My unpopular opinion.

I am, as usual, stating what may be an unpopular opinion.  So... here goes.
I am sick to death of hearing the word "Bullying" thrown around.

Different opinion than someone?  You're a bully.
Offer constructive criticism?  You are bullying.

I feel there are REAL bullies in life.  True and   Terrible Bullies.

But this constant use of the term is a Henny Penny or Cry Wolf mentality.  It is an error of judgement and is labeling many who simply are FAR from being bullies.  Very, very far.

In fact, I would dare say, labeling people in a constant need for social media one-up-manship is the actual bully at work.


We live in a world of instant words and misread meanings.  Social media, texting, snapchat, vine, all the instant solution for an often over exaggerated problem.

Remember when you ran home and told Mom that someone picked on you?  She said... that's life... deal with it, sunshine.  Now?  Mom gets on Facebook and posts a long worded sermon complete with matching meme.  Usually, the "f" word is involved.  Classy.  Wait... is that Mom now the bully?
I say, yes.  Yes, she is.  She is using profanity, and a classless medium to support her side of a story that the other side often has no defense against.  Perhaps they have been "blocked", perhaps they aren't friends, perhaps it never shows on her newsfeed... But, there it is for the world to see.  A public (if not jaded) version of one person's truth.

This is not how I was raised.  This is disproportionately irrational behavior.  This is (dare I suggest), a form of bullying.

Hiding behind a social media facade and an army of so-called-friends may seem like the answer, but it simply is not.  And, lest we be mislead, no REAL bully has ever stopped their actions because of an Instagram meme.  A real bully could care less.

Anyone who doesn't play along; who refuses to say everyone is A-ok; who has an actual view point or opinion is the bully in today's warped world.  I take issue with that.  It is, by the way, my RIGHT to take issue with that.  It doesn't make ME a bully.  It makes me .... Me.  And I am quite alright with that.

Nan

It has happened.  Again.  A tragic, pointless, unfathomable youth taken from us with no meaning, no reason.  With no warning.

And, so, I am back to my days of Nan.  I still have the white board from my teen room wrapped carefully in tissue and plastic.  You can still see the trace of her writing.  "Nan will love Rhonda forever".

The irony is, that she will.  And I will love her.  We never had the chance to bicker in our late teens, or fall out of friendship in our twenties.  We didn't marry vastly different human specimens.  One of us never moved away while the other settled near home.  We never disliked that one partied too much or seemed pretentious after college.
Nan will love me forever; and I, her.

Nan is frozen in time.  Thick, round glasses masking startling blue eyes.  Blonde Farrah curls cascading down her back.  Cheerleader sleepovers and all night he-is-so-cute-I-wanna-die conversations.  Transistor radio blaring at the Beaver Falls Beach.  Thrusting our incredibly thin, tan bodies off the bridge and into the river.  Pink bikinis.  Ponies.  Oh.... sweet, much loved ponies.

I will remember sneaking one of her Dad's cigars down to the railroad tracks and puffing on them until one; or both of us; puked in the bushes beside the tracks.  I will remember watching TV late at night while we kept each other company as we babysat.

Nan remains the same.  Because she was gone too soon.  Beautiful 16 and gone.  A tragic accident.  So much pink satin.  So many crying children.  So much to remember and I beg myself not to forget.

I see this happening.  Again.  Again, the one with the brightest smile and sweetest disposition.  The one with talents untapped and relationships unformed.  The one with so much to offer and so much promise to bring to this world.

Ripped from his parents and brothers.  I see a teen bedroom enshrined.  Trophies gathering dust and a wall of certificates for accomplishments now somehow even more incredible.  I see pain in his friends eyes and I feel the punch in my gut over and over and I just want.... Nan.

I want to take back that late night phone call when I pulled the curly chord to its extreme point and sat on our stairway and just. started. shaking.  Because, I knew.  Even though her mom just wanted to know if I had heard there had been an accident.  Even though she didn't say what she already knew in her heart, too.  I shook.  I could not stop.  Nan was gone.

Gone.  Here at once and gone in an instance.  Here forever but with us no more.  Always with us but never to touch.  Hugs one-sided and conversations that hang in the empty air.  Frozen.  Time is.

I have that white board.  I can trace her writing and remember that spring day we sat on my bed and she left me that message.  I remember every detail because it is more golden than any object or than a pot of gold.  It is what I have, physically, of someone who is always spiritually beside me.

Again, now, each of you will search your memories and your belongings for your memories of Him taken.  You will wrap them in tissue and plastic and place them in a memory box.  You will pull them out as you age and, again, encounter this tragedy of life that is senseless death.  We each have our Nan.
Forever.

