nourishment. The loneliness turned into being alone by choice, or so I convinced to myself and I awaited the rest of my days.
I must confess that having a lover isn't a better feeling. It is a different feeling, it is an encompassing of the little spaces that being alone could never fill. My experience at loving and being loved is more of a lateral expansion of my human experience yet there are moments when I step into spiritual understanding more profoundly. And I can see how being alone is not something that cease because you have a partner, no it is just a chance to walk around closer to another soul on the same type of journey.
I had expected after three years for some heightened sense of myself, the world and love but what I discovered is that growth is an internal process and mandated only by the self. Lover, my lover has his own process, we join with the willingness to except each other right where we are on the path and we understand that sometimes we can't be together and we understand that our love is one of the many tools we will need to know fully who and what we really are.
It's more like walking down a path or down the road with a really good friend. I might notice the lillies or he might notice the weeds choking the berry bush or I might bask in the sun while he worships the shade of a tall oak tree. I sense that what we do in this deeply abiding intimacy is live with the fire of desire to be the God's we really are. I can't help but find a sense of sadness at the notion of romantic love. For I suspect that it is empty, void of real substantive meaning but perhaps a path to the true meaning of coupleship.
I am content in this relationship unlike any relationship before and I am a better person not because of him. I am better at getting myself better, better at accepting the perfection in myself and in others. I am convinced that love isn't a one way street nor is it surrendering of power either. No love is as simple as breathing or looking at the stars or watching a plant grow. It is divine, peaceful, easy like Sunday morning and it simply is without any force or work.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

A memory with my future lover

It's this sense of peace and calm and satisfaction and safety, all of which come over me, wash me anew and it's effortless. I sit on the porch and look out on the sun, as it makes it's grand appearance for this particular day. I lean back and a slight turn allows me to see his back. He is standing at the sink. His moves are like a simple flow and I reflect on how we got here. I try to remember the precise moment when I unshackled my soul from the chaos of every day living. This moment is pivotal because it is the primary reason why I am sitting here today. It's the end of a life full of self deprecation and the blossoming of a life full of self actualization.

I smile at him when he notices my stare and his return smile says it all. I gaze back at the wonder of a sky full of the unknown while appreciating the little known I have. He eases up beside me, leans over and kisses my neck. This is heaven. Each kiss is more pronounced, more sensual and more provocative. I know we will end up in each others arms sweaty from sexual passion. But it is when he kisses my lips, that's when I feel that current of electricity radiate throughout my body. This is when I swear I can levitate, perhaps walk on water or fly.

Over four years of this intense intimacy. I have wondered how I lucked on him, this and me. I was a commitment phobe with a deeply rooted paranoia. I had been abandoned way too many times or so I thought. I never people get too close, I kept souls at a distance, that of a football field. There was no joy in being alone but there was comfort when I graduated from loneliness to being alone because there is a difference. Enough of a difference to allow me to fall into the arms of a loving man, one whose simple living is the answer to my soul's longing.

I stroke his back when he sits next to me. I think of him when we are apart but never in a desperation but in confidence that when I return he will be there. We move in stride like an upbeat classical musical or perhaps theatrical music. Our lives intertwine without the choke of entanglement. We pay attention to ourselves, we pay attention to the way the other one enlivens each moment. I can't help but enter the quiet of the moment, I can't help but surrender to the joy of our interaction and I can't help but breathe. With each breathe, I come alive as if resurrected from the dead. I had not known how dead I was until know. I had not given in to the essence of my life force until now and it feels good, much like excstacy.

We part from one another without words. It's a silent gesture woven within the embrace and tender kisses. It is the lingering of our hands until our finger tips fall from inevitable end of our touching. It is the way I turn my back to him and his back to me yet I know that it is not a turn, nor a back or an away. It is temporary, unwanted yet smoldered with a knowing of time's necessary demand.

I jump into my truck and head to work, I can see him entering his car and just before I place my foot on the gas, his wave is haphazard but not from neglect but from something inside the both of us. The way in which we realize that our souls will never truly part, it's just an illusion and we play the role with the actions in support.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Memorial Day Meanderings

When did Memorial day get started and why? Nowadays you can google that question and get a pretty good answer, this reminds me of the time when I would search through the encyclopedia or dictionary to learn about something. I miss the days of paper search, I remembering those rectangular odd shaped library catalog cards, the one's you had to pluck through to uncover where the book you were looking might be. Its in the remembering that I come to realize that this day is more than just the morning of soldiers in federally mandated combat but this has to be a day about all to the casualties of war and about all of the wars named and unnamed.

I'm thinking about all the slaves who died during slavery, all the senseless victims of jim crow and all the science experiments on black people. These are the victims of a race war, we don't call it that but that's what it is. It it equally as important to remember our heroes, the people who against all odds fought for the dignity of humanity, folk like Harriet Tubman, Fredrick Douglass and others.

I was listening to a book on CD about spirituality and I love it when the voice spoke about identity, self identity and empowering one's self to define themselves. It's one of the most challenging things to do in this culture, define the self and celebrity and popularity is more important than character. I began to think about Harriet Tubman and how despite her status as a slave, she claimed an identity that not only led her to believe she deserved better but to actually put herself in a situation where she was able to live with dignity, equality and pride. She didn't let American slave owners define her, she didn't let American racism brand her with an identity, she must have had the type of relationship with spirit that provoked and inspired her to know her own personal truth and this can only come from a deeply profound and internal spiritual underpinning.

