One Worn Out Towel

Twenty-six years ago today, I met the person I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. Well, ok, I didn't think that (the "life" thing) right then - in that moment. But soon after meeting, I was convinced that we would spend eternity together. She was easy-going, fun, witty, smart, well liked, kind, hard working and the best cook I'd ever met. I think I gained 50 lbs that first year we were together. But it didn't matter. She didn't love me for my smoking hot body. Nope! She was many things, but never shallow or superficial. From the beginning, things were comfortable with her. I could truly just be myself. Nancy was not what I would call materialistic. The first time I spent the night at her apartment, I wanted to take a shower. I could find exactly one towel and it was an old Budweiser beach towel that was so worn out it had more holes in it then I could count. No, I'm not kidding. But it didn't matter. She was perfectly content with that one towel. She was happy. What she cared more about was living life, having fun, and smiling. It was that smile, that beautiful - gap-between-the-two-front-teeth - smile that I first fell in love with. Well that and her beautiful blue eyes. I think I was the first to say, "I love you." In fact, I know I was. But she followed right behind and soon we were moving in together. Neither of us had much to tell you the truth. I think I made the bigger paycheck - $11,900 a year and she made about $7.00 an hour. It was 1986. It was enough for the two of us to live on because we simply didn't have expensive needs. What we lacked in money and materialistic things, we made up for with love. We really, really loved one another. In the beginning, she worked the night shift and I worked days. I would stay up til midnight waiting for her to come home. And often we would then stay up til 3:00 a.m. just talking and laughing. Whenever we were apart, I missed her madly. Weekends were our "quality" time and they passed far too quickly. After that first year together, when we knew - really knew - that we'd be together forever, we - with the help of our parents - bought our first little house. . . our first little home. It was a small cottage really nestled in a beautiful wooded area. It was common for a family of deer to be standing in our backyard as the sun came up each day. We had bunnies and squirrels and fox and coon and possums and - did I mention deer? It was quaint. It was quiet. It was home. Soon our little family grew by two. Nikki, our golden retriever, came first followed very quickly by Kallie, our mutt who we suspected was a husky/german shepherd mix but looked very much like a wolf. All four of us - all 600 lbs of us - would sleep in this teeny, tiny double bed. It was toasty warm on cold winter nights and hotter than heck during the long summer months. But we were happy. After 10 years, our incomes grew, our tastes changed and we decided that we had simply outgrown our cute little cottage. So we did what many families do when they grow, we bought a new - bigger - home out in the suburbs. No more trees. No more woods. No more deer. As excited as we were about our new home, we were also very sad to be leaving our original one. The one where we fell more and more in love. The one where our babies first lived. The first year in our new home took some adjusting. Learning to live in all that extra space, learning to live in a neighborhood where the neighbors were too close for comfort, learning to drive all those extra miles to work - well, it all took some adjusting. And I'm not so sure that we ever did. It was about this time, that we started growing apart. There was a distance between us that just sort of appeared out of thin air. I'm not sure why it happened, it just did. She started doing her thing and I started doing mine. No longer were we excited to see one another at the end of the day. No longer were we willing to stay up half the night talking and laughing. No longer did we enjoy one another's company. We just sort of took each other for granted. Never, ever did I have a doubt that she would be there for me until the end of time. And I'm sure if you asked her, and if she was being honest, she would have said the same thing about me. But something in our relationship changed. For the worse. We became like strangers to one another. Her new best friend became the local bar and my new best friend because the casino. We became disrespectful toward one another. We each, in our own way, became disrespectful to ourselves. And we grew further and further apart. To the point of no return. There was just no getting back. Where had our love gone? Where had our respect for one another gone? Where had our common ground gone? It simply disappeared as if had never been. So sad. To spend all those years with someone, to create so many memories, and then wake up one morning and have it gone. Poof! All gone. I don't regret having met her. I don't regret having loved her. I don't regret the 24 years we had together. Those 24 years, that relationship, helped shape who I am today. In a way, it made me. She made me and I made her. We were just kids back in the day - the day we first met. In many ways, we grew up together. It saddens me greatly that it didn't last. That we couldn't overcome the distance that grew between us. That we couldn't find a way to salvage what we had and get back to our roots. They say you can never go back. And I guess that's probably true. You can't go back. But you can look back. You can try not to repeat the mistakes you made. You can remember the good times with fondness and you can remember the bad times for what they were - bad. You can work hard not to repeat the bad. As I write this, I can't help but wonder if we let material things destroy us. Literally, we had nothing when we first met. And we were happy. We had each other and that was all we needed. We traded in her beat up beach towel for a nice, new, fluffy set of matching towels and I do believe that, that was the beginning of the end. Should have kept the beach towel. While it would now be close to 30 years old, it likely survived. We did not. And if I'm being honest I have to say, that saddens me greatly. It makes my heart ache this horrible, horrible ache. And when I think of it all, I cry.