Journey On

I am still glad for the journey. Part of me envies those who are settled. Those who find comfort in sameness and partner hood and daily consistency. The ones who are content with a 9-5 job and reliable paycheck. Those. The others. I do not deny they have a journey. Every one of us does. It is just that their journey is so mapped out. So well written. It appears their roads lack potholes or curves or even steep hills.
Then, there is my journey. So many curves. So many times I have pedaled up the steep hill. But, ah, the rush of the wind in my face as I coast full speed ahead down that opposite side!
I still feel unsettled. This does not mean I am filled with discontent. This means I am certain that I have more to accomplish.  More adventures to hunt down and live through.
I have an occupation that brings new challenges and schedules on a regular basis. I live a creative life creatively.... And that takes great devotion.
Devotion. Spiritual commitment to a greater belief. I am striving each day to replace negativity with joy; to live a grateful life. I am devoted to this decision. Being grateful is a journey-- an active and aware state of being.
A journey can be physical or spiritual... Actual or imagined. I do not remember a time when I didn't actively daydream. My mind is a fortress filled with memories and wishes-- with brightly colored conceptions and aspirations.  My journey is mine. It changes daily like the barometer of my brain. Foggy or clear; hot or cold... Always a swirl of emotion and devotion.
If you are fine where you are, brava. Hats off. I don't even wish for that state of being anymore. I am almost to the top of my hill. I pedal slow and sure. I know I am cresting the top of a hill when life will be a zooming downhill cascade soon enough. I anticipate lungs filled with air, hands off handlebars, legs outstretched as pedals rotate freely and quickly. I can feel the tangle of my shoulder length hair as it extends behind my arched shoulders and my chin tips my face to a blue and cloud filled sky.
It is coming-- the final journey. I know not when or where. I know that I am grateful for my restless heart and dream filled head. Mmmmm. I am.

pajamas and peace

It is a first.  A first day of a new year.  It is heading towards 5:00 pm.  What am I wearing?  Pajamas.  Still.  This is in no way a reflection of my exciting New Year's Eve (it was calm.).... and it isn't because I am ill or even tired.

It is because, somedays, pajamas bring us peace.

Right?  You can peacefully recognize that not donning clothing means you are going NOWHERE for one entire day.  An entire day.  And evening.  Until you succumb to the magic of bed once more.

I cannot recollect the last time I had a non-sick pajama day.  Seriously.  I have wracked my brain about this all day thinking I would remember.  Sadly, I do not.

This, in itself, brought me peace.  I am starting this new year doing something I haven't done in a very long time.  So long ago, I cannot recall when. I am doing something NEW and NOT exciting but SO exciting.

I am setting slipper clad feet on footstool and sitting new robe wrapped butt in rocker.  I am writing and blogging and quietly planning my "waste of a day".

I shuffle from living room to office to kitchen and back to rocker.  Wow.  That was fun.  (Really).

Peaceful pajama day may involve candles, last day of gazing at the lights on the Christmas tree, hot beverages, leftovers and an early big pour of merlot.  For me, that is about as close to perfection as I can get on this snowy day.

Oh, look... it is snowing.  I am not shoveling or plowing or worrying.  I am watching the flakes swirl and blow and peacefully retracting any notions of making the snow behave.  Go ahead, Mother Nature, speak your mind... I am resting mine.

This is a short-lived respite, I know.  Life holds more adventures and duties and tasks tomorrow (starting with mandatory snow moving).... but, right now?  Just gonna grab a fleece blankie, add a pair of fluffy socks to my fashionable attire, and knock out this blog post.

Peace. Out.

Death as Opportunity?

As part of my first-ever-true-attempt at end of year cleansing, I did an online tarot card reading.
My opportunity for 2016? Death.

Death is the card I drew.  As an OPPORTUNITY.  Grasp that?  I couldn't.  At first.  But then, I paused.  I calculated.  I looked inward.

Death may not be literal... as in... I am dead.  Death could be the death of a past anger or harm done. Death of a bad idea.  Death of a sadness, a grievance, death of a dead end road.
In that spirit, I say, rest in peace.

Next card?  Courage.  Courage to let go of the past.  Let the dead rest.  Have courage to embrace the new.  Hey, why not.  I have courage.  I've always had courage.  Had to... because I do not believe that courage is a choice.  Courage is cast upon us in times of angst and illness and pressure and pain.  Then, we find courage.  If we don't, then something far worse will find us.  It will strangle us.  It will hold us in its death grasp as we struggle against "it".  So, sure.  There's the courage thing.  That's the challenge.

The resolution?  Cleansing.  Is there a greater cleansing than death?  That final ending that is surely a new beginning?

I am not sure how I, someone so led by The Spiritual, has never checked out this "tarot card thing"... this turning of cards to spell out the future.

Knowing these three cards have been dealt me, will I choose to let these words and deeds open the new year for me?  Or will the cards choose for me?  Can't say I'm sure how this all works.  BUT, I know how I work.  Whatever 2016 offers, I will face it.  I will find courage.  I will be cleansed of the harshness that 2015 brought.  The bitter taste that lingers in my mouth will be washed away.  There will be a lightness in my step, a brightness to my smile.