I'm realizing that stepping into an identity self proclaimed means that I am now having to mourn, I'm having to remember the old me, the me that is now laid to rest, the me that fought the good fight but the me that really wasn't the me that I wanted or desired or envisioned. I keep sensing this stand still with myself, I'm not sure where to go and what to do but it's clear that I'm not going back to the way I used to be. And it feels strange to move into this unknown territory of self actualization, to finally get to know myself. It is a wonderful feeling to finally honor what I've always wanted to do with my life to step into the active behavior of my heart's longing. It is also ripe with the unknown, I've never been fearful of the unknown and somehow the combination has me at a stand still and in a state of semi-shock. Actually it's like waking up to see the sun after a long, long, long winter or it's a kin to being reunited with someone you haven't seen in years or someone you thought you'd never see again.

I'm here, right where I want to be and it is a memorial to the Charlotte that with as much courage and strength brought me to this point. It is the Charlotte that attempted to please everyone else, do what others wanted her to do and be what others wanted her to be. She played the social game of life, she made lots of mistakes and contributed honorable things but in the midst I tamped down into a corner some of the things I wanted for me because I thought that was best at the time. I left small dreams by the side of the road because life needed me to do something else and I people pleased until I was depleted emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, socially, psychologically and anything else I might have had. I gave in and gave up on me and replaced that with trying to make others happy, trying to be what people thought I should be.

The truth is that I failed miserably at allowing my external reality to define who I was. I failed because I knew deep down inside that's not who I was. I failed because there has been and will continue to be a part of me, the Harriett Tubman part of me that wants to fight for the truth. and today I wonder how many soldiers, in their last hours wondered how they got to where they were. How they allowed the world to define their life and how much of themselves did they forego to serve a country that didn't have the decency to allow them to be themselves. I'm not mourning death, I'm mourning the inability of people to manifest their souls passion. I'm mourning all the spirits lost in a war that wasn't about anything really when you look back at it. It has been and will continue to be a war with the self, the war of self acceptance because if we really got in touch with who we are, loved our own selves, we would not feel the need for war. The war is an internal war with outer consequences. Sometimes people are mean, sometimes people are cruel, sometimes people are simply violent but this is not the true nature of the human spirit, this is the agitation that lingers within the human mind and instead of doing self reflection or creating a moment for contemplation, humanity thinks it's easier to lash out at those nearest to them and some humans are lucky enough to lash out at those far away.

Today I step away from the need to hurt others because of my own internal struggles. I pray that I act in compassion to all that I encounter including myself. My memorial, the death of the old me is sad and magnificent at the same time. I look at the tomb stone I create in my mind to indicate this moment in my human evolution. It's really just the girl-child in me, she's all grown up now. She's at rest, reincarnating into something else and I appreciate her because she carried me for way too long. I won't miss her, just like I won't miss any of the soldiers because the truth is that they are always and ever present in spirit. Happy Memorial Day Humanity and Happy Memorial Day to me.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

Okay, I'm in a great mood this morning because I had a dream that I was in my ideal relationship and it felt just as good as I thought it would feel. And this light I see at the end of the tunnel has me recognizing the beauty of living. Living long enough to fulfill some dreams I had for myself. Dreams that some how got dropped off on the sidelines of life. As if I put them in the storage area of my attic and totally forgot about them. But you know how it is, that stuff in the attic we never really forget about. When you least expect it a memory flows into plain view and triggers a thought about something you put up in the attic. Something that is near and dear to your heart but for some reason you can't muster up the courage or strength to give it the attention it needs. I'm old enough to not have needs or so I say or so I think. The light breaks through the inevitability of today's morning clouds and I can't help but feel nostalgic about some old wants, some old needs and some very, very old dreams.

I love Boondocks, I love the satirical nature of Huey who speaks his mind or more so speaks what's on the minds of most sensible, consciously thinking black folk. The picture is reminiscent of the expectations of black people, as if we don't aspire to be more. I remember as a child, more like I was teenager and I wanted a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, they were all the rage back then but my single parent, single income mother could not and would not buy them for me. Also, at the same time I was venturing into developing new friendships with people that lived life on the edge. We smoked cigarettes in the school bathroom, junior high school bathroom to be more specific and we looted local stores. Looting was their primary activity and something I wasn't really familiar with nor was it something I actually wanted to do but I wanted to be a part of this group of vagabonds, I wanted the rush of being a bad girl because for the bulk of my life I had been a good girl-scout-going and good church-going girl who didn't really have any interest in boys or at least not yet. The goodyness of my behavior meant that I would receive ocassional taunts and people would look at me as if being good was some type of disease. In my desire to cure myself of this ailment, I began to cultivate a friendship with the "bad" kids which was easy because back then kids weren't so picky about who they hung out with, as long as you were with the program, you were allowed to be a part of the crowd.