For My Friend. . .

Nothing is better than the love of a friend. A real, genuine, authentic friend. Not money or fame or fortune or employment or home ownership or vacation or theater or music or art or nature or new socks or a fire in the fire place or a good book or sex or parasailing or swimming with dolphins or playing guitar or singing or laughing or food or alcoholic beverages or a night out on the town or chocolate or shopping or the smell of freshly cut grass or gas prices falling beneath $3.00 a gallon or exercise or a walk in the park or an ice cream cone or flying or driving along side the ocean or a perfectly cooked steak or a new suit or sleeping in late on Sundays or meeting the president of the USA or even the pope. Nothing. Nothing beats the love of a friend. Everything else is temporary. It doesn't last. It's wonderful in the moment, but then it's gone again. A friend's love is constant. It's permanent. It's unchanging and predictable and steady and real. It's there for you when nothing else is. It's rock steady. It lifts you up when you are feeling down. It lifts you higher when you're already up. It helps make you all you can be and then some. It reminds you that there's nothing you can't do. It encourages you. The love of a friend allows you to be your real, genuine, authentic self. The love of a friend does not require you to be someone or something that you're not. Instead, it just lets you be you and celebrates you as you are. The love of a friend is priceless. It transcends time and space. When you fall on your ass, the love of a friend picks you up, dusts you off and gets you on your path again. The love of a friend sees you through even your darkest hour and when you come through on the other side, it's still right there cheering you on to new heights. The love of a friend can't be bought or sold. It just is. Thank God I have it. Thank God that He saw fit to give me the love of one really good, genuine, authentic, beautiful friend. Without her, I'd be lost. Without her, I just couldn't do what life requires of me. Without her, the sun might not rise tomorrow. But with her, I am empowered. I am energized. I am new again. She makes me know that I matter. Because of her, I know there's nothing I can't do. God bless and God speed my beautiful friend. Your love saves me, it really does.

