Week Twelve - WooHoo for Hugo Cabaret! A little boy with the purpose to repair broken dreams and heal damaged hearts!

One night this week I found myself in a near empty movie theatre munching on my low-fat Twizzlers.  The movie Hugo was playing and I didn’t want to miss it this time around.  Hugo is just one of those movies that must be seen on the big screen.  It’s a bold, daring, and colorful extravaganza, and seeing it in Real 3D technology was an interactive adventure.  From the beginning the screen reaches out and pulls you into the fast-paced journey of the life of a little orphan boy who lives inside the walls of a train station in Paris.  A wise little boy, his mission is to find the missing piece of a little robot that will bring it to life again.  He has no idea that finding this part will be the key to finding not only his purpose, but others as well.   

I felt compelled to go see it. I enjoyed the visual treats which was my main reason for seeing the movie.  I had no idea, the messages would so touch a chord inside I thought would never be plucked again.  I’m feeling raw, and very vulnerable lately.  Whether it’s just a condition of being human, and people just don’t talk about it, I don’t know. I’m an open book and I think that’s a good thing for me as well as others.   The weather doesn’t remain the same day after day either, and if something as powerful as nature is so mercurial, why wouldn’t my emotions. I am a patient person, perhaps to a fault. I’ve been tenacious.  I’ve done the internal work.  I’ve learned a lot.  In my mind, it’s time.  It’s time for the big reveal.  I’ve taken some huge risks in putting myself out there in many ways, opened myself up to rejection knowing I was strong enough to handle it now. Instead, here I am  questioning everything I worked so hard to believe in again.  What was my purpose now?  Was I wrong?   

 Hugo Cabret: Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do... Maybe it's the same with people. If you lose your purpose... it's like you're broken.

And in the privacy of a very quiet and deserted theatre - my tears dripped on my Twizzlers. 

This past month or so, I’ve been faking it.  I’ve been questioning my purpose, a lot.  I feel like I don’t know anymore now, than I did a few years ago.  I feel broken.   A few little tests and triggers have been tossed my way recently.  Would I react differently than I have in the past, setting into motion a different outcome, better, brighter, more honorable, specifically to me?  Instead, I haven’t reacted at all, good or bad, which I suppose is a semi- positive thing. When in doubt, do nothing.... for a little while anyway, until you can do what needs done with honor and kindness.   But, I have ignored these bits of my past that started nipping away at my soul again,  put the cotton in my ears, humming away, “I can’t hear you.” Mostly because I was afraid....again. If I spoke up, if I stood my ground, if I walked away, what would I lose, again..... I think  I set the past up in flames without really extracting the lesson first.  There is a line in the movie where  the old man’s wife, Mama Jeanne, says to him, “Georges, you have tried to forget the past for so long, but it has caused you nothing but unhappiness.  Maybe it’s time you tried to remember.”  Maybe it’s time I remembered being broken just long enough to not allow others, or my self-sabotaging demon, permission to set the sledge hammer to my future again.  We don’t have to dwell in it, but I now know I have to remember it in order to change it.  I also know if I don’t acknowledge the past somewhat, old worn out tapes WILL hypnotize me into believing some blatant, untruths.  When that happens, we become broken, again.  I don’t want to be broken. I have a clearly defined purpose.  No matter how many obstacles get tossed at me, like Hugo, I am committed to finding my personal heart shaped key that will bring it to life. 

A profound WOO-HOO this week and a good one to remember, triggered by a fantasy movie.   Be authentic....we do have to remember the past.  Just  don’t live there.  To deny it just opens up the door for history to repeat itself and falsely define your purpose for you.  Stand strong and tall, and like Hugo Cabaret, don’t give up no matter how much the world tries to hold you back. Small, frightened, insecure people will do that.  Don’t let them.   Don’t quit before the arrival of the heart-shaped key. 

Hugo Cabret: Right after my father died, I would come up here a lot. I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. And, that means you have to be here for some reason too.

WOO-HOO - There are no accidents, we are all here for a reason! 