My first act of looting, okay let's call a spade a spade, my first act of theft went extremely awful. I couldn't really think of anything that I wanted except these jeans but in my heart of hearts, I knew I could live without them. They were like so many of the other things that I wanted, things I would list on pieces of paper after looking through the latest Sears, JCPenney and Spiegel's catalog. I would make these list knowing full well that I would never get 99% of the stuff but it was the list making that was enjoyable. But membership in my new gang of friends required either booze stolen from a parent's stash. This couldn't happen because my mother was a non-drinking high holy roller sanctified filled with the precious holy ghost and that with fire she had a mind to go on with the lord Pentecostal God fearing and God loving woman. Or you could bring cigarettes and it didn't matter where they came from. I delivered newspapers after school and even at the ripe age of 13, I understood enough about money to know that cigarettes were expensive which meant I shared my cigarettes on an as needed basis, I wasn't interested in dispensing cigarettes like water, I love my money too much. Or you could loot. Now most kids stole things for other kids in the group, I on the other hand was too selfish for that. If I were to steal something and get caught, it better be for something I wanted, thus the brilliant idea for me to steal some jeans from T.J. Maxx.

The short on the long is this, I got caught and I had to stay in this interrogation room for hours because I refused to tell them my name. I knew that the punishment that the system would dole out on me was less severe than the punishment with which I would receive from my mother. I was far more afraid of her than any jail cell, that is until I arrived in the jail cell which freaked me out and I yelled at the top of my lungs my name, address, social security number, girl scout troop leader and of course my mother's name and work phone number. I also remember what the officer said to me that day. He said he hoped he wouldn't see me again but he paused, he looked me dead in the eyes and he said but chances are I would see him again but the next time he would gladly haul me off to my new permanent home because people like me never learn their lessons, people like me will never amount to anything and this is just who I am.

My aunt came to visit me shortly after I came home from all of this and jokingly called me a "thief." As if it was my new name or as if it was my plight in life or as if it was what I was destined to do for the rest of my life. Between the officer and my aunt, the thought of growing up a criminal made me sick to my stomach, it raged in me something so fierce I vowed to never steal again. It unearthed the small but important dreams that I had for myself. Dreams that entailed a life outside of the criminal justice system. Now I'd be remiss to say that I did land in jail again but under different circumstances. I stole my children and because I was directly violating the custody order, I was put into jail over night. This is a long story one full of contradictory details but before and after I have defied the aspirations placed on me by that officer and by my aunt. I realize that I was lucky and I recognize that some aren't so lucky like my brother and I realize more than anything that I can have as many dreams as I want about my life.

Growing up is not the goal, growing into understanding the self is more the direction one wants with their life. Growing new is when you change careers, create new aspirations for yourself and the manifestation of those visions one has is the greatest gift we can give ourselves. I had a vision of wearing Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and the vision did finally come true, after months of tolling and months of saving money from my paper route but when I arrived at the destination it wasn't as joyful as I thought. This lack of umph when I arrive at goals that I accomplished for the sake of others has caused me to realize that if I'm going to work on attaining something maybe it should be what I want.

So today I'm tapping into the attic of my mind and soul, this time I will pluck from the cob webs, the dust and in the sliver of light still present, I will resurrect what I truly want for myself. I will finally grow up, grow in and grow newly into the thing that radiates passion throughout my being. And what I know now is that until I honor my own desired destiny, I will never know what it means to grow up. But today I put on my sash (the kind you wear in girl scouts), it is full of badges from life but now I work towards the badge I've always wanted. The ultimate badge of life, the one thing that I've always wanted to do from the moment I could think of myself as something.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete.

