Yeah, that’s my horn you’re hearing.

Essss-cuse me while I toot it.  I’m going to have some of my content syndicated at Blogher in the next couple months (SQUEEE!) and today I have a post up over there – if you’re interested in showing me/my piece some love with a comment, you can see it by clicking: My Child Wouldn’t Nap: The Day I Learned Perspective.  (You know you want to “show my piece some love.”)

Okay, I have to put my horn down for a little while now. It’s throwing me off while I do this here booty shakin’ dance.

Why flinging yourself off the ledge is a good thing.

I have written, in the past, about how I truly enjoy spending time alone.

This is not to say that I don’t enjoy the company of others, or that I don’t have genuine interest in people. I thoroughly enjoy time with friends and acquaintances alike, and I’d say that other human beings interest me more than almost anything else.

These things, enjoying time with others as well as time alone, are not mutually exclusive. While I like people, I need a considerable amount of time to myself. I always have, and I always will. There is a sense of overload if I’m around too many people at once or for too long. I literally require the decompression that being alone brings.

I revel in being isolated in quiet, adore to be wrapped in nothing but my thoughts. There is a level of reflection and philosophy that I am incapable of reaching in any way other than alone in stillness. On the other hand, I delight in pounding my brain with loud music and smiling at a room that holds only me while I assault my surroundings with my interpretations of the lyrics and melodies. This is like medicine for my soul. I need it as much as I regularly need to feel sunshine on my skin.

So yes, I like to be alone. I like to have my thoughts to myself, to be able to control my environment, to be the master of my domain at any given moment. I am a hair away from saying that my sanity actually hinges on my having time alone regularly.

And so it feels odd to say that I’m horribly afraid of being alone.

I don’t think I’ve ever really admitted that. I’m afraid to truly stand on my own.  Confessing that is difficult for me. I have always valued strength and independence, wanted those qualities for myself. Yet I feel as if I hold my head high on the outside, while in reality, I often tremble and cower inside myself.

Many years ago, fearing that he would never marry me, I suggested to my long time boyfriend that we part ways.  He had given me some ominous answers to some very pointed questions, and my heart was registering some unwelcome and heartbreaking truths.

I told him that I felt I had lost myself in him. It would have been unfair of me to blame him for that, and I most certainly didn’t, but I had allowed myself to be dependent on him for so much, practical as well as emotional, for so long. I’d poured myself into him. I always knew I shouldn’t but I felt powerless to stop doing it.

When I realized that he would likely one day need to flee the suffocation of my pressing need, that he would surely turn and walk from me eventually, I panicked. I felt the crushing fear of falling alone on that impending day.  How could I protect myself?  How could I learn to be stronger?

I had to force a situation that would make me let go and step away. Inside, I knew I had to take a leap, to make myself learn how to stand alone. Jumping, after all, always seems easier than falling.
It is not. Falling happens. Jumping takes courage.

He did not disagree with me that we should part ways. Even though it was my suggestion, I have always been pained by that.

And so, what happened then, after separating myself painfully from my best friend of 7 years?  Did I spend a good deal of time alone afterwards, learning to trust my ability to be an independent person? No. I lacked the courage to jump.

I am so ashamed of that.

I immediately started dating the man who would later become my husband. I leaned on him as hard as he would let me. He let me lean in all the way. My ex told me in a sad tone, after learning I was seeing someone else so soon, “You are dependent. You just go from one man to the next, always looking for someone to take care of you because you’re afraid.”

I was stung by his words, angered. I dismissed them as jealousy.

The kicker was that I secretly knew he was right.

I held my head high and moved on. I said to myself that I couldn’t walk from the love John was offering me, that I couldn’t allow myself to pass up a chance at happiness. I told myself I’d regret it mightily one day if I did.

Those things are true, I was not lying to myself.

But the other truth, the one I’ve never admitted outside my own head is that I was also afraid to do what I had set out to do. I was frightened to stand completely alone in the world, daring it to knock me down.

“What if it really does?” I thought. I wasn’t confident enough in myself to believe I could get back up.

Was it a mistake that I did not take that time and learn the value of being strong in myself? In a way, yes, very much.