Week Eleven WooHoo - Further down Abbey Road.... Here comes the sun! ......Oh, it was there all along.... WooHoo!

Money, money, money, money.... Money!

Boy, oh, boy.  This week called forth a few of the good old days!    The week started out with a tattered memo from 1996, hidden inside a stack of old pictures my mother-in-law was sorting through and unloading.  She unloaded them into my memorabilia pile. Why she had it, or that it was even around after all these years, is beyond me.   At first I thought it was some kind of cruel joke rained down on me by my guardian devil.  I could see the vengeful little guy’s eyes sparkling in evil delight as he set before me a vision of the money bags of days gone by, slashed to ribbons...coins scattered along the path of way back then.  The memo announced glad tidings of great joy!  It read:  Due to my accomplishments in areas of teamwork, successful completion of goals and projects, and attitude, I would be receiving a yearly bonus. This might not seem like a noteworthy tidbit of information, except the bonus alone exceeded the wages I received in  2011.  That was comprised predominately of unemployment with a little part-time job in the mix.  Uh, oh... I  feel myself slipping into my “fed up” American mode.... Despite what certain congressional leaders think, (they shall remain unnamed because being kind and Zen is more important to me than jumping on my bandwagon with specific names and incidents),  most folks find it not only impossible to live on unemployment, they also don’t particularly savor the stress and feelings of failure, depression and overwhelming fear that accompany the loss of job and income.  Particularly when you are the sole income.  Simply by virtue of receiving unemployment, reflects that you DID work and pay into it, and should receive it, guilt free.   It’s like any other kind of insurance, you don’t really want see your house get blown to smithereens or receive a cancer diagnosis, either, but if it happens, you get some degree of help, because you have contributed to the pool.   I’m not a bleeding heart, but I do wonder who cut the hearts out of many of those Greedy Bastards (a plug for Dylan Ratigan’s book here) hanging out in our nation’s capital.  Yeah, greed is an issue, but narcissism seems to be a bigger one; lack of empathy, sense of entitlement, and selfishness must be the traits that magnetically draw so many political contenders these days. 

Ouch.  I digress.....

I remember so clearly, when I got that bonus 15 years ago.  It was a major WooHoo for myself and my husband.  Two phenomenal vacations in one year followed, as well as a  Merry Christmas for all!  Mr. Congressman... I ask you.... Why wouldn’t I want to return to that kind of prosperity as opposed to sitting on my ass collecting your generous handout of $180 a week?  I wanted an opportunity and a job, not your financial support. 

 For a minuscule amount of time, I played in the mud of those ugly thoughts.  Comparing my life today versus my life in 1996.  I played it all the way out though, and discovered a boat load of gratitude.   Along with that rather substantial money bag, came 70 hour work weeks, sleepless nights, daily internal battles between doing the next right thing, or prostrating myself at the foot of the bottom line, at the expense of hardworking others.  Many of my acquired responsibilities were so great, there was no room left on my overburdened shoulders for any sunshine to fall. My husband was dying and I was worrying about cutting our average customer call time by 25%?  Or, how many employees we could lay off by going to an automated tracking system? 

Rather than linger there, I switched to more creative, loving, right brain thoughts and relived the two trips that evolved as a result of those funds, pre- cancer.  I recaptured the adventure, and again felt the pure joy in spending quality time with someone you love.  The dollars afforded that opportunity, then.  The Princess treatment the Christmas before diagnosis was pretty phenomenal  too.  I was showered with diamond tennis bracelet, Coach purse, silk lingerie, and expensive perfume, one of his last shopping trips.  It was nice to remember that, especially the softness in his eyes at being able to give that pleasure.  His intent was to make it memorable.  It was.  That’s what I chose to let my mind linger on when my financial abundance of days gone by tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey, look at this!”  Thank you to my guardian angel for playing those tapes louder than the ones whining the sad old country and western tune. 

Paul is dead.... Dead is Paul..