Know thyself

Someone said that Aristotle said, "knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom." That sounds like some really smart thing to say, and from the little I know, Aristotle was a really smart cat. So I believe he probably did say it. But what the hell does it mean? What does "knowing yourself" mean? And even if you "know yourself" at some point in time, is it possible to not "know yourself" at other times? Based on personal experience, I have to say, "yes" it is entirely possible. Was there a time in my life when I thought I knew myself? You bet there was. When I was young and stupid, I thought I knew everything. Not only did I know myself, but I knew people in general and above all - I knew how the world worked. During that time in my life, what I knew - or thought I knew - about me was that I was sure footed, confident, organized, anal, focused, goal-driven, compassionate, empathetic, argumentative, aggressive, kind, generous, no nonsense, secure in the knowledge that I would never be a victim, a good friend, of average intelligence, a lover of music, a believer in God, a hard worker, a good negotiator, sharp tongued, a righter of wrongs and on and on. In addition to all of this, I knew - without a doubt - that I was a "fat girl with a pretty face" that a man would never love. A man could not love me because I was fat. It did not matter that I had a "pretty face". It did not matter that I had at least some positive qualities. It only mattered that I was fat. I knew that because I had been told that by my parents - good, loving, honest people who would never lie to me or steer me wrong. Then, somehow, the impossible happened. A man loved me. I loved him. We did what two people in love do. We got married. And then it happened. I stopped "knowing myself". It's as if I woke up one day and no longer recognized myself. I looked in the mirror and an image looked back at me. I did not recognize her; I did not know her. I seem to have lost the attributes that used to make me, me. I'm not confident. I'm not organized. Hell I can't even figure out how to sit down and get the bills paid. Bills I have been paying for year and suddenly I feel clueless about what to do or when to do it. I have no goals. My compassion, for the most part, has left me. I don't care if I'm a victim, I question everything knowing only that I know nothing . . . not really. Music no longer matters to me - I'd just as soon listen to talk radio. I seem to create more wrongs then I fix. I go to work, but I don't want to. And God has become this big question mark in my mind. I don't feel connected to anyone or anything. The mass which is my body just seems to take up space - wasting precious natural resources. But hey, I'm still fat! Didn't lose that. Didn't lose that knowledge. I wake up every morning and the first thought I have is. . . how fat am I today? How is it that the beginning of all wisdom. . . for me anyway. . . lies in the knowledge that I am fat? I don't know anything else - not anymore, but I know that one thing. That one fact. I am fat. That's what I know. That's the beginning of my wisdom. Ha! Fat people die young. Fat people miss out on so much life - so much living - because their bodies simply will not let them engage in physical activities - fun stuff that skinny people get to do on a regular basis. So thank you Aristotle for your wisdom. What I know at 51 is that I have a fat body. I am fat. I will die young and I won't get to have much fun along the way because carrying too much blubber around is too fucking hard. Is there any wonder I hate life?

Happy Mother's Day

On Sunday we will celebrate mothers all over the world. At least I hope they are celebrated all over the world and not just here in the United States. Mothers, regardless of where they live, deserve celebrating! They work so hard, sacrifice so much, taking care of those they love asking for little in return. So a day to honor Her is certainly in order. And that day has come again this year. My, my time passes quickly. Where did it all go? Seems like just yesterday, I lay in my tiny little bed plagued with the mumps while my own mommy did her very best to cure me, reassure me and love me. That was more than 40 years ago. And each and every year since I was old enough to know, I have tried to celebrate my mom on Her special day. . . Mother’s Day. This year I want to do things just a tad bit differently. Sadly, I will never experience childbirth. I will never hold an infant in my arms with the full realization that this unique little being was created by God, my husband and myself. I will never hear those special, magical words, “Mommy, I love you.” Is there a sadness in me because of this? You bet there is! But! As sad as I am that I will never have a child of my own, I’m full of joy with the knowledge that I have a mom - a mom who loves me unconditionally - a mom who loses sleep over me even after all these years - a mother who would lay down her very life if she thought it would save mine. Not only that, but I have an aunt who - in her own special way - has