He more things change the more they stay the same

Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can anyone deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It's beyond me!

~~~~Zora Neal Hurston

I'm not sure why it has taken me so long to get back to blogging but I woke up this morning and decided to get back to the morning page because I am really missing this part of my life. I thought I would be extremely devoted to writing essays but I see that several weeks ago I started writing an essay and I was struggling with making sure it had the correct statistics which meant I had to do some research which I didn't have time for and considering I have limited time in the morning to write, I just couldn't do it. I became discouraged and the writing stopped. I wasn't necessarily disappointed in myself or discouraged. I didn't feel any angst about the absence of writing and I was confident that I would return to the page. I was giving myself space to do something different. In this time I have gathered interesting fodder for my writing and I have tapped into the world a little bit more and I feel refreshed and inspired to write.

I came across the quote from Zora Neale Hurston and although I had seen it many years ago, this reunion with the words were revelatory. I find that what I confront in the world is not discrimination but impatience and intolerance. I sometimes wonder why people, including myself, we tend to size people up within seconds and then make certain judgments. I want to be more patient, I want to be more open and I want to be more loving. I'm still standing behind my need to distance myself from people and I keep rewinding old hurt as an excuse to be semi-anti-social. If I am so fabulous to be around then I have to allow people to be around me but it seems like the older I get the more I want to be with smaller groups of people. I tend to tire of the energy of complaining and the energy of self deprecation. This loner status thing that I claim is allowing me to neglect improving my social skills and it's providing me the perfect excuse to not make new friends. I love people, I'm just learning to discern the complexity of human behavior and the changes that happen as well as we all transcend in one way or another.

The change I think I've made in my life often feels as if I haven't made any change at all. I feel as if I'm at a standstill but then I'm reminded of my power to change my own life. I'm trying to engage this personal power. I'm endeavoring to put into action the kind of life that I want. Part of me is lingering on an action I took which was in essence a broken promise to myself. I heard that a broken promise strips at your self esteem and all this time I took that information to heart but just in this moment, I recognize the untruth in that analysis. Yeah breaking a promise to one's self is an act of opposition but in some ways I needed the experience to hone in on something that I really needed to understand. I understood the problem with the particular behavior but for some reason I needed to travel down that road again. And the truth, the spiritual truth is that in every new moment I have the ability to create my reality without the weight of the past. I continue to listen to my spirituality tapes which guide me toward self actualization and more importantly toward pure self love.
The writing feels jagged and unfocused but that's okay.
I AM PERFECT AND I AM WHOLE AND I AM COMPLETE.

An Enlightened Mind through Spirituality

I can recall in my youth, when I was about six or seven years old, pleading with the God of my understanding for clarity about life's purpose and begging for ability to experience and actualize LOVE. From what I could tell, the only thing in life that seemed to matter was LOVE and I wanted it, whatever it was, however I could get it, I wanted LOVE . I wanted to be loved, I wanted to share love and I wanted that mystical manifestation of love and I'd be damn if I left this earth without knowing for myself the internalization of love.
Forty years later, I still beg and plead but with a recognition with the journey toward love starts with myself which feels like a punishment more than spiritual liberation. I'm already a loner, so to insist that the answer resides within myself feels like more the same, more of the days of loneliness, more of the disconnect from humanity, more of the victim having to save herself, more of a leaning on oneself when the self has never been reliable and more of living misery. It annoyed me and bothered me that the answer was within myself because if any person could look inside of me they would see a truly damaged and messed up person who couldn't possibly have the capacity or the wherewithal to engage a spiritual enlightened existence.
I haven't completely given up on myself nor am I in doubt about my capacity to know the truth of my existence but the journey has been long. I love that song sung by Donnie McClurklin that states. "We fall down but we get up, because the saint is just the sinner who fell down and got up." I seem to habitually find myself getting up after falling down once again. Falling down doing the some thing I did twenty and some thirty years ago. I fall down because of actions that I turn to knowing full well that those types of decisions don't work in my life. I fall down having done something so stupid, I'm embarrassed, ashamed and down right disappointed with myself. I tell myself, you know better, you have done better and you promised yourself you wouldn't go down those roads ever again but there I am, practicing what Iyanla Vanzant calls INSANITY. She says insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.
And the part that hurts me the most is the broken promise to myself, I hate when people break there promises to me and yet I'm more likely to break promises to myself more than anyone around me. The thing about breaking promises to yourself is not only a deep and abiding disappointment but a decrease belief in the self, a decrease reliability on the self and eventually I have begun to not really trust or think I have the capacity to do what I promise myself. It is one of the most hurting things, the pain is continual and nagging and borders on torture while in some instances, it feels like I am torturing myself and that's when I turn to suicidal thoughts because I want relief, although I want the experience of love more, I feel completely exhausted and leaving my physical reality seems like the ultimate answer. But even in those moments of exacting defeat, I know what I know and that is, as much as I want to go, I want to stay, I have this thing in me that wants to know love and this thing in me, too stubborn to leave before that happens, too determined to honor the promise I made to the six year old self, too lazy to give in and just enough hope to believe that love can be mine. It's not a large amount and not enough to be seem with the naked eye but I know this hope is present and it encourages me to live.
The path from life to death is shorter than the blink of an eye. I will leave this physical plane but not of my own doing. I live with a yearning for truth and the envelopment of love. I suspect that this simple desire has led me toward the path of enlightenment and it is has been within text that speak of spirituality where I have found a way to leave with bouts of peace, joy and all encompassing love.
