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Am I a Failure?

Do not let a single event define who you are.  You may be “The Person Who Failed” at this particular thing today, but you are also “The Person Who Really Tried” today.  And you can be “The Person Who Persevered and Tried Again” tomorrow.  If you are determined to define yourself as a failure based on a few events, then that is what you will be.  You are a failure because you believe it, and you are a success because you believe it.  The defining word is Belief.

Challenge your beliefs about yourself today.  No one else can do a thing to change them for you:  Not Mommy, Daddy, pastor, mentor, spouse, child.

Dare to commit to a radically positive belief in who you are and what you can try.  Again and again.

~Dedicated to my husband~

Empathy is not in our nature; it is learned. There are many reasons it fails to register in a child, but if it is not learned early, it is not easily learned. Those who do not have it cannot teach it; they feel their own wounds but not those of others. God, help me teach sensitivity to my children by being sensitive. This is a challenge when you do not know it well.

A few quotations . . . by me.

Expecting someone to behave differently than he or she usually does is a set-up for repeated disappointment.  Expressing shock and indignation at someone’s disappointing behavior toward you is a waste of valuable energy.  Unconditional Love really is trusting those around us to do exactly what they are going to do — and choosing in advance to love anyway.

When someone excuses his bad behavior with, “I’m only human,” what is he saying?  Humans have the capability to reason, learn, grow, sacrifice, nurture, empathize and mature.  So maybe, “I’m only human” really means, “I’m just barely human,” or “I’m not human enough.”

Consider this a proposed addendum to the traditional vows of your choice rather than a replacement.  Avoiding incrimination, insinuation or further qualification, I submit the following:

  • I promise to ignore your passive aggressive behavior as you ignore mine, taking neither personally, as we encourage each other in healthy ways to communicate.
  • I promise to tell you the truth in the kindest way possible when it’s vital to your growth or to our continuing intimacy.
  • I promise to tolerate the truth and not complain about it when there is nothing either of us can do to change it.
  • I promise to smooth over the truth when it promotes growth and confidence and it hurts no one.
  • I promise not to turn a blind eye when you are making huge parenting mistakes (see vow #2).
  • I promise to assert my role in our children’s lives to insure that my influence is as vital as yours.
  • I promise to protect our children from physical and emotional harm even if it means protecting them from you.  I will protect the child rather than myself; protect the innocent rather than secure or promote my position with you.
  • I promise to remember that we married for love and friendship, and I will not treat you like the enemy (when the real war is going on inside me).
  • I promise not to hang on to my resentment when I realize how different the parenting roles really are and the many ways these roles permanently change us.
  • I promise to get the damn counseling if you want the damn counseling, even if a loved one urges us to get the damn counseling, and I promise to give it my best shot.
  • I promise to be a partner not a dependent.
  • I promise not to assume you are “taking care of it.”
  • I promise to create my own joy and fulfillment and not to hold you responsible for it.
  • I promise to be thankful for your good qualities every day, especially on the bad days.
  • I promise not to tell you my “really interesting dream” unless you are actually in it and doing something truly interesting.
  • I promise to keep your secrets (the legal ones).
  • I promise to side with you in a disagreement with your parents (and tell you you’re wrong in private).
  • I promise to care for myself so I’m able to care for you when the occasion arises.
  • I promise to do my part to keep our life interesting.
  • I promise to promote you in the eyes of the children and not to bare your flaws to them.  In the case that you turn out to be an appalling jackass, I promise to promote you right out the door with blessings for a happy and prosperous future, from which point I will continue to promote your relationship with your kids for as long as you continue to behave as a rational, law-abiding human, and they feel happy and safe being around you.

**Kiss or handshake optional

Author and husband, October 21, 2006

Scared Fearless Lives

For those of you who have followed and have been kind enough to note my long absence, here is a list of things I’ve been doing with my time.

