The Flip Side

I don't really know how to start this entry. It's not really like me to get too serious with this whole blogging thing. I just want to find some way to express how 9/11, the explosion in San Bruno, and all of the other tragic world events haven't escaped me during my quest for the perfect jeans, or any other shallow, humorous or flip comments, posts, and face booking I may have engaged in.

We have our own 9/11 Hero in Pleasanton. His name was Tom Burnett and he was on flight 93. We have a street named for him, the corner of which has recently transformed into a memorial with flags, balloons and signs. I've driven by it daily this past weekend and have thought often of him and his family.

Humor is how I cope. Trying to look on the bright side of things is how I survive. Otherwise I'd be a mess. I'm not a naturally happy and up-beat person, at least I wasn't before I kept practicing! My default setting is actually "melancholy". It takes effort and near constant introspection to keep myself aware of how truly lucky and happy I am. I meditate on the absolute certainty of our mortality (sounds morose, I know, but it's really not. It's the truth and it's good for perspective). Then I stand up and get on with life, which is definitely too short to be taken for granted. I don't dwell on all that is wrong in the world. But I have a huge amount of respect and gratitude for people who do, and who make it their sole purpose in life to fight the injustices in the world. Activists, my hat is off to you. Thank you for doing what I could never be strong enough to do. Words cannot express.

I've done a lot of things wrong in my life and there are a lot of things wrong in this world. But I've done a few things right and there sure is a lot of beauty and love in the world as well. I choose to celebrate and focus on the good stuff and remember them every day. Some days I have to focus harder than others, and that is when I may actually appear to be most flip.

We all die. I'm just trying not to. Right now. Meaning, I've taken control of my health (more or less, and as much as I can, it's all a crap shoot anyway, right?). I'm five years cigarette free and I've lost nearly half of the 30 pounds I gained since quitting. I'm active, eat healthy (most of the time) and I love it. Yes, I love it enough to spend way too much on a pair of jeans and post a picture of my ass on face book! : ) I love it enough to brag about how many miles I'm running or how many mountains I'm climbing. We can never know what the future holds, but right now I have my health and I'm on my way back to my old self. I'm celebrating.

I've been lucky in love. I've never had a truly bad or painful break up. Well, there was my divorce which was probably the worst break up I've ever experienced, but it was my choice. Maybe I'm too pragmatic to believe that when a relationship ends, so should my happiness. That never made sense to me anyway. They shouldn't be inexorably tied to each other. Maybe my turn will come one day. I don't know. Maybe it just doesn't happen if you're not afraid of it happening.

I have no problem falling in love. I've done it a handful of times and I'm no worse for the wear. I've usually ended relationships with gratitude for what it was, while it was. That doesn't mean it never hurt when they ended, I just chose to view the hurt as a "temporarily" painful reminder of the wonderfully human experience of loving someone. Then it becomes my responsibility to dig myself back out to happiness once again. Love, lose, hurt, dig, repeat. It's all part of the human condition, and how lucky are we that we have the ability to do it!

The death of a loved one lands a harder blow, but my dad told me something after we lost my oldest sister. He said "When someone dies, it's ok to be sad. But just for a little while. After that you're just feeling sorry for yourself and the person who is gone wouldn't want that. They want us to be happy." Those were simple words spoken to a sad 13 year old girl by a grieving father. We usually don't listen to our parents much when we're that age, but I clung to and absorbed those words, internalized them and spoke them often to myself. They helped me more than he could ever know. At that time, and also a few years later when he died, and throughout my life. That was a gift he gave me that I am forever grateful for. A few simple words.

I married the most incredible man I've ever met. I don't believe in soul mates. But.....well, maybe I do now. I love the way we love each other.

I have the kind of 11 year old son who still asks me if he can have a cookie instead of just going in to the kitchen and eating whatever he feels like. That's small, but it's huge to me. He's smart, funny, and kind. He may grow up to be a Scientist, or he may be a Roofer like his dad. I don't care what he does as long as he keeps his sense of humor and curiosity. As long as he stays kind and untroubled. His constant singing can sometimes get to me, but I'd rather have a kid who sings joyfully (and loudly) than one who doesn't.

I love my mom, she's an amazing role model who sometimes worries that she wasn't. Trust me mom, you were. You still are. There is a quiet, subtle way about her mothering that I have always admired. It's hard to put it into words, but it makes me want to raise my own child with the same independence and strength that I feel her mothering gave me. I was allowed to be my own person. I wasn't hovered over, or lectured to. Much. She wasn't full of hugs and kisses all the time, but I never for one second felt I wasn't loved (except the one time I ran aways for 10 minutes. She just didn't understand how badly I needed a pony!). Now that I'm older, I'm more grateful than ever that she loved me and parented me the way she did. It was just right.

I have the best brother and sister in the world. They are more than siblings, they are friends and role models. I am so proud of both of them. They married amazing people who appreciate all of their amazing qualities - I'm grateful for that.

I had another sister who died way too young but is still with me every single day. She would be 48 this year. As I approach the age that she would have been, had she lived, I often wonder what it would be like if she were still here. How many other nieces and nephews I might have, what wonderful things she would be doing with her life, because they would have been wonderful. She was a natural "caregiver" and had compassion in spades, even at her young age. I remember one night when I was little, I was scared and asked if I could sleep in her bed. She held me in her arms that night and asked if I felt better. She holds me still. Her death taught me to love without fear. WHY be afraid? There is loss, and there is pain in loss, but it's no less painful if you hold yourself back. You just won't get to savor the fully ripened fruit of love until it's too late. She is another reason I choose to look at the positive things in life. Many people don't get the opportunity.

So I'm grateful, and I'm happy. But it's not like it just comes naturally all the time. I like to take things lightly when and where I can.

Things were weighing a bit heavily with all of the tragic events and anniversaries of tragic events in the news. I feel better now. I'm not going to post this link on Facebook like I usually do because I secretly hope no one reads it. It's truly one of those "dear diary" entries. But that's another thing to celebrate - I do not, nor have I ever, really cared to edit myself. I try not to hurt other people with what I say. Sadly, I'm sure I could work on that. But as far as what anyone else thinks of me...I'm not sure it really matters. Can you tell me why it would? If I can't speak my own truth and be truly myself, I would rather not speak at all.

So I end this little entry with love and peace to all. Be happy, be thankful, celebrate. And let's not mention this post again. : )