You see, it is not so much that I am truly weak, or unable to stand on my own, to be a strong person and take care of myself. Even through my fear there is a knowledge in my core that I am strong enough. Fear has a way of making you near-sighted, though. I am often unable to see my core. I believe the lies that my insecurity whispers so close to my trembling ears in moments of doubt.

I do not regret loving my husband.  And how could I regret a union that brought me the joy that is my son?  I do not.  This is my life.  I take my past and wrap it like a bow around the person I have become.  I cannot change my past, but I can most certainly examine it, always reflecting on where I have been, learning, and watching where I am headed.  I am the constant analyzer, if you will.

The mistake was not that I allowed myself to love and be loved. That is never a mistake.

The harm was in not allowing myself a chance to see the living proof of my own strength. If I had jumped, I’d know for sure that I can fly, and that would have banished my fear of falling infinitely.

Today’s post is my answer to Broccoli, a writing challenge at {W}rite-of-Passage.

The following people took the challenge, too.

The elevator to nowhere.

Do you hear that?  Yeah, that’s muzak.  Muzak plays in my head sometimes when the words won’t come.  Most of the songs have no name that I can conjure, even though I recognize the melodies, and I could hum a few bars ahead if you asked me to.  But you probably wouldn’t.  Would you like to do a really lame, mellow hip shake and head bob with me? No?  Suit yourself.

I was vegetating, just now, staring at a blinking cursor for so long that my tongue dried up and got stuck to the roof of my mouth and a weird “glick” sound came out of me when they separated suddenly.  That’s when I realized I was just sitting here with my mouth hanging open like a moron.  You know the expression – you’d never be caught dead with that expression on your face in the presence of anyone you respect in the least.

Of course, that’s why you usually end up realizing you’re doing it when you’re in the room with someone you idolize and/or adore.  Maybe lust.  Fortunately, this time, it’s just me and the laptop and a bunch of unfolded laundry.  And unless Keifer Sutherland is hiding in the hamper, I think it’s safe to say I got lucky this time.  (Or not.)

Sometimes I have so many things I need to say that I literally have a handful of posts, in varying stages of completion, open on my desktop at the same time.  Right now, I want to write about something, and my brain just feels, well, dry… like my mouth.

I want to complete a writing challenge, but my heart isn’t in it.  I want to tell a funny story, but the words won’t come.  It’s not that I’m in a bad mood, or sad.  I’m not stressed out, distracted, or overly tired.  I’m not depressed, anxious, or tense about anything.  But I know when it’s not right, because I feel like I’m forcing something.  When it’s good, and real, the words flow onto the screen, and I can’t stop them.

But tonight, I’m just doomed to step on the elevator to nowhere.  The lift operator has on one of those funny hats and he won’t even smile at me.  He’s kind of cute, though, and it looks like there’s a guitar case propped in the corner behind him.  Maybe halfway up, I’ll goose him and see what happens.

I think “The Girl from Ipanema” is playing now.  I always liked that one.

My resolve doesn’t celebrate The New Year.

Do you make New Year’s Resolutions? I don’t. I never have. I have always seen making them as this thing that other people do, like buying lottery tickets or having sex on airplanes. I don’t do it. I think it must be great fun considering all the hype, but I’ve never felt the particular need to do so myself. Besides, I can think of good reasons not to buy a lottery ticket (I also don’t burn money or throw it in the trash), and who wants to try that hard for an orgasm with the airplane sink faucet up their ass? Those bathrooms are seriously cramped. Count me out.

When I was 24 I had the realization that I had tried my first cigarette at 12, and technically, I’d been smoking for half my life. Whoa.

For half of my life, I’d been working on an addiction that held no positives for me or anyone around me, and something about that made me realize what a hold those damn things had on me. It was the disgusting and shocking realization I needed to be completely ready to give up the dangerous habit for good. I was successful. I have never looked back, and my only regret is that I ever picked up that first cigarette.

I had attempted quitting two previous times. I can’t remember specifically why I embarked on the effort the times that I failed. When I try, I draw up vague ghosts of reasons like, “smoking is bad, m’kay” “smokers smell even worse than patchoulied up hippies, man,” and “that shit is expensive, yo!”