been my mommy too. I’m what you call doubly blessed! Whatever do I mean? As I sit here thinking about what a mother is, what a mother represents, I am full of ideas. Of course there’s the biology. Only one woman can give birth to her child. But does the sheer act of childbirth make a mother? Not in my view of things. A mother is so much more than biology. A mother is there smiling from ear to ear as her three year old asks her for the 25th time, “why” they can’t have another cookie before dinner. A mom is the person sitting on the toilet (patiently) while her little girl excitedly shares her school day and beams with pride as she demonstrates her new ability to spell E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T. A mom is the understanding ear that really listens as her pubescent daughter tells her all about Tommy, the boy who broke her heart by liking Lisa better than he likes her. A mom is the person who teaches her child to be kind and empathetic and patient and loving and respectful of others, while at the same time delivering a powerful blow of her own to any no-good who would dare to harm a hair on her child’s head. A mom is the person who cooks and cleans and works to provide for all her child’s needs and who would walk to the end of the earth to try and obtain even one of her child’s wants. A mom’s heart beats not only for herself, but also for her child. It just does. If her child’s heart hurts, then so does the mom’s. If a child’s heart skips a beat, then so does the mom’s. Whether pain or pleasure, a mom is the person standing right there letting her child know, always, that they never walk alone. A mom is, my mom is, . . . so many wonderful things. But. . . What about the woman who didn’t give birth to you, but mothered you just the same? What about her? I have such a woman in my life. See. . . told you. . . I’m doubly blessed! She, the woman of which I speak, is My Aunt Fern. I say, “My”, with a capital “M” to try and emphasize the ownership I feel towards her. She is so wonderful, I want to keep her all to myself. Don’t want to have to share even though my mama taught me better. Truthfully, there’s nothing to worry about. My Aunt Fern is just the sort of woman who has enough motherly love to go around. In other words, sharing never really feels like sharing. She has a way of making each and every one of us feel special - as if we’re the only one. My beautiful Aunt Fern used to gently and patiently comb through my long hair - getting out all the rats - without ever pulling - without ever causing my tender head an ounce of pain. She was also the there the day I became a young lady. Oh how embarrassed I was, but somehow she knew and somehow she made it all ok. Just like my own mama would have. She made summers fun for me too. I couldn’t wait for school to let out so I could go to her farm and play and play and play the days away. . . waiting for her to come home from work and play with me some more. Whether it was a trip down the old gravel road to the local Dairy “B” for an ice cream. . . or two, whether it was a trip to the lake for an early evening swim or whether it was a fun filled night at the baseball diamond watching The Queen and her Court or Donkey-ball, she always found time. . . she always made time. . . to show her love. She sacrificed for me, just like my own mother did. And when I became an adult, that didn’t change a bit. For 51 years now, she has loved me as if I were her own. . . unconditionally. Life has a way of coming full circle. I mentioned earlier that I’d never know the joy of holding my own baby in my arms. While that is true, it is also true that the moms in my life will never know the joy of a mother’s love. Not like I know it anyway. Sure they had a mother. She was the “biology” kind. She gave them birth. And for that, I will always be grateful. But she didn’t do right by them. She didn’t love them the way a mother should. Unlike me, she had the opportunity to hold her babies and squeeze them and love them and rock them gently to sleep, but she threw it all away. For reasons we will never know, she didn’t mother her children the way they had a right to be mothered. And though my moms didn’t know the love - the real love of a mother - they both excelled at being moms - to me, to my brother and to my cousins, John, Paul Eddie and Nancy Jean. So I can’t be too heartbroken about not having a baby of my own. While I’ll never have a child sit in my lap and whisper in my ear, “I love you mommy”, I am blessed that I have two moms that would let me sit in their laps any day of any week and whisper, “I Love You Mama”. On this Mother’s Day, may you both feel the joy - the real joy - that true motherhood brings. If life ever gets you down, I want you to think back on this day and all the days before and remember - you gave all the children in your life. . . especially this child . . . the most precious gift of all. . . your unconditional, undying love. You did it right. Every single bit of it. With all the love and affection my human heart is capable of holding. . . Happy, Happy Mother’s Day.