I have:

  • Dealt with several of hubby’s health crises including hospitalization for a diabetes-related issue, a wreck (car totaled, hubby without a scratch) and lower back surgery (non-wreck related, had already been an issue for months)
  • Taken a road trip to Kansas to see my baby boy play baseball
  • Deposited another one of my precious children back in Kansas to stay until I return at the end of baseball season (soon!) for both of them
  • Begun recording some vocals on my new studio set-up
  • Decided either to change my blog name or start a separate blog called “Every Day Diva” in which I write and video about glamor, decorating and cooking topics — yes, I know this will appeal only to girls and gays
  • Reserved several alternative blog names
  • Been writing almost every morning (alas, no blogging)
  • Begun singing on the Grand Ol’ Opry as a regular “sub” in the backup group that sings with (almost) all the artists (I can do Little Jimmy Dickens’ entire comedy routine now.)
  • Made the first half of my flagship “Every Day Diva Says” videos which will be about how to color your hair at home from a box and actually have it turn out fabulously
  • Lost 5 pounds using the Weight Watchers approach but never actually joined.  Still going.  (Don’t yell at me about not needing to lose weight. I’m 5’4″ with a 31″ rib cage and was almost 150.  Just stop.  I don’t want to hear it.  I feel better.  And I’ve gained some confidence.)
  • Been moderately busy with session work
  • Been thankful for the income
  • Been contemplating — and even collecting some materials for — doing some visual art
  • Seen a lady on TV who makes art out of dryer lint and actually thought it was a neat idea  (Yes, there is now a small pile of dryer lint on top of my dryer.  At least now I have an excuse.)
  • Been badly wanting to take my kids on a road trip out west and thinking about how that could work
  • Been planning Mom and Dad’s 50th Anniversary celebration to be held mid-August
I have to go to work now.

Superstar

Kerry Campbell and her happy daughter, Britney

“All I want is for Britney to have the best start in life, so it is easier for her to become a superstar.”

Of course!  We all understand that.  Being a superstar is the American standard.  And now that we’ve got YouTube, the road to superstardom is a superhighway.  These words of wisdom were brought to us by Kerry Campbell, the now-superstar-famous pageant mom who has been giving her eight year-old daughter regular Botox injections to retain her youthful looks.  I totally get it.  I’m a mother of four, and I’ve seen it happen.  Eight year-olds start losing their cute super fast.  Best get a jump on it.

“Like I said, I do the Botox myself. It’s safe . . . She had watched me do it before. So when we first did it, she was fine with it.”

I understand you were being an example to her, Kerry.  We moms have heard that our daughters develop their sense of self-esteem from us, but why don’t more of us take it to heart?  It’s good to know someone is paying attention.  How else will Britney know where that fine line is between gorgeous and hideous if you don’t define it for her very early?  That’s one less girl walking around abusing the rest of us with her physical imperfections.  Kerry, you’re already looking out for that lucky man Britney will grow old with.  All he needs to be doing now is saving up and making room for all the paraphernalia that will be needed for a lifetime of real happiness.  And he might want to think about investing in cryogenics after the wedding.  But maybe I’m being too conventional.  Surely Britney will insist on doing all this for herself and won’t be expecting someone else to make her dreams come true.

“I know one day she will be a model, actress or singer, and having these treatments now will ensure she stays looking younger and baby-faced for longer.”

No doubt.  When our founding fathers and mothers were brainstorming by candlelight, felling trees and sacrificing life and limb, I know in my heart they were envisioning a world where anyone could pursue happiness through modeling, acting or singing.  Parents need to get a plan for their kids’ lives set in stone very early.  Otherwise, how can they expect the child to accomplish any of the milestones along the way?  Because of her mom’s vision, Britney can get excited about the specific things that are surely coming her way, and she already knows all the contests and auditions she will be winning in the meantime.

“I’m sure people reading this will think I am being irresponsible, but I ensure that I test the Botox and fillers I buy online on myself first.”

Not at all, Kerry, this is the kind of parental sacrifice that has made America the superpower that it is.  I wish all mothers who shopped online for chemicals to inject into their children’s faces were this responsible.  Just as in days of yore, the King had a Taster, Britney has you to stand in harm’s way for her first to make sure it’s okay to subject her to that same harm.

“More mothers should do it for their daughters.”

You’ve just about got me convinced, Kerry.  But I’m not sure it isn’t too late.  My poor girls — their perfectly round, baby cheeks are history.  Think what they would look like now, at 12 and 16, if I’d started the Botox when they were 8!  I really fear the more womanly they become, the less desirable they will be to society.  Baby faces have always ruled.  We moms might as well begin facing the hard facts and start taking action.