My process of spirituality began with lots of reading but the real change did not come until I embraced and was able to actually meditate. In meditation I discovered my monkey mind, I discovered how many thoughts that run through my mind through out any given moment and there were lots. I was one of those people who stayed away from drugs so as to keep my brain highly functioning but in meditation I realized what I needed more than anything, what I needed was to quite all that intellect and experience some silence. Upon further discovery I learned that I had a quite of bit of negative talk in my mind as well. Language and phrases I used as involuntary as breathing, I listened to the way I talked about myself to others, the way I made fun of myself, the words of doubt, fear and self-loathing. The use of comedy to keep people at bay and to express the worst of me in a way that made people laugh including myself. But as I laughed I could feel equally, a pain so damaging, I could easily cry in the midst of my laughter. When I was successful at keeping my mind silent for even thirty seconds, the benefit to my life were a thousand fold. I would transcend issues that haunted me for years within a few weeks of quite meditation. The icing on this cake was the spiritual teachings I gleaned from Unity church, Science of Mind, Buddhism and many other spiritual philosophies. But the greatest day came when I forgave myself for some things not all but this act of self forgiveness opened up my spirit and more than that it opened up my heart.
Now my heart had been closed up like an abandoned building for many, many years, so the process of opening it up was just that a process over time. I still find areas of my heart full of cob-webs and thick with dirt and grime. There are still parts of my heart that I have yet to get to because in those spaces are experiences of hurt that I don't want to deal with right now but I know if I am to every really live a full and wonderful life, I will need to dust away the lie and bring forth the shiny truth. Spirituality has helped me become patient with myself which has opened me up to all the challenges and rewards of spiritual enlightenment. There are times, almost daily when I get frustrated with myself, I become despondent and untrusting of my self but then I just settle into some silence and let the love of spirit carry me from one moment to the next. I recognize in those moments that while the work of spirituality is individualized, I am not alone, the holy spirit is always there and this is truly comforting but this knowledge has taken many years to unearth. I fall down on this understanding all the time because I'm one of those people who thinks that I control everything or need to be in control of everything. But the joy of living has come when the love of God carries me. I find myself full of peace and joy and in full embodiment of this thing we refer to as love. There are still times when I am unknowing but the luxury I have now is that I stop trying and simply surrender because in those moments, I know full well my capacity to mess things up.
Honestly, I'm at this juncture with respect to my spiritual journey, I get the feeling that I'm on the brink of some profound understanding but I don't want to step forward because as the old folks say, when you know better, you do better. Spiritual enlightenment always requires responsibility not only for the self but humankind as a whole. I know I have the tools, the understanding and the ability to sustain an enlightened life, now is the time for me to make a choice. The beauty of spirit is merciful and undemanding, I wish God would force me to do the right thing but then again, I appreciate the opportunity to make my own choice.
I fell down but I got up. I feel down again but I got up. I have fallen down so many times, it's sometimes hard for me to believe that even after all of those time, I still get back up. I get back up because I want to know love, I get back up because something in me, namely God spirit provides me with the energy and the wherewithal to stand on my own two feet. I get back up because falling down is in my mind, only temporary. I recently fell down in my life on many accounts and I looked in the mirror the other day with tears knowing I had chosen to resurrect once again. I can't say for sure where this ability is within me, I can't say for sure how it manifest itself in my life and I can't put my finger on the one thing that straightens my legs but it happens, over and over again, it happens. I'm no saint but I am a soul who endeavors to be enlightened and to actualize in every fiber of my being the spiritual truth. I am thankful for my life, thankful for falling down as well as getting up but more so I am truly grateful for the chance to know the truth of who I am, to experience the Christ within and I won't stop traveling this journey until I get there.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Jobs vs. Careers, is there a difference?

The notion of a job seems so limiting to me but I must take full responsibility for my lack of career planning. As a result of my short-sightedness, I find myself jumping from job to job looking for something, what that something is I'm not quite sure but what that something isn't, this I'm certain of and is the primary reason why I will leave a job in search of the unknown. An unknown something that I can never seem to isolate specifically in my mind and can never discover in a job, so maybe I'm fooling myself or maybe, I am what I have always thought I was, a fool! The truth is I don't mind being a fool, it's a good excuse and it allows me to not take myself so seriously. But there is an angst in the pit of my stomach, a constant gnawing at my spirit with regards to working at what I would consider jobs versus employment that would be in synch with a so-called career.
I'm a habitual job hopper but for the most part it was out of need, a need to feed three children and hopefully sustain some semblance of a life for them. Job hopping came as a result of always working positions that never captured my imagination or engaged my intellect or kindled my passion. So now I'm at this crossroad, not really but we'll call it a crossroad because it sounds much better than anything else that I can come up with. This juncture has me contemplating a new way my forward movement, my renewed or sincere interest in unleashing my career plan but it feels daunting at 42 years of age. The world was my oyster when I was in my twenties and career planning felt like a noose around my neck. My thirties were good for exploration but with kids getting older and my mind aging, I allowed myself to stand on the outside of the process of visioning my life and I let the wind blow me hither, wherever and which ever direction seemed like the path of least resistance. I try hard not to feel the weight of regret because it will not serve any purpose but to make me feel negative things which will confine me to a life lived in a straight-jacket and although it may be fashionable to wear these controlling garment, I still have this inclining of hope, this fraction of an ounce of hope and a smidget of desire to dream big and go where my true heart wants to go.
I think of my mother who worked in the post office, I think about so many people in my family and extended family who worked in plants or who worked in service positions at the University of Michigan hospital. I think back and I recall the joy they felt in obtaining the financial resources garnered from their jobs but I remember more the shear frustration they felt at working at jobs that under appreciated them and work that felt kin to being a slave. I always said I would never work in a factory and I would never work at the post office. The post office specifically was a place that tortured my poor mother and to add insult to injury is was an unsafe environment and I found no comfort in hearing about stories of people going into the post office killing fellow colleagues. There used to be this saying, going postal which was in reference to random killing. I hated that saying because it evoked a image too horrific for me to consider. I was not interested or willing to deal with learning that my poor mother was killed at work because some fool felt mistreated. My mother treated everyone with respect and kindness, people always communicated this to me and a childhood friend once said, it's the good one's that end up suffering. My mother was a good one and I did not want her suffer at the hands of some maniac. Luckily, she retired about eight years ago and I felt an instant sense of relief .