New Experiences. . . Meditation, A Friend and My Spirit

Yesterday I attended my first ever meditation retreat. The retreat was scheduled from 10:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. I hung in there until 2:30 p.m., which was very good I thought for someone who's never meditated longer then about 10 minutes at one time. I had a little difficulty following the rules - like the "no talking" rule and the "donation recommendation of $95.00 - $35.00" rule and the "don't look at anyone else" rule and the "don't leave early but if you do let the instructor know so she won't worry about you" rule - but other than that, I think I stayed in bounds most of the day. Oh, one more thing. Though this wasn't on the official rule list, it probably should have been and had it been, I would have broken one more. The "don't steal" rule. Yeah, I know - lame, right? I couldn't help myself. There were these really beautiful rocks lining the church flower gardens that I spotted on my first walking meditation, and I just had to have one. Ok, make that two. Wouldn't have happened had I not been following the "keep your eyes down" rule, cause I wouldn't have seen them otherwise. So it's really the rule maker's fault that I was tempted in the first place! They (the rocks) just called out to me. "Hey you, Ms. Meditation Girl, I'd make a really nice souvenir". So I brought them home with me and set them on my dresser. Wonder if I'll ever pick them up or even notice them in the future? Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't have stolen the rocks. I probably just caused myself a lot of bad karma. And for what? Rocks that will do nothing more than collect dust on my dresser. Yeah, probably a bad idea. Note to self: if you ever go back to the Unity Temple, return the stolen rocks! So what did I get out of this experience? I went for two reasons: 1st because a friend asked me to go and 2nd because I was hoping to find or connect with my spirit. For those of you who haven't read my earlier blog entries, I'm on this mission of sorts - to find my spirit and not let thoughts control my life. Anyway, I was really hoping to get plugged in - connected - to spirit. Sadly, I must confess that it didn't happen. It wasn't because I didn't try. I did! I tried my heart out! I did sitting meditations. I did walking meditations (that's when I stole the rocks). I did eating meditation. I did moving meditation (which was really lame by the way, because the leader just made shit up as she went along and got me all off balance). And last but not least, I did guided meditations. While I didn't find my spirit (which is really a disappointment to me), I'm glad I went because of reason number 1. My friend invited me. I showed up. I accepted an invitation and then I followed through. I didn't find 50 reasons to cancel at the last minute, which is progress for me. I didn't allow my negative thoughts to talk me out of going at the very last minute. Oh sure, they were there (though not as loud as usual), but I didn't let them control me. And I'm so glad I didn't. I enjoyed being with my friend and her husband. We had coffee together in the morning, I did my walking meditation with my friend (that's when we broke the "no talking" rule). We ate lunch together (in silence - wink/wink). And they drove me back to my car when the three of us skipped out early (breaking yet another rule). This shared experience with a (new) friend was simple enough, but it was so powerful at the same time. I can't say why exactly. It just was. She felt it too. She told me - more than once - that she was so glad I came. And I told her that we needed to do more activities together. She agreed! I've spent so many years lonely because I have a difficult time connecting with people. I've always just assumed that folks wouldn't like me if they got to know me very well. Because of that, I've spent way too much time by myself. . . lonely. But this new person in my life seems to like me just fine. She hung out with me for more than a minute and she didn't run away. She seems to enjoy my company and I know I enjoy hers. Hey. Wait a damn minute. Maybe spirit did reveal itself to me. Maybe I just didn't realize it in the moment. Maybe me connecting with spirit wasn't in the meditation. Maybe, just maybe, it was about my friend. Maybe I connected with my own spirit as I spent time with a friend bonding. It was in my time with her that I felt "whole". Don't get me wrong. The meditation was nice for what it was - relaxing. I didn't feel enlightened or anything. But the time spent with my friend - just hanging out - just being with one another - was when I felt most alive. Yeah, maybe spirit did reveal itself to me. And now that I've seen it, felt it, I know I like it and want more of it. It was a good day. Thank you spirit. Thank you for being there and for showing up, even if I wasn't paying attention. . . in the moment.