“As a doctor . . . I would be required to report her to protective services because it’s maltreatment. . . .”

Oops, that wasn’t Kerry, that was ABC News chief health and medical editor, Dr. Richard Besser on GMA this morning.  Oh, come on, Besser.  Clearly this mother loves her child with all her heart, just as she is, and is willing to make great personal sacrifices to build a future for her.  Kerry’s inner beauty and wisdom are evident in her deftness at finding the best online company from which to order her serum.

But I missed that part.  Did anyone hear her say which company?

Morning Pages

In the late 1990s I was introduced to a book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.  It was born out of her workshops to help blocked writers, but it has become an inspiration to many kinds of artists.  I highly recommend it for anyone who is frustrated with the creative within, whether you want to unleash the artist you know is in there but has been oppressed, or you’d like to explore the outrageous possibility that you could make a living out of your art (and even more outrageous, that you deserve such a thing), or if you just want more creativity in your life.  One of the practices the course is built on is a thing Julia calls Morning Pages.  Get a notebook, and as soon as you’ve crawled out of bed in the morning, write three pages longhand from off the top of your head, unedited, never to be critiqued and not to be looked back on for some period of time.  For most people, the first week or so begins as so much gibberish, but for some, their Morning Pages have turned into books.  I’ve been doing this exercise on and off since I first read The Artist’s Way, and this morning I had the urge to start it up again.  The following is a slightly edited version of what I wrote:

Today is my daughter’s sixteenth birthday.  There is so much I can say about that.  The first thing that comes to mind is that I began the experiment of Morning Pages when she was three-and-a-half years old; therefore I’ve been writing morning pages on and off for over twelve years.  It is odd to be in the place in life where twelve years has flown by as if it were three or four.  I keep getting older — nothing I’ve done to try and stop the clock has worked yet  –  and I feel like I don’t know how to get old, like I’m unprepared, it has come so fast.  As usual, I remind myself I’m not alone in this:  It’s the universal experience.  We all talk about the weather and how fast time flies because those are the things we have no control over.  We are in awe.  And maybe we are comforted in the camaraderie we have in this realization, even though banding together as a race does nothing, really, to increase our power against these forces.

I observe younger people in various phases of life, and I think, I was just there yesterday, experiencing the ups and downs of that stage, the undeniable power that comes with that particular period of youth as well as the disadvantage of still needing more valuable perspective, and then, We all have our moments, and those folks will be in this one I’m in before it seems they’ve batted their eyes.

It’s sobering how quickly moments race by in a blur when we’ve had to be, or more often, chosen to be distracted by stress, disappointment, loss, battles against others.  If my kids have learned anything from Mama’s journey over the last decade it has been to cherish the time you’ve been given, to understand time in its context, not fear or fight it but revere it as it bulldozes by without mercy.

Several years ago when my daughter was still a “tween,” I had the privilege of hearing her say, “Mom, you were right, time really does go by faster the older you get.”  Of course, hearing the first four words of that sentence is enough to satisfy any parent, but I also realize she has developed a keen sense of the passage of time, and I know she’s a kindred spirit in this journey.

This is the same child who observed while in fifth grade, “I just realized Chris Brown has been around a long time now, because I remember when his songs were first coming out when I was in third grade.”

Today I’ll text her at school at exactly 12:15, to give her an official Happy Birthday wish, because as most mothers tend to do, I have the time of her birth, down to the very minute, carved into stone in my memory.

Greetings, Good Friends.

This will be relatively brief.  I felt like an update would be good today.  I don’t intend to back off on the blog — it has been a wonderful addition to my life this year — but I’ve had to move over and make room for Life this week.  I’m sure you can relate:  You’ve got this fine week planned out, one with few outside interruptions beyond the usual, so you make plans for several things you want to accomplish with “your” time…then Life interrupts.

I realize you all represent varied views on “the meaning of life, the universe and everything” (to borrow a line from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy  –  the answer, of course, is “42″).  I am learning something that is so true, so valuable, so dangerous to human nature:  Life is easier lived without fear and complaint.