None of those reasons was the right one for me. Yes, of course, not killing myself and polluting the environment SHOULD have been good enough reasons, I know. Chalk that up to Me = Assholeface. For whatever reason, I didn’t have true resolve. I wasn’t ready then. When I was, however, I was passionate and serious. Something inside of me would not let me fail.

I think this encapsulates the reasons why I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions. It feels like a faddy waste of time – if I’m ready to make an important change in my life before the New Year, I see no reason to wait. If I’m not ready at the New Year, I see no reason to force a change that is so much more likely to end in failure.

Will you be ready to stop smoking/lose weight/quit being a nagging bitch of a wife in 2010?

If so, will you be ready because it’s the right time, the reason is pressing, and you feel passionate about it? Or will it just be because the page on you calendar flipped over and you feel trapped by tradition? If you fail, will you get back on the horse, so to speak, and kick that thing’s ass? Or will you give up because “it’s just a NY resolution” ?

All of that being said, I feel the need to make the point (lest you hurl rotten tomatoes and used tampons at me) that I DO think it’s AWESOME to make healthy and positive changes in your life, no matter what time of year it is.  If The New Year is your time, go for it.  If you like to make a New Year’s Resolution, I do hope you’re successful. And if you’re not, there’s always 2011, right? *wink*

As for me? I resolve to stay up too late and drink too much on New Year’s Eve.  That’s about as far as I can go.  Baby steps.  I think I’ll wait until at least when pigs fly out of my anus 2020 to even think about hitting that ‘nagging bitch of a wife’ one. I can’t imagine being anywhere near ready for that ever anytime soon.

Today’s post is my answer to The Resolution, a writing challenge at {W}rite-of-Passage.

The following people took the challenge, too.

A transformation.

It’s a ring.

When I’m asked what Christmas gift I remember the most, this ring is the first image that surfaces in my mind. One of the most beautiful opals I have ever seen sits like a regal queen atop a shining, golden band. On each side of her, like ladies in waiting, is a tiny diamond, twinkling playfully.

I am not obsessive about jewelry. I appreciate things of beauty, and with these types of decoration I tend to gravitate towards simplicity.

I had never before received expensive jewelry from a lover. I had never really desired it, to be honest. Regardless of that, I found this piece perfect. When I opened the box, I was floored and pleased.

It is beauty, basic and true. I loved it immediately, and still do.

A person special to me worried over the selection of this ring. He had labored over this choice, and this ring had spoken to him.

While it is certainly true that the ring is stunning, that is not why it is my most memorable gift. There is magic in my memory of this gift, but it is not because I received the ring on Christmas day.

The real magic lies in what it later became – an engagement ring. The man who painstakingly chose that gift for me did not know that later I would switch the hand on which the Queen Opal rode, as promise to marry him.

My most memorable Christmas gift was a pretty, shiny adornment that later transformed into a symbol of love, basic and true.

Beautiful.

******

Today’s post is my answer to The Gift, a writing challenge at {W}rite-of-Passage.

The following people took the challenge, too.

A new day, a new gig, a happier me.

Things are looking up; my mood is lightening a little more each day, and the sunshine and warmth that’s been poking around these parts lately has had more than a little to do with that. For a stretch of days last week and the beginning of this week, it has been sunny and in the 70s, and that is RIGHT up my alley. I’ve had the opportunity to prepare garden beds and plant flowers. The physical work, time outside, and thoughts of beautiful gladioli, dahlias, cosmos, and yarrow bursting open some time in the future all swirl together to make my step a bit more sprightly.

When I haven’t been playing in the dirt, John and I have taken Braden here and there to various parks and playgrounds around our area. I have really missed doing that, and so has Braden. It’s not that you can’t do that kind of stuff when it’s cold – that’s what jackets and hats are for, after all – but my kiddo happens to have a serious HATE relationship with his face getting cold.

And I wasn’t too keen on seeing how he’d feel about a ski mask, so yeah.

But for days recently, we’ve been riding down slides and pumping our legs on the swings, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me a gagillion times more giddy than a glass of red wine.