Memories

What did I do on May 15, 1966 or August 28, 1971 or October 2, 1976 or January 11, 1983 or March 1, 1989 or April 20, 1994 or June 9, 1999 or July 19, 2006 or yesterday for that matter? Heck if I know. Seriously. I have no idea what happened on most days of my life. When I think back, very few dates and the associated events of those dates are present in my memory bank. Sure I have memories - both long and short term - but I can't really put an event with a date unless it was some monumental something - like the day I was born. February 12, 1961. The date of my birth. Actually, I don't remember my birth at all. I'm told that's the day I was born. So, actually, I don't remember what I was doing on February 12, 1961, I just remember what my parents told me I was doing that day. . . getting birthed. Driving down the road today, I heard an interview with Marilu Henner. Remember her? Actress who played in the television sitcom, Taxi. Do I remember the dates that Taxi aired? Heck no! But Marilu does. The interview she gave today was all about this rare condition she has called "Superior Autobiographical Memory". The condition enables her to remember what she did on every single day of her life. I didn't hear the interview from the beginning, so perhaps she can't remember every single day - like the first 1460 (that's the first 4 years of her life for those of you who don't have a calculator). But other than that, other then the first few years of her life, you give her a date - any date at all - and she can tell you exactly where she was and what she was doing. Amazing! As I listened to the interview, I thought back over my own life and I tried to remember dates of really important stuff - like where I was when I turned 16, what day of the week it was the day I turned 21, what date I graduated from high school, what day I voted for the very first time, what day my husband proposed to me, etc. Sadly, I couldn't. I couldn't remember any of it. I wished someone had told me when I was 5 to start writing everything down. Make a note of every day of your life. Record where you were and what you did. It's your life! What could be more important than that? If you weren't blessed with Superior Autobiographical Memory, like Marilu was, there is no other way that I am aware of to remember every day of your life. What better way to realize the value of your life then to be able to remember it - all of it. As I reflect back on my life, I remember lots of really good stuff. I remember my little brother not being there one day and suddenly appearing - like magic the next. He was my baby. Oh how I loved that lil bundle of joy. Don't recall the day he came home from the hospital, but I sure remember the feeling I felt. I remember the perceived pain of losing my first baby tooth. Can't recall how old I was, but I remember the fear. I was scared to death that losing that tooth would be the equivalent of losing an entire leg or arm. I don't remember losing my other baby teeth. . . probably because the pain of the first wasn't nearly as bad as I had convinced myself it would be. I remember having the mumps. Ouch! Now that was painful. Thought I had big ol' globs of oatmeal stuck in my throat. I don't know what day it started or what day it ended. I don't remember how old I was. But I sure remember the feeling, and more than that, I remember the love of my mother as she tried to comfort me. I remember my kindergarden teacher, Mrs. See. She was born in Japan and I thought she was the most beautiful non-white person I had ever laid my eyes on. And she was super cool! She brought a tadpole to our classroom one day and promised us all that it would soon become a frog. We checked the little tadpole's makeshift pond every day until finally one day it happened. The tadpole was gone and in its place was a feisty lil frog. Sure wish I could remember the date that happened. My first experience with nature; at least the first I can recall. I remember kissing a boy for the very first time. Lee. Oh my he was handsome, or so my seven year old mind believed. I had quite the crush. I tricked him into joining me down in the cellar one afternoon after school. And there we were - just me and him - sitting in that dark, damp, private place. The anticipation was almost more then I could stand. And then I did it. I reached right over and planted a big ol' sloppy kiss right on his beautiful lips. He was so shocked he bolted - ran up the stairs and right out the door. Like the wind. Here one minute, gone the next. Don't remember the date, but I'll never forget the anticipation of that first kiss or my embarrassment afterwards. Square dancing for the very first time is something else I'll never forget. I was in the 7th grade. I loved it! All my classmates seemed to hate it so I had to pretend I hated it too. Couldn't have my judgmental classmates thinking me so nerdy as to love something as "gross" as square dancing. After all, girls and boys had to touch in order to do