The one thing we have control over is our ability to choose — our will (if you will).  We are employing it whenever something “happens to” us.  When we fight against the apparent hijacks of our day, our schedule, our mood, our expectations, we are missing an opportunity to learn and be blessed.  How will we see the good things that might be coming to us through a perceived “bad” experience, the important lesson to be learned, if we’re rebelling like children against Change, complaining, wailing loudly, pounding our fists against an imaginary chest?

I’ll loosely quote a line from a Martha Beck article I read a few days ago, “Some people believe pessimism is a virtue.”  I know some very religious people who live as if this is so.  Turns out, they believe in a god, just not one who can be trusted.

I’m not trying to shake your chosen paradigm, not its whole, anyway, just the part that says “what’s against me is greater than what’s for me,” the part that truly believes in Murphy’s Law.

I’m learning happiness and peace really are a choice.  The reason I dare to say “I am learning” this is because I’m actually starting to put it into practice, to exercise the muscle.  At the onset of this week’s shake-up, my knee-jerk was to panic, question and complain.  Then the wiser part of me reminded the child in me of the questions I’ve learned to ask in all things I initially perceive to be bad:  Where is the gift in this particular moment?  Where is the lesson?  – keeping my eyes and ears open for the answer, taking a deep breath, reminding myself that I’m alive and that everything else in my life is evidence of abundant blessing, that this moment, just by virtue of its presence, is to be cherished.  Embraced.  Not rejected, not rebelled against, not criticized, not regarded as an enemy.

When we rebel against change and upset we are expressing unwillingness to accept life on any terms but our own, that we are sure there is no way we can have joy but inside the parameters of our own prescription.  When you think about it, that might actually be the most dangerous way to live life.

Every breath is a gift.

Selah

Phil 4:11 & 12; I Thess 5:18; Luke 12:27; Phil 4:6

I almost always look at things from some distance before engaging.  There are few things that reel me in unwittingly, few things I do impulsively.  There are a number of reasons for this, most of which I’ve identified and looked at with exasperatingly tedious analysis. But I won’t get into all that today.

With that said I will abuse you with my thoughts about American Idol and shows of its kind.  First, I’m thankful for their part in turning the trend away from record companies monopolizing the music market and dictating what merits our consumption.  The existence of a show in which the public can evaluate talent and pick favorites provides a fairer outlet for great performers to be recognized and their music to be enjoyed.  When I say “fairer,” I don’t mean ultimately fair.  American Idol has been an amazingly popular channel for exposing talent to the planet, but it is not the only option.

I have a problem with American Idol‘s theme song (which is repeated ad nauseam in commercial bumpers and every other way the producers find to use it).  From a musical science standpoint, it is blatantly manipulative, created to build tension and suspense.  But I’ve always avoided most game shows and the like with their characteristic “noises.”  I am aurally sensitive, if you will.  A less intrusive way for me to pick new musical favorites is listening to new submissions on iTunes and other sites.  I can also go to Pandora, type in examples of my favorite music, and Pandora will play for hours artist after artist, new and old, known and unknown, from which I can pick favorites.  Did you know you can submit your music to Pandora?  It does actually have to be good  – please, for all of our sakes — in which case it will be picked up, dropped into Pandora’s music genome and played along with other selections that match it.  And it pays royalties.  Of course, there’s not the hype, publicity and financial backing that comes with making it into the top group on Idol.  But that takes us back to the power mongers, doesn’t it?

American Idol turns away thousands of incredibly talented people every year.  I know singers who could go toe-to-toe with any of the past top fives who did not even make it past the producers at the cattle call.  It is a TV show more than it is a competition; its producers know what gets ratings; they are looking for drama, quirks and controversy to keep you interested to the final night.  You may be wowed by what you see once the competition starts, but don’t fool yourself into thinking  you are evaluating the best singers that auditioned in all those cities.  I’ve heard friends say they think this year’s group has been the most impressive collection of talent in the history of the show.  But the fact that a show of its billing ever showcased a top 12 of questionable caliber is proof that it was never all about vocal competition.  I suspect the producers knew they were throwing the public a lot of changes this year, so they made sure the talent was dazzling.

