What makes you come alive?

I was watching "Hairspray" this week. Hairspray is set in the 50s - when social mores were crazy rigid. The conflict in it was between the "real kids" and the "fake kids". The real kids were heavy or black, while the fake kids were "perfect", blonde, thin, superficial. It got me thinking about who society tells us we need to be.

In the 50s era it was; do as you're told, don't speak unless you are spoken to, church on Sunday, college, corporate job, 2.5 kids, and if the mind numbing repetition got to you there were "mother's little helpers" to get you through another day. It was a society that was "checked out". Everyone knew what was going on but no one spoke of it. If you got pregnant you "went away" for a while. If you married a black guy, you never - in 54 years of marriage - took him home - which was my Aunt's story. You did what you were told and never complained if you were unhappy.

Then came "the pill" and divorce, which liberated women from her minuscule role in life and let her leave the house to explore the outside world. The world changed pretty quickly and societal expectations opened up. There were more possibilities. The hippie subculture rebelled and then came free love and self expression. If growth were linear we'd all be living our dreams by now.

Today I find myself bored.

Work has gotten routine. I can do it. I know how to make it happen but, I need VARIETY to get me fired up. The same old paper pushing stuff day after day just makes me feel like I have already died and they forgot to close the casket. I now totally understand why most heart attacks happen Monday morning. People would rather die than have to do it one more day!

Not everyone was meant to work 50 years for the gold watch. Not everyone was meant to get married. Not everyone was meant to have kids. Not everyone was meant to be with the opposite sex. Not everyone was meant to go to college. No one was meant to waste their life living someone else's dream.

I believe dreams come from god. I believe that, just like talents, god wants us to live our dreams well. When God mended you together in your mother's womb he also mended in dreams, love, joy, passion, excitement and so much more. Joseph Campbell said "follow your bliss" but, I say "follow your heart". When I use the word "bliss" I get myself too wrapped up in it. There is no ego, competition, or fear in my heart.

When I am on the path to my dreams, it all falls into place. I can do no wrong. God's hand guides my way. I can feel my heart beat, my face is flush and all smiles. There is a magic, a glow, to someone living their dreams. You can see it. You can also see the folks that are worn down by the rules of their world. There is no room for rainbows or butterflies. It's all been beaten out of them and even their complexion is dull.

My favorite line from a "course in Miracles" is "God's wish for you is perfect happiness". God put our desires into us so that we could expand them in his glory. God is not punishing or vengeful or impressed by my martyrdom. He gave me possibilities and expects me to take risks and explore and truly live this life.

When I die, I don't want it to be with all of my dreams tightly knit into my heart. I will be able to say that I lived this life and it was a life well lived.

Being Good

My stepkid had a hard time in school. He was kicked out of first grade when he stabbed a kid with a pencil out of anger. Three days later he was mine and it became my mission to help him. He had a lot of issues with anger and I think he was abused by his mom but, I think I abused him, too - at least I wish I could have ignored his behavior and loved him more.

I knew he was a smart kid and I often thought his IQ was higher than the "average" which explains why he was bored in school. Our school system is set up to teach at an "average" level - which really means that if you are one of the kids right in the middle of the bell curve then you are getting taught how you need to be taught and everyone else is on their own. The other thing school teaches us is how to conform. On a personal level the teacher cares about each individual kid but in a practical sense, she can't, she has to keep 40 kids on task and "under control". What the kids really learn is to conform. Forget what your gifts and dreams are. Become plain vanilla so the class as a whole can continue. If you conform your teacher loves you and your parents don't have to go to parent teacher conferences and you're not grounded.

Take this the next step into adulthood. It doesn't matter what your gifts are, what you really excel at, or what makes you happy. We get married, we get into debt with the wedding, then we work really hard to pay that off before the kids come. Then we work even harder to send the kids to the right preschool and homework and chauffering kids around and white lies, and soccer practice and more kids and college and suddenly the house is empty and you're 50.

Do you ever wonder who that 5 year old, full of energy and promise, was? Can you remember? Did she dream of SUVs and juggling faster and faster to keep the job she hates?

I try to be good so people will love me but who was that person that everyone loved?

Love and Control

Love was a power struggle. I picked men that needed me and that I could help or fix. That's when god sent me Rebel. For 7 years I have been practicing unconditional love and an open heart. Have I learned enough to be able to love a man unconditionally? Is my confession of love just another manipulation?

I do like certainty. I am a know it all and think I know how things are supposed to turn out. Then I push hard in that direction. Thing is, my life has never matched the picture. Some days, I still want that picture. I want the perfect little house and the perfect little kids and the adoring husband. It’s a funny picture because I don’t know any people like that. The people I know have their own stories and their own struggles.