I look at my mother and see the wear and tear of her job on her face, in her hands and most ostensibly in her spirit. She has labored long and hard, I've not labored in this way. I have endured jobs where I have sat on my butt all day, which might be why my butt is big but that's another topic for my blog and for another day. What I do know is this, I'm tired of jobs, I'm tired of sitting on my butt all day (as strange as that may sound). I want movement, I want to intellectually engaged, I want to learn, I want to grow, I want to consider a pathway toward a career, I want to be around people who care about life and for the first time in my life, I recognize whose responsibility it is for my direction. I keep looking to jobs, careers, people, places and things to make my life have meaning. I've discovered that only I can make meaning in my life. Only, I can embrace with a sense of resolve a job or a career. Only I can make the work I do matter beyond the daily mundane. Only I can give value to the work that I do. Only I can decide to love what I give to each employer. Only I can plan my career. Only I can complete the task required to actualize that career plan. Only I can take an employment opportunity and turn it into a miracle. Only I can bring the joy to my place of work. Only I can be the light of love. Only I make the difference and it's not words like job or career.
I keep letting work define who I am. Maybe, just maybe if I defined my work which could translate into using certain employment to catapult my personal career goals, then the control would revert back to where it should of been all along which is with me. To discover the real meaning of means to an end. To stop billowing in self doubt or shame of my past or fear of the future. Perhaps today I awaken my consciousness and use it in service to creating the life that I want as oppose to the life I thought I was destined to or a life I felt would fall upon me because I was black, a woman and whatever other stuff I had in my head. Today, I actualize my living in the way the divine spirit has always provided. I use this mind, heart and soul to express the parts of me that I love best. What many people don't know is that I love, I mean I adore science and mathematics. Not only that, it comes way too easy for me but what most gives me complete and utter joy is when I am able to translate scientific or mathematical concepts to people who thought they would never understand it, that feels almost like an orgasm ( I repeat ALMOST but not quite and not enough for me to forgo the actual act of getting to an orgasm). Secretly, I've always wanted to be a science teacher and was willing to teach math course as well. I secretly still want to do that. My ultimate dream, since I'm in a confessional mood today, is that I really would love to instruct medical students in Gross Anatomy. University of Michigan has lecture notes and little videos for this course online, I peruse this site regularly, okay almost daily but it comes in phases. I have this vision of teaching people about the complexity of the human body and not just for the sake of memorizing anatomical structure but for them to discover the majestic nature of the human body. How intricate, delicate yet persistent the body really is and to unleash a profound respect for what our bodies do for us on a day to day basis. We take for granted this vessel, structure that we are contained and I say we need to know it better, take care of it but not in a superficial, cosmetic surgery, fad diet, kind of way. To compound this utter high respect for the human body is the understanding that comes in a course like biochemistry. I found real joy is biochemistry, I confirmed the existence of a higher power in physics but I was able to transcend the brilliance of the creator in biochemistry.
Can a person teach both gross anatomy and biochemistry to first year medical students? Because if they can, I would do it and I would elevate medical school education by bringing a instructional phenomena that will ground these future doctors in a deep-seated admiration and respect for the living organism. We need more doctors to work from that place of understanding because when they do, they develop into partners, partnering with their patience to bring back respect and love to our bodies. This notion will heal people naturally, it will serve as the mechanism by which we stop being dependent on health care (sick care) and engage in self empowerment over our bodies, bodies that desperately need some tender loving care.
I say all this to say this, it's all in how you look at things whether or not something is a job or a career. It is ultimately up to me to utilize a job or a career to create something good for my life, that's a choice that only I can make, a definition I can construct for myself. The difference is not the words, although the words are different, the difference is what I do and my attitude.. The difference is me and today I commit to making a difference in my life and the world we all live in.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Furniture Commercials Make Me Reflect on Important Things

Alright, I confess that at first I was going to say that furniture stores make me nauseous, which is probably a strong word but what I feel is combination of things and I get so frustrated that I want to throw the television against the wall. So what is wrong with furniture commercials? Furniture commercials for me were the first sign that this country was going to suffer a deep and overwhelming recession because anytime you can buy something and not have to pay for it, felt problematic. As someone who does accounting, paying for something in the future is the worst form of overhead, it's highly predictable and although a receivable and has the ability to increase net worth, I can't figure out why something as disposable as furniture would be put on an extended layaway plan.
Some of this goes back to my childhood, my mother was a major consumer of material things which might explain why her house is full of stuff but I digress. One of luxuries of life was new furniture which she bought on average every three to four years because we kids did our best to wear it out despite repeated attempts on her part to keep us off or she tried to teach us to be gentle but when your kid, gentle is some type of fantasy world thing. I watch these commercials and wonder if my mother has ever fallen victim to the buy now and pay later scheme and if she did, I'm sure became delinquent with payments because by the time she started paying for the furniture, it was old and worn out. What my mother really wanted to do in those moments was purchase new furniture and not pay for the furniture that sat before her eyes in our living room. Furniture that had plenty of defects, was worn beyond measure and was all but ready to be thrown out. But there in lies the trap of having to keep furniture that no longer appeals to you because you have to start paying for it.