the dance. And who in the 7th grade can admit to wanting to touch a member of the opposite sex, right? Right! So I pretended I hated it when all the while I loved it. Loved everything about it. The music, the funny looking costumes, the caller, the dose doing, but most of all. . . the boys! Gosh, how I now wish I could remember the day I experienced square dancing for the very first time. It's when I became a girl I think. When I fully realized for perhaps the very first time that boys and girls were not alike. What a happy day it was sitting on my Auntie Pearl's lap and learning the hand movements to "this is the church and this is the steeple and open the door and there's all the people". Oh how I loved my Auntie Pearl. She made every moment fun, but more than that, she showed me what unconditional love was. I'm so sorry Auntie Pearl that I don't remember the date you taught me about church and steeples and people. More than that, I'm sorry I don't remember the day you passed away. The day you died was the day I felt the pain of loss for the very first time. I can't remember if it was a Monday or Tuesday or Saturday or Sunday. I don't know if it was in March or July or August or December. Was it summer or spring? I really don't know. Oh how I wish I had written it down. You mattered to me more than any other person ever did. And I didn't write it down. I didn't take the time. I'm so sorry. I just didn't realize. So many things - good and bad - happened to me after my Auntie Pearl passed away. Most events I can recall, I think, but I don't know what day they happened. In most instances, I can't even tell you what month or year it was. My beautiful husband married me on April 22, 2011, one of the happiest days of my life. Will I ever forget that day? It was Good Friday 2011 at 1:30 p.m. at the Platte County Courthouse. Our closest friends and family joined us as we exchanged our vows and promised to love one another forever. It is unconceivable to me that I could ever forget a day full of so much love. . . so much emotion. But as I sit here looking back at my life and realize just how many important dates I have forgotten, I fear that it could happen. So I have done the only thing I (now) know to do. I've written it down. Forever, I can look back at this blog entry and forever I can know exactly what day and time I married my very best friend.

Who Wants to be Exceptional? I do, I do!

How do I get from "here", my marginal life, to "there", my exceptional life? Don't we humans have all the same stuff? Muscles, bones, organs, blood, body, mind, spirit? If so, then why is it that some folks live a really exceptional life while others - like me - live a marginal one? What sets us apart? Is my chemistry, my essence, the stuff of which I'm made, all that different from say a Queen Noor, Sandra Day O'Connor, Gloria Steinem, Ann Richards, Michelle Obama, NeNe Leakes, Mother Teresa, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Moore, Albert Einstein, Warren Buffett, Abe Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., John Grisham, Bethenny Frankel, Rosa Parks, Annie Leibovitz, Harper Lee, Billy Graham, Gandhi or even the Pope? Why did these folks and so many others like them reach their full potential, their individual exceptional life, and why can't I? Or maybe I should ask, since I ain't dead yet, "why haven't I"? What sets us apart? What do they have that I don't have? Anything? Under a microscope, would a scientist be able to see any difference between one of these folks and me? Probably not. Strip it all down and we're - every single one of us - just a bunch of cells, right? So what got them there - what was the wind beneath their wings - what motivated them, what propelled them, what made them know they could? Was it fear? Did fear of failure give them the strength they needed to get "there"? Was it desire? Would they rather have died trying than never to have tried at all? Was it fate? Would they have reached their exceptional lives regardless of what they did or did not do? Hmm. I can't believe it was fear. Fear does not produce desirable outcomes - it keeps us frozen - unable to move toward our goals. As for desire? Yeah, I don't really buy that one either. Desire is the type of thing that comes and goes and loses its appeal after awhile. How 'bout fate? Was Michelle Obama fated to be the first African American First Lady while Jane Doe was fated to be a high school drop out standing in a welfare line because not even the local McDonald's would hire her? Sorry. I just can't buy into that one either. I also refuse to believe it was chemistry. While the human cell might vary slightly from person to person giving some of us blue eyes and others brown, I refuse to believe that they can vary to such a degree that Warren Buffett can live in a palace (solely because he has good chemistry) while John Doe lives in a tent along side the banks of the Missouri River (because his molecular structure is flawed somehow). So if