I am finding a true catharsis in the route of cleansing I have chosen.  I am ready for the death of the person who was held under water in 2015.  The one who held her breath and gasped for air.  I am ready to fill my lungs with fresh, clean air and open my arms to new possibilities.

Opportunities are right at my fingertips.  Close your eyes.  Reach out.  Let butterfly wings brush the tips of your fingers. They will carry your dreams all the way to Heaven, my friends.

The Jungle Gym

This meme on social media this morning brought elementary school rushing back to me in one flat moment.  I was the playground chicken.  The girl who always wore dresses and skirts and refused to play kick ball.  I was the kid with the book under a tree or sitting on a barely rocking swing while others pumped legs with skill and fervor and flew high into the sky.  I imagined my toes touching the breathy branches of a tree like my friends... but, only imagined.

We had two jungle gyms.  One, much like the photo in this post.  The other was a ladder with a fireman-like pole to slide down once you reached the top.  My friends would flit to to the top and slide down over and over and over again.  I would watch.  I didn't even WANT to do it.  I did, however, believe I HAD to do it.  

It is a fuzzy blur now.  Did someone dare me?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Did I get a hankering to try to climb up there?  I find that impossible to believe.  For whatever reason, one spring day, not far from summer vacation, I decided to Climb To The Top.  Climb I did.  I got to the top.  I gingerly made my way to the pole and... froze.

This girl was not going to take that step and slide down that pole.  Nope.  Not happening.  Soon, a small group surrounded the pole.  Kids I barely knew were calling for me to come down.  They became one blur and one foggy sound as I clung to the steel pole and my teeth shivered.

Someone got the recess aide.  "Come down", she prodded sweetly.  I shook my head, "no".  "Come down", she insisted with less sweetness.  No.  No. Never.

After what seemed an eternity, out came the school janitor with an extension ladder.  This man's name is lost to me, but his demeanor remains in my heart to this day.  He was a wonderful man who loved children.  He was so good to me, even as I clung to the pole and shook my head adamantly at his soft command to reach for him. I was not taking that step.  I began to think of my life consisting of this.  This playground.  This jungle gym.  What would happen when I had to pee?  I was getting hungry.  Would I miss lunch?  Still, I grasped the silver steel with a 7 -year old's death grip and refused to budge.  I remember that the Principal, Mr. Marcott, ended up outside.  I know he stood below me and spoke to me.

I do not remember getting down.  I do not know who talked me down or when I took that big step.  I wish I did.   I wish I could clearly recall the importance of that moment.  I do not remember the victory of achievement.  I only remember the fear of letting go.  The belief I would fall.  The deep seeded gut wrenching belief that No One Would Ever Catch Me.

I returned to that playground one summer of my collegiate life.  The jungle gym looked so small and dauntless.  I placed my hands on the top rung with my feet safely on the ground.  I thought about climbing up and jumping and sliding down the pole to safety, but decided against it.  After all, I was alone.  Who would catch me if I fell?

In many ways, I am still that seven year old girl.  The one who prefers her feet on the ground and her nose in a book.  The one who wishes for small adventures and safe landings.  The one who declines jumping into things because she fears that no one will catch her if she falls.  I still wonder, Who Will Catch Me If I Fall?

Only Words

I have chosen My Word for 2015.
Done.  My word is done.
2015 brought me great joy.  My daughter's high school graduation and 18th birthday were major high points.  Celebrating my 30th college reunion and reconnecting with true friends was magnificent.  I have found outlets for creativity, I have de-cluttered my personal space and I have grown in many ways; both big and small.
Done.  I am, however, done with 2015.
I am done with small minded gossip and hurtful social media.  I am done with adults who resort to name calling and think that it is OKAY to do so.  I am done with those who think that friendship is a small town cult where you are allowed to bash someone repeatedly and find it impossible to Let It Go.
This is it.  My official letting go.  I am in a professional position where I must make a stand to do what I feel is best for those around me.  Agree or not.  It is simply my position.  Follow it or not. There are always open doors.  But... this door... the one looking back on 2015?  Closed.

I am pondering words for 2016.  Words have always been my strong hold.  Written words give me reference and peace.  They lend me comfort when spoken words and harmful words of others bring me pain.  I am carefully choosing my words for this new year.  Words like Forward and Dauntless... Focused and Promising.

I am beyond thankful for those who surround me with love and friendship.  I have a tremendous family, and a passion that is my business.  I am able to pay my bills.  I always find a way to make a day "okay"... and, even this day is okay.  This day when social media threatened my personal feelings and beliefs- even this day is okay.

I would like to shun "okay".  I would like to be dauntless and rush forward with focus into a promising new year.  So, ya, I am done with you, 2015. And,  I am okay with that.