I read one of those furniture contracts and what I discovered is that not only would it take my mother several years to pay off the furniture, the worn out, need to be thrown in the trash furniture but with the interest she would pay for the furniture not twice over but nearly three times the original price and this felt like high way robbery. I wonder why the furniture companies didn't create a commercial that showed the customer buying furniture with a happy face and then a section showing the customer years later with the new monthly payment plan. In big letters as oppose to small unreadable text, they could flash across the screen information about the furniture being worn out by the time you start your first payment and how in the end you will pay three tie the original cost. Now that would be complete disclosure in advertisement and allow people to make sensible decisions.
I've always been cash and carry every since my first credit card where I spent it on a pair of shoes for my boyfriend, shoes that I never ended up paying for and the credit card that made my credit awful for way too many years. I realized how much of a tight hold credit was and how deceitful the whole concept is. Credit means that you are owed something, but really credit in layman reality means that you owe and on top of what you owe is interest and on top of that more interest and by the time you get something paid off, you've bought the item at a price at least twice the amount indicated at the original purchase but why do people all over the globe buy into this concept?
It goes back to the need for immediate gratification which is something I've been guilty of but no longer find it rewarding. What I believe in more is short term sacrifice for long term gain, I'd rather wait than spend money I don't have and with that has come the fine art of living within my means. This lifestyle of living within my means is foreign to most people and at times I made to look like a freak because I refuse to play the credit game which only translates into being in debt forever game but you only live once, at least that what people say including my mother.
It's been nearly fifteen years of living this way and what I've discovered is that all the things that people say are required for living really aren't. I get by with so little yet I feel completely fulfilled and I have everything I need. And need is the operative word, I have every single thing I need, however I don't have many things that I think I want which in time I discover wasn't something I really wanted in the first place. My life is significantly empty of financial stress and I found it completely amazing when the so-called recession occurred (because I'm certain that in history, we are going to give this time period a different name than recession), I wasn not stressed out about anything really because I lived below my means and while I could suffer a job loss, there are two things that keep me sane and out of a worried space. Number one, I could work a minimum wage job and take care of my bills, barely but with appropriate planning it could work and I would work a minimum wage job to to do that. Secondly, since my expenses are so low, I could and would be open to sharing space to help reduce expenses. These two factors create in my mind solutions and therefore lessening the panic of job loss or reduce in income. This feeling of being able to handle what might come is different for me because there used to be a time when money dictated my mood. When I had money I was happy, when I was low on money I was miserable. It's a socially learned characteristic but when I took my personal power back and began to control my money versus my money controlling me, things changed significantly. No longer was I tossed about in the storm of unpredictable finances.
I see how the furniture commercials seduce us into thinking we can have something now and pay for it later but there is a price for immediate gratification followed by long term payback. The price is crippling, the price includes a noose around one's neck and the constant barrage of bill collectors calling and sending mail and emailing and text messaging and for those really good bill collectors, some come snoop around your home, some repossess what we can't pay for. They meaning the companies that handed out credit to any and everyone, they are clever yet they are the one's that put us in those situations in the first place. I find it so interesting when people suggest I just go get a credit card or get something on credit and no one ever ask me if I'm happy living without material things, no one ask me if I can afford to buy something I can't pay for and no one, I have yet to meet one person who encourages me to live within my means. So, luckily for me I am someone who struts to the beat of my own drum. I live with mis-match furniture, recycled bed and furniture. I don't have any new clothes and haven't for years. I found the best pair of boots, my size, leather and they looked practically new for five bucks at the thrift shop. I thanked the divine spirit for this gift, I wear them nearly daily and they are solid boots, made well and must of cost a fortune when they were bought originally, I just hope the owner isn't still paying for them on her credit card.
I want a new computer because my computer is so slow, I type faster than the letters appear which is an indication of not only the age but speed of my out dated computer. I don't when I will get another one but it doesn't matter, this one works and until extra disposable income becomes available, I will have to live with my computer because I refuse to buy a new one and pay for it twice or three times over.
Living within my means has been wonderful though, I find I am extremely lucky or blessed when I shop, I find the things I need as well as several of the things that I might want and all within the amount of cash I have on hand. I surrender this to the universe and allow the presentation of items to come in their own time. I'm never in a hurry for anything with the exception of food which is a requirement for living. I await the moment I happen to stumble into a store and find a item that needs replacing and the price tag is less than I thought I would have to pay, this delights me and what it does is gives me the opportunity to take the left over money and do something extra special for myself, something that not in the budget. For example, every so often I get to go to the nail place and get my toe nails done, it's not much but it's a special treat for me and I feel so blessed when I walk in able to pay without worry, stress or as a reaction to financial woes. I smile at the attendant who lovingly massages and cares for my feet, much in the way that I do and I select the color of the nail polish with a simple joy full of abundant peace.
My message is this the price of short term sacrifice for long term gain far outweighs and outlives any immediate gratification couched in long term and over priced payback. The price is peace of mind and that's priceless. And I'd rather have peace than a whole bunch of material things that are only destined to clutter up a landfill, I'd rather have meaningful connections to other human beings and I'd rather define my own self value beyond material things because I'm worth more and things are only temporary but I am full of the spirit that lives forever and that's enough for me.
I am whole and I am perfect and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Confessions of a dead beat mother Take 2