Still, there’s the problem of the voting public.  American Idol continues to appeal to a wide age demographic, yet its voting majority obviously has become “tween” and teenage girls.  Teenagers are still ahead of their parents in technology and may always be.  If you want to be an armchair judge but don’t bother to vote, then why express shock at the outcome?  Unless parents and grandparents start voting or AI comes up with a more geriatric-friendly form of voting, you can be sure you’ll continue to be “shocked.”  What was Einstein’s definition of insanity again?

Despite the show’s appeal to the musician in me, I feel I’m being played, and I never like that.  Whenever I sense my baser instincts are being appealed to, I get wary.  (Believe me, this is no indication that I’ve not succumbed to my baser instincts. Oh, the days and days I could spend blogging.)  What I’m referring to is our need to elevate ourselves by playing judge, by evaluating others:  We’ll jump at the chance to evaluate and score others even in arenas that are not our expertise.  American Idol has banked on that human response.  It’s the way of Rome.

The water cooler conversations I have heard, the vehement opinions expressed . . . so tiring.  And it’s all subjective anyway.  It’s about what appeals to us and all the reasons it does, not about which singer is best.  I suppose I feel too much empathy for the contestants to enjoy the game, even knowing they have thrown themselves into the ring.  And that’s a reflection of my own issues.  To be continued. . . .

This is a slow work week for me.  It’s one of those times I’ve described before when I have the opportunity to catch up on all the things that have been waiting for me while work has been busy.  When I say all the things, I mean every single category in my life.  It’s one of those Mondays when someone with a compulsive, over-achieving, perfectionist personality like mine can have trouble getting focused.

There are those two children I gave birth to and try to homeschool who are spending time at their father’s place in another state; they will need to be looked in on by Skype to make sure they are on track with their work.  (Can we take just a moment for a ‘hollah’ to Skype?  Life changing.)  There is that proposal I’m working on that needs to go in the mail today which could lead to some more income.  There is the house — almost every room, both floors, including garage — that is under a film of dust and clutter.  The latter is a mega-category.  I best not get into the detail.  I need to order another microphone.  I need to call the insurance company.  We all know I could be into that for an hour, maybe two.  I should get in three good workouts before the weekend.  (There is a chance I’ll do a video of Steve and me working with kettlebells.)  There are several stacks — these accumulate for me because I hate paperwork — stacks of mail and bills that need to be attended to, things that need filing, things that need calling about.  It’s not that I can’t or won’t do it well — it’s that once I begin, I will need to be meticulous with it.  I need a PA.  I lust for a PA.  Oh, you don’t think I could give up that much control?  Try me.

Captain, Border Terrier/German Shepherd mix. Hilarious and smart -- on the way to his new home

On Friday I put a great dog on a transport to his new home in Boston.  His name is Captain, and he was only with us a few days.  He was the most interesting combination breed I’ve seen in a long time — Border Terrier and German Shepherd.  Unbelievably smart and sweet.  He will make his new family very happy.  On Saturday I picked up Cactus, an Australian Retriever — a crossbreed of Australian Shepherd and Golden Retriever.  He is magnificent and beautiful and looks so much like our Huxley (same breed) that we think they might have been litter mates.  Ah, yes, that’s another thing to do this week: take Cactus back to the shelter to be microchipped and inquire about his origin.

Cactus, Australian Retriever, 9-12 months old, available for adoption

I’m not unaware that all these things are evidence of my choices, the life I’ve created.  I wouldn’t change it.  Most of us wouldn’t.  Or we would, wouldn’t we?

Except for the millions of dollars part.  I would change that in a heartbeat — and maybe I will….

Perspective is everything, regardless of what brand of spirituality you subscribe to.  I know people who claim to have access to a “peace that passes all understanding” and live lives of constant drama and worry.  Making an effort to be in the beauty of a single moment, to be aware of your blessings, to take responsibility for your choices and how they are currently playing out in your life, to be grateful to be alive and breathing and have people and things in your life to love and be passionate about — this is the truest form of worship I’ve ever experienced.  It is a shortcut to joy.

“For every person who has ever lived there has come, at last, a spring he will never see. Glory then in the springs that are yours.”  Pam Brown

Even the rainy ones.  Have a great week!

Huxley, our Aussie Retriever, and his almost twin, Cactus, who is available for adoption

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