Another great walk down the lane was a Friday concert, a tribute band playing the Beatle’s Abbey Road.  As I sat in the audience swaying to Octopus’ Garden, and banging out my best Ringo Starr impression,  I was reminded about all of the hullabaloo about this album in my teenage years.  Rumor had it, Paul McCartney was dead.  Killed in a car crash, and the band was keeping it a secret.  Shhhhhhhhh...... But, embedded in the words of the songs... if played, very slowly, (or backwards), was this cryptic message, “Paul is dead.”  Another clue, was Paul’s barefoot status as he crossed the road with the other band members.  Dead people are buried barefooted in England.  Of course, Ringo was dressed like an undertaker, George was the grave-digger, and John, a sort of evangelical minister.  My friends and I just ate up this hype and rumor and took note of every little piece of evidence that lent credibility to Paul’s unfortunate demise.  We laughed about it at the concert Friday.  When I came home, I rediscovered a picture from those teenage years of my life.  That time in my life was also fraught with trauma, drama and some really negative family dynamics.  There weren’t a lot of good memories I wanted to recall.  My, oh, my twice in one week,  I got to choose whether or not to play,  find the gratitude.  I switched on Abbey Road in my head.  Who was that  hippie wanna-be in that picture with the head of hair, flowy peasant skirts, and barefooted.  Who was the guy who looked like one no parent wants their child to bring home?   I chuckled at the picture and the memories it too evoked. I made a lousy hippie.  I didn’t even like the guy.   I was way too clean, orderly, and fashion conscious.  Never really did like the look of those peasant skirts, and dirty bare feet, well, way too prissy to endure those any longer than this photo-op image.   But, it was fun (and cool)  to "act" the hippie; be young and fully alive, expressing opinions and independence and breaking away from establishment (my parents), investigating the world around me and the politics of my day.  I felt a part of changing history, unlike any other generation.  That’s the memories I choose.  

How do these two unrelated incidents relate to my woo-hoo for the week? 

Our lives are constantly changing.  Sometimes we perceive the changes to be positive, and others, negative.  Yet, contained in all of life's moments is the opportunity to see the good.  Life is just a giant classroom. Every lesson, no matter what has some recess thrown in to remind us life is meant to be lived joyfully as well.   It's up to us, to find the recess in all of those milestones in our lives.  It makes it easier to understand what the lesson was and helps us to move onto the next grade level.  

Does the phone date me?  Feet only a
bathtub could love! 

Oh, I failed to mention, we selected the “cheap seats”.  The last two rows of the balcony, two hours before the show, $10. Those days of big bonuses have dried up for me, at least for now.   And, after all,  those were the best seats in the house in my mind!   I could have even taken my shoes off and gone barefoot, like Paul.  It made it easier too for me to showcase my very best Ringo impression,  pounding out the beat on the empty seats in front of me. 

Here's to letting our thoughts drift to recess... always!   WOOHOO! 

Week Ten....Adieu to Onling Dating! Woohoo!

Well, I lasted a little over two weeks!  Nothing much changes in the world of online hook-ups.  For the past 7 years, I have be-bopped on and off several dating sites.  Part of the attraction was curiosity, the other part was clearly more self-serving.  I was looking for someone to make me feel better.  You know, some random guy to reinforce that I was still attractive, intelligent, fun, and desirable;  all of the things I should have already known about myself, but forgot.  When we let others write our bio and tell us who we are, we can lose our way.   I had fun with it in its newness the first time around and built quite a resume of interesting and rather cool dates and stories.  My own personal experiences went far beyond the hilarity of the “Must Love Dogs” book so popular in 2005-06 when I was in the heat of my dating addiction.  Several long term relationships evolved from the online connections, highly dysfunctional, but looking back, destined to happen.  We attract what we need to learn about ourselves. I learned some powerful things.  

 It occurred to me at the end of the last heartbreak a few years ago, a connection formed online, there just might be a common denominator here.  If I was cruising the profiles looking for someone to help me escape, stroke my rather delicate ego, and heal my own lack, might not the dudes I was seeking be doing the same thing? 