I do not forsake thee, red wine. I just place you aside for a short time. We shall join again, I promise thee.

Monday night, I was able to hang out with some lovely blogging ladies at the UBP IRL in Nashville, snarf some red wine and cheese, and have my husband and kiddo not far away from me. That was pretty freakin’ nice, too.

And I’ve just started a new writing gig, to which I was referred by the always lovely Sarah (Imaginary Binky).

It’s helping me find my “big girl” journalistic voice, which is kind of cool, in a challenging and frustrating way (can you say, “Lotus has to learn how to get a point across without droning on and on and on for eons?). Yeah, you could say I’m not the Queen of Brevity. And then you could say it again, scream it, and finish by stamping it on my forehead.

So I’ve been setting things up and writing my very first articles as Nashville Parenting Examiner. I’ll be writing a lot of locally flavored items, as well as many general parenting pieces. I’m planning on writing about events and activities that will be of interest to people in this area, and also publish a regular spattering of opinion pieces that anyone can get their head into. In addition, I’ll be hosting giveaways there, and giving general information that is helpful for all parents.

On top of all that, I’m planning on spotlighting Parent Bloggers I know and love (could this be you?) that I’ve built relationships with during my time on this website. Groovy, right? I think so. I’ll be counting on page views and subscriptions to keep me afloat, so anyone subscribing, visiting, and commenting? Will make my day.

The RSS feed is http://www.examiner.com/RSS-6205-Nashville-Parenting-Examiner

The related Twitter account is nashvilleparent

So, warmth, sun, fun, productivity, accomplishments… laughter, mirth, time with family… I’m seeing good things. It’s feeling pretty good.

Why, I’ve been so inspired by happiness lately that I even shaved my legs for the first time in over a month, trimmed the ole’ 70s bush and frolicked in the sheets with my husband. And while you may think, “UH 1) TMI and 2) So?” it’s a big deal here, considering that the last time that happened we conceived a baby. Yeah. Read the archives a little and do the math. You’ll see that it’s been an awfully evil long time.

Psychologically crippling fears resist logic and desire and can put you in places you don’t want to be for even a second. And then they keep you there for indefinite amounts of time. You even start feeling that the pain that’s being caused you and your most beloved is all your fault; you should just wake up, break out, get better, damnit.

It just can’t be forced.  Something’s gotta give, one way or another.

It’s giving. Finally, it is caving in and crumbling away.  Bit by bit.

And as it falls off of my shoulders, I’m feeling that shine again, the one that comes from inside. Not the same shine as before, from the same girl as before, but that’s okay.

Every day of this adult life, I’m learning. I’m always in process; this is a journey. The waiting for the completion of who I am and where I’m going is pointless.  I am ever changing.  It is time I accept that and who I am right now, ready to welcome the next change, whatever the moments that pass may hold.

Just be, right?

I’m workin’ on it.

Once more, for good measure.

Long time readers will
remember the story of
our last, moldy house.

What a trial that was!
We have been in this new home
for a whole year now.

I could never say
thank you enough times to those
who helped us get out.

To all of you who
stepped in to help us move then
and are still around

I want you to know
that I think grateful thoughts of
each of you often.

And now we’ve got a
whole year of new memories
in a better home.

So much has happened
in this year that has now passed.
It’s remarkable.

March 2008………………………………………………………………………………………………………….March 2009

So, once more I say
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you all
Thanks so very much.

Clean the shirts on their backs by putting one on yours.

The putrid piles of
clothing in my house are proof
of this one truth: I

hate doing laundry.
But at least I have the means.
Some out there do not.

The term that is used
is “natural disaster.”
I’m sure the victims

feel anything but
natural picking up the
pieces of their lives.

I have not suffered
severe destruction but
just thinking about

the devastation
after floods, hurricanes, and
twisters, I shudder.

At such desperate
times, I can imagine that
all help is welcome.

Tide is offering
practical help to those who
need it in this way:

You buy a shirt here;
proceeds provide clothes cleaning
service for victims.

So now even if
I am not cleaning my own
family’s clothing…

I can take comfort
in knowing that I’m helping
clean laundry elsewhere.