I was thinking about faith on my run this morning. I have been running with a group of runners for the last few months. I don't know anyone and I don't know the routes but, I show up and tag along. I am not a fast runner so I am often running along these pretty streets all by myself. Time and again, just when I am wondering where the heck I am, I hear voices or footsteps behind me. Someone shows up and shows me the way. This morning I realized that my program really does work because as a kid, I had lost faith in the goodness of the world. Today, Faith is running in unfamiliar neighborhoods, with unfamiliar people, in the dark and knowing that I am blessed. Somehow, someone always shows up and shows me the way to go. Somehow, I always end up back at the car with my endorphins humming. Every time.

Kinda how my life is today. I am in unfamiliar neighborhoods, with unfamiliar people, running in the dark and instead of being terrified and trying to control it, I am enjoying the run.

What do you see in the mirror?

I was thinking about a conflict I am having with a friend when I realized that he holds on to his pain because it makes him feel significant.

We all need to feel important and that can be achieved by having a significant accomplishment or by having a significant problem.

I then started to think about who else I know that does this. In this process I identified another friend that he does the same thing. He has significant pain in his relationship. And it causes deep pain for him. And he holds on to it. He wears it like a medal.

That's two friends that exhibit the same behavior but what about me? Have there been times that I did that? No, I thought "I don't do that" then I realized I DO! Crap!

I am so special because my mom was murdered.
My victim-hood, my martyrdom, my pain makes me significant. Most people can't beat the kind of pain I've had. I've had SIGNIFICANT pain! I held it so tight that I WAS that pain.

Today I don't have to punish myself by holding on to so much pain. I choose to release it.

Beginning with Awareness. Defining the problem. Realizing what it is, what it was and the meaning I gave it. I was the victim of domestic violence. I was the victim with a capital V.

Then moving toward Acceptance. Stating the problem but not OVER stating it. It was just an event that really had nothing to do with me. It was about my parents power struggle...or relationship...or expectations...or dashed dreams. I was an innocent bystander.

Finally, Action. Taking the steps to re-define my identity. I no longer wanted to be poor Rebekah. Rebekah the victim, the martyr. That pain I wore like a cloak, forever hiding the bright shining person behind it. I journaled, I prayed, I meditated and I released it all. My father's selfish action no longer defines me. I hold the pen that defines me.

It's a constant process but I have had moments where I drop that cloak of pain and show the beauty beneath. I get attention and affection in empowering ways today. The need for pity has been lifted.

I am Blessed.

There are some that choose to hold on to the pain. To wallow in it. As if the smell would attract what they want.

I used to think that if I was pathetic enough then someone would come and rescue me. My knight was just waiting for the perfect time. If I only knew how to raise the trumpet and call for him.

Trouble was, god calls that 'doing the footwork'. Smelling the shit was not enough. I had to stop looking to others and instead lift my own feet to look at what was stuck to them. I hadn't done the work of looking my defects straight in the eyes and calling them me. I hadn't mustered the courage to admit that I wasn't perfect but was in fact human. I have made mistakes but those mistakes aren't me.

Today I don't have to be pathetic to be noticed. In fact, I don't have any room for the kind of people that are attracted to pathetic. Today I am finding that it takes just as much courage to show my beauty. I am finding that the people that are attracted to beauty and strength are much more fun to be around.

Today when I look around at my friends I am overcome by how amazing they are. I am humbled to think that these wonderful, strong, beautiful, sexy, vibrant people have become my mirror.

Lay Your Armour Down

My friend, David, first said this to me a few years ago. It was the first time that I realized that I was wearing armour.

Then I started thinking about the first few years of my life, my Dad was in the Air Force and stationed in Pakistan. I was just a little girl but, in a lot of ways I was the man of the house. Then my father came home from the military and my brother was born and the fighting began. I had to protect my mom from my dad. I was still the man of the house. Then my parents got divorced and we stayed with my dad and I competed to be the man of the house - just like my mom had competed with my dad. It was all competition and "better than" and judgment. I became a good jouster and it was exhausting.

It was the only game I knew so I played it in my relationships. For years, I competed until I was the man of the house. There can be only one man so, the relationships broke apart. I liked to blame it on them but, it takes two. In everything, it takes two.

Today, I am tired. I am a great jouster and I know I can "win" but, today, winning is futile. It does not give me what I want. It does not allow me to be the woman that has been hiding inside this armour all these years. Today, I choose to do it differently. Today I can be vulnerable and needy and not be weak. Today I can lay my armour down because, the armies have gone home. The war is over.

Today I can sit in my back yard and listen to the squirrels chirp and watch the geese fly over, as they honk their presence, and I can rest. I can show my fears to my friends and know that they won't attack. Today I can use my strength to show my true self, my soft underbelly, my Achilles heel and know that the people around me today are not the enemy, they are friends, they are sent by God, and they are not impressed with the armour but love what is beneath.