The shear emotional pain of abandoning children even for one day is unbearable when you recognize the betrayal in your child's eyes or the tenor in their voice that suggest they don't really trust you. Had I known what I know now I would of tried harder, I would of pushed aside the call of the wild, I would of put my fears in a mental compartment while shutting the door.
For so many days this is what I did with thoughts of my children, put it in a compartment and gently shut the door yet hesitating as I did because I really didn't want to forget about them, I just wanted the emotional relief, I just wanted time off from the thoughts of guilt that crowded my mind. It wasn't easy yet over time it became easier and then there times when days would go by and I wouldn't even think of them, in some respects I felt a sense of victory followed by a sense of debilitating remorse, a kind of mental sickness that warrants immediate servitude in the boughs of hell. I never really felt any sense of relief, just a sense of surprise that I could actually have moments were I would forget about my children, I shutter to think about these times when life seemed clouded in grey while I took on the form of human numbed in a type of zombie existence.
I never forget those words of people who would discover I had children yet during our interaction I never mentioned them, they seemed shocked and disappointed in me. They had the look of betrayal upon their face and it made me go inside, push back and I would stop being around them because that's the only thing I knew how to do, it's the thing that I did back then. I wasn't ashamed of my children, I simply needed space from questions or stories about them, things that I did not have because of my lack of involvement in their lives. I was so busy trying to escape that I never gave myself a chance to wonder what was going on in their young lives. I couldn't trust myself to be consistent, so I did nothing which seems to be my default mode. In this space of doing nothing, I find that I'm more miserable than if I had tried and yet I saunter into this habit like a rote machine. A machine with internal torture devices, beatings of a mental kind, acutely spinning me into self aggrandizement because coping was a basic instinct and I would survive all this.
I wasn't fully negligent and it's interesting when my son who lives with me now tells me this fact but not in the way I want him to. He reminds me of my abandonment as from age five to 14 and it makes me want to cry, I do cry but not in front of him. No, I defend myself saying, I'm here now and considering that 5 to 14 was most of his life, being here now feels useless but again because kids have hearts made of gold, he confesses that he is glad I am here now and doesn't want me to go anywhere. This fear of my leaving is a force I deal with hiim from time to time and one time it had really awful consequences because I went out with some friends and ended up staying out all night. This same evening he would lose his keys and friends of the family would come to rescue him but he refused in a raging manner that scared people. I would arrive home to find him laying next to the door, cold and asleep. His body teethered to the door as if his life depended on it, as if he was waiting for the predictable as if he might not ever see me again. And I hate these moments of doubt that linger on my children's faces, the look of not knowing what is next with me and I know I deserve it but it feels no less hurtful.
The reason why I say I wasn't fully negligent is because when the mood hit me which is not the real truth just the cynical, judging attitude I inflict on myself with the help of others, I would spend time with my children. It was a time over compensation for the time I hadn't been there, I spent all disposable income on them, always sent it to them and afforded them nice things, trips and fairyland times together. The older they got the harder the visits because I could see in there bodily shape and form how much they had changed. I could hear in their voices stories of things that happened without me and I could see in their eyes that I was like a stranger with a kind but guilty heart. But children have hearts made of gold and the spirit of resillence, sometimes I wished they would curse me, tell me how selfish and awful of a mother that I have been but that wasn't there job and none of this is their responsibility.
Why confess now? Why smear unto the page this stuff that ressurects the current of suicidal anger and pain as thick as bolders? Why send my heart into places I've shielded from myself for way too many years? What change will I make now, if any?
I confess because I have to believe that somewhere in the releasing of this internal satiric drama, there is an alternate ending. Not the ending I imagined for the bulk of my years. An ending at the expense of my own hands wanting life to fade away, to be gone. I confess because I want to get better and not for others but for me and my children who are now all officially grown. And I want to afford myself the excuse that it is too late but I will not give in, I will rise above my deepest and most shameful fears and began again, as I do every day to do better. To use the God stuff inside of me to live more lovingly. I can't promise perfection or even progression. I can engage in earnest effort with the desire to better etched in every micro ounce of my actions. I can cry these tears of guilt, I can look at pictures of them growing up and see what I missed, I can call them with just a hello, I can want the past knowing it will never come to be, I can be gentle with the part of myself that feels I deserve a life sentence in jail, I can take each breathe and surrender it all to the divine spirit, wherein lies the truth, the power, the peace, the joy and the love that heals and makes the world a better place.
I'm working with balance these days, I haven't perfected it yet I continue to wish for more balance. I remind myself that I came back to Ann Arbor to heal old wounds and just when I think that I've done my work, something else comes to the fore and I want to ask, when will it be over? But I dare not go there, the way I will do this is to know that with my higher power I will get through and getting through is good enough for me. I refuse to ignore and neglect or abandon or push to the side the awful memories, I will allow myself to feel the pain but in a place of knowing that I will get to the other side where I am healthy and whole. I gave up on suicide many, many years ago. It's the easy way out and if nothing else, I've never been one to take the easy way out, I'm too smart for that plus for some reason, in the vestiges of my human purpose I am not allowed to die before my natural time because the work I have been destined to do is work I gladly assume. I finally once and for all take on those responsibilities. I've discovered that the pain is wretched, contorts every fiber of your being, piercing as a gun shot wound but each time I sank into it's bottoming force, I unfold a piece of myself where I am alive, more alive than I have ever been. Honestly, I wish I had dealt with this stuff before but I am grateful for the process now. I am grateful to be alive, alive enough to feel the complexity of living and alive enough to do the work. I get frustrated with myself sometimes, I get in those spaces where I think I'm not going to make it but then something small happens, like the sound of birds in the morning, or a funny conversation with one of my children or the way I caress this body of mine admiring it's softness and it's color and it's voluptuous beauty (but not in a conceded way), I open up to something so magnificent that I can't help but want to keep keeping on.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!