it's not fear or desire or fate or bones, blood, organs and muscles, what is it? What's left? Mind? Spirit? That's it. Has to be. There is nothing more. Right? Body, mind, spirit, nothing more, nothing less. Basic recipe for all humans. So what is it about my mind and spirit that keeps me marginal - keeps me from exceptional? I don't have all the answers. Heck, I don't even have a few answers. But, after careful consideration and much reflection, here's what I've come up with. My spirit - my driving force - is lost to me. I have an awareness of my spirit, but I'm not really plugged in - connected. We've all heard that phrase, "let the spirit move you", but mine doesn't or I won't allow it to - I'm really not sure which. So the first thing I gotta do is find my spirit. If I can do this, then I think I'll easily be able to identify what it is I want from this life. What is "it" that will get me to my exceptional life? When I look back over my list of folks who have - in my mind anyway - lived an exceptional life, the common thread, the common denominator, seems to be spirit. They are - or in some cases were - filled with and lead by spirit. So I have to find a way. I have to find the path that will lead me to spirit. That has to be first. Just has to be. How will I find spirit? Now there's the million dollar question! If I knew that, I probably wouldn't be blogging about this subject. The truth is I just don't know. I've looked for spirit at church, but I didn't find it. I've looked for spirit in books, but I didn't find it there either. I've looked for spirit in prayer, but it was still lost to me. I've looked for spirit in movies and songs and paintings and dance, but all I could ever find was the spirit of others. I never found mine. This coming Saturday I'm attending a meditation retreat with a friend down at the Unity Temple. It's a 6 hour retreat. God, I hope they won't make me meditate for 6 whole hours! I can't even get a good 6 minutes in till I'm ready to throw in the towel. But anyway, I digress a bit. Sorry. The point is I'm going to this thing because I'm hopeful that I'll find my spirit. And if I do, then I fully intend to keep it. It shall become the biggest, brightest, best part of me. And surely then I'll be on my way. Leaving marginal Karen behind while I run full steam ahead toward my exceptional self. . . my exceptional life. Then there's mind. What is mind anyway? I know what a brain is - I've seen one. I saw it while visiting a cadaver lab over at Cleveland Chiropractic College several years back when I was a student at the Midwest Institute of Natural Healing. Anyway, it was gross. How would I describe what I saw that day? Hmm. Well, it was this nasty looking blob of a thing that appeared to be composed of spaghetti noodles or worms. It looked like the kind of thing one could easily squish if stepped on. What it did not look like was power. When I think of the human brain, I think of power. Think about it for a minute. How strong must the human brain be to do all its business? Doesn't it tell the lungs to breathe? Doesn't it tell the heart to beat? Doesn't it make our muscles fire just right so we can move through life without even thinking about it? Even when we are asleep, the brain keeps right on working. Work, work, work. It never gets a day off. So that lil bugger just has to be strong. But it sure didn't look strong the day I saw it sitting there on that cold, icy, stainless steel, lab table. Nope, it looked like some overgrown bug that I could easily scrape off the bottom of my shoe if ever I were to step on one. But the question I have about how to get to my exceptional life is not so much about brain as it is about the function of the brain. The function of the brain - or at least one of its functions - is to think. Thought. Where do thoughts come from? Why are some thoughts positive and some negative? Why are some thoughts so good that we want to experience them over and over again while others are so horrible that we wished we'd never had them in the first place? I wonder if Mother Teresa ever thought about killing someone. Seriously! She was human - just like me. I have never killed anyone but I sure have thought about it. So maybe she did to. But she didn't - kill anyone that is. That's just it. No matter how negative Mother Teresa's thoughts might have been, they never kept her from living her exceptional life. From this, I am convinced that I don't have to stop my thought processes. I can live with negative thoughts; I just can't act on them. To live my exceptional life, I have to find a way to use my brain's function - thought - for the good. I have to use thoughts to get me where I want to be. More than that, I have to find a way not to let negative thoughts keep me from where I want to go. My exceptional life awaits me. This I firmly believe. I just have to find my spirit, connect and let it move me while at the same time not allow negative thoughts to stop me from getting where I want to be.