There were the married ones, subversively posing as single men to inject a little excitement in their half-dead lives.  Those made up at least a quarter of the profiles.  I’ve since learned that women play that game too.  

Then there was the newly divorced who hadn’t had random sex in 25-30 years, building a brothel of female profiles to call on every night of the week.  You knew you bumped into one when you’d see their online activity button lit up like a NYC skyline 24/7....  Another dead giveaway... they’re on the site for YEARS at a time.  They write into their profiles,  “looking for women from age 20-60.”    You had to give them credit for their overabundance of confidence.  The reality they don’t really look like a 20 year old (or even 40 year old) dream date, eludes them. They see pecs in the mirror, I see man boobs.  They see Telly Savalas.  I see Yoda.  I guess that’s not all bad.  Women could use a dose of this self-confidence.  As a general rule, we ladies all seem so critical of our appearance. 

And then, of course, pathetically..... There's the heartbroken, or newly widowed, lonely and needy, convinced that if someone new just came into their life, the grief would leave. That was me.......then.  

This time around,  I consider myself a nice human being with boundaries and good intentions.  Not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings, I found it difficult to just ignore requests for communication that were simply ludicrous. What goes around comes around, and there’s never an excuse to be unkind.  But, seriously, to the twenty-something guy, I’m flattered but I would always be waiting for the cops to bust down the door and arrest me for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. The nice man holding up  the deer antlers, please know the extent of my hunting expertise is limited to looking for my car keys.  While the guy holding his little doggie up for everyone to see was endearing, I could easily see man’s best friend would always be his best friend.  Seriously, did anyone read what I enjoyed, my hobbies, and taste?  I just couldn’t drum up the heartless bitch anymore and respond with my signature sarcasm of days gone by.   

What I found in one short week was essentially I had grown up. What was fun, was in the past, and that was mostly because it was new.  You can’t go back.   Now a little older and wiser, the game had become really unattractive, mind-numbing, tedious, and moderately immature.  Self-acceptance, awareness and confidence soaring, I discovered I just didn’t want to be winking back and forth to some random man’s picture, posting lame comments, or zoning out to all that was waiting offline to be experienced. I was THE WORST at online dating this time around.  Maybe I didn’t want it that bad.  Or, maybe even more, I didn’t NEED it that bad.  When I canceled my membership, the website informed me we must “work it” to find our perfect match and clearly, they didn’t think I did. I disagree.  I don’t think we ever have to “work at” finding our perfect match. Those fulfilling and meaningful connections generally come as serendipitous encounters while we are out and about living in the world. 

I have a very full life.  I am content with myself most days. I have lots of love, all around me.  I also now recognize, if I’m not happy single, I won’t be happy “taken” either.  Happiness comes from within, not from another human being.  That’s called codependency.

So, WooHoo to further progress in coming even closer to a real appreciation for my life just as it's evolving.   It’s a journey.  I don't want to go back.  I want to move forward.  I’d rather be a participant than a spectator constantly looking and watching from behind the safety of a computer screen! I'm thinking being the WORST at online dating might just be a compliment!  WOOHOO! 

Week Nine - If a door opens, walk through it! WooHoo to saying Yes to almost everything!

This past week flew by. I was busy every day.  It was nicely reminiscent of my old life a few years ago, before the bottom dropped out of my career, heart, bank account, social life, spirit, and self-esteem.   I’ve heard those stories before about losing it all in order to find it all. I can relate.  In retrospect, everything that came grinding to a halt, was a part of the plan. This new “laissez faire” state I’ve found myself in, is part of an even bigger plan.  Mostly Zen RSM, my new nickname, seems a good description of the me I see in the mirror these days.  Que Sera Sera.... My mom used to sing that to me as a child.  I feel it now.  It must be apparent to others too.  I had dinner and a movie with a couple of girlfriends that I haven’t seen since Christmas.  Later, got an email from one, and she said, “You look great, happy and content.”  I loved hearing it, but find that so amusing. None of that stuff I thought would  turn things around for me, has changed;   those things I was convinced needed to happen, and THEN, I would be genuinely happy... Nothing essentially is different...no new job, no big dreams realized, no new home, no new city, no new dude.  So, what’s changed?  Me!   I have this unwavering faith, that all is evolving as it should and I need to just keep my stickie little mitts off of the Universe; and harder yet, keep my head wiped clean of projections and outcomes.  Even (especially) on those days when fear has tried to break in again.  Somehow, I have managed to still hear God’s voice over the din of those nasty doubts and insecurities, negative naysayers, and hell bent hearts that want to leave me bitter, because they are. Instead I hear, “Just get on with it, one day at a time.  Work hard, play hard, let go of the rest.”  I’m not going to “fix” anything by sitting around worrying or pondering it.  My mental health is so much better when I just say YES as much as I possibly can to anything that shows up in my mailbox, in an email, on my phone, at my front door.  I get it....those things that are supposed to be ours will arrive when they're supposed to.  In the meantime, stop waiting in the meantime. 

That’s what I did....said yes... every night and day this past week. I spent an awesome marathon shopping session with my daughter, the Queen Bee of shopping, in the big city.  I shopped til I dropped, right along with her, courtesy of a gift card from Christmas.  Then we spontaneously contacted her friend to meet us for a late night dinner. What a surprise and a gift to enjoy time with both of these phenomenal young women!  I was unsure about going  because of my pocketbook. My dinner was paid for.  Last Sunday afternoon I enjoyed a play.  Now, I wasn’t initially going to go, because everyone I asked to go with me, was busy.  I went by myself and left with the business card of a like-minded theatre buff who asked me to call if I needed a theatre companion in the future!  A new friend!   Monday night brought a different, local Zumba class.  I wasn’t sure about attending, because I am already enrolled in one I like, out of town.   I went anyway, it was different. I made a complete idiot of myself.  My sexy arms looked like the 60’s version of “the pony or the swim” rather than the moves of a steamy salsa dancer.  I worked up a sweat, burned some calories and had fun. Tuesday’s dinner and movie left me laughing out loud for days.  The movie Wanderlust transported me back to my own experiences as a young hippie.  It felt absolutely wonderful to laugh that hard with my friends. A gift card to Cinemark from the holidays took care of that expense too.   Thursday brought an opportunity to meet a widow friend for dinner who'd had a few bad days.  I wasn’t sure about being gone another night.  I was tired.    She helped me more than I helped her.  I heard some gems I needed to hear as well, and my heart felt so grateful for knowing her. I felt rejuvenated. 

On Friday night, my oldest and youngest grandchildren spent the night with me. Middle sister was having a slumber party at their house, and they weren’t invited.  A sleep-over at Mimi’s was in order. That in itself is cause for celebration.... popcorn, a great family movie and cuddling on the couch. WooHoo! My oldest mentioned Davy Jones death.  I had to share with her I got a kiss on the cheek from the man. Wow!   I remember it vividly.  It was just a few years ago.  Not so much the kiss on the cheek, but that I would have missed out on the kiss if I hadn’t just said, “yes”.  I wasn’t going to go that night.  I recall feeling depressed over some random disappointment or other, and was planning on  staying home, playing the martyr.   Not only did I get the kiss on the cheek, I got a front row seat because someone’s spouse didn’t show up!    

No one builds a memorable life hiding behind the scenes, cloistered in a comfort zone.  Getting out and engaging with others, taking risks, are the beginning steps to big adventures.   

I’m not limiting myself anymore. I figure I’ve suffered enough losses, rejections, uncertainties, and started over so many times.  As Kelly Clarkson sings, “What doesn’t kill ya makes you stronger.....”  I’m still alive.  FREEDOM is my word of the year, so what do I have to loose?   The question really should be, what do I have to gain?  Everything.  

WooHoo to just saying YES!  God will take care of those pesky details.  

P.S.  Note to me:  Being stuck in the white elephant is NOT an excuse either.  It’s just a house. There is a reason why I am still here.  I'm here until I am not supposed to be any longer.....maybe until I truly learn that living arrangements CAN'T be an excuse either!