I Am Not What Happened To Me.

Sometimes the past should be abandoned, yes. Life is a journey, and you can’t carry everything with you. Only the usable baggage.” 

~Ha Jin

You’ve probably heard of the fear of missing out but what about the fear of letting go?

Like most everyone you know, I've got some pretty nasty and painful history. Every now and then, some of the residual effects come to my surface, and I have to deal with them directly.  They cause me to act defensively, and usually toward those who I love and who know me the best. As I have struggled with my desire to cling to bad memories and self-defeating behaviors, it has dawned on me that I sometimes I am afraid to let go because defensiveness is a part of my identity.

The problem wasn’t that I had baggage. Everyone has baggage. It becomes a problem when it starts to define you.

But I am not what happened to me. Still, I didn’t know who I would be without some of my past pains. At that point, it hit me: I had to dig deep, discover the person I wanted to be, and then act on it. I had to choose who I wanted to become.

We might be holding on to the past because it seems too important to jettison.

What are some things from your past that weigh you down? Can you take time this week to write them out? Grab a notebook or an iPad and just let the words flow. Don't judge yourself or overthink it. The ones that come harder are most likely the ones you are worried about having to let go of.

There are infinite possibilities for each of us, baggage notwithstanding. 

Everyone has pain. It’s part of what makes us who we are. What defines us, however, is how we handle it.

We all wear the things we’ve survived with some victory, but the real victory is in the choice to transcend them. 

Cheers.

Can You Be Too Hospitable and Supportive?

“We cripple people who are capable of walking because we choose to carry them.”

 ~Christie Williams

Years ago, I had a dear friend who needed a lot of support for various reasons. 

She was working hard to find her way out of a dark period. She had suffered traumas and tragedies and a lot of things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Her life really did resemble a roller coaster ride. It was heartbreaking to watch her struggle, exciting when things would be on the upswing, and upsetting again when things would spiral downhill.

I am someone who knows and appreciates how important it is to have supportive people around you, offering love and kindness, especially during times of struggle. The support was mostly phone calls, but often it meant dropping what I was doing and driving to meet her to make sure she was okay. There were talks, tears, and through that, hard truths were often revealed.

It wasn’t all dreary. There were sunny times too. Lot’s of French Fries and Ice Cream eaten.

What I got in return wasn’t the same type of support. This person was not the person I would turn to in a crisis, however minor or major. She just couldn’t handle it. But in turn, this friend showed me gratitude and genuine love.

I never thought much about the dynamics of the relationship until I was talking with a good friend who had a tendency always to be the one who made everyone else feel better. Even at her own expense. As she shared how she was afraid of allowing a potential one-way relationship to take off, a found myself saying, “NO! Stop. You don’t always have to be the one who is supportive.”

Do we have an obligation to do our best to the people we care about? Well, yes, to an extent.

Because the reality is, we can be too supportive, and in turn, keeping a person from discovering an important truth of some kind. The truth that they are a good friend, but not an anchor friend. The truth that they are out of control in their lives and you can’t guide them forever. The truth that they are controlling your life instead of controlling theirs.

Because the thing was this: in being so busy with always checking in on them, you forget to check in with yourself.

It may cause a crack in the relationship. It might lead to a massive fault line disruption.

If we are not respecting our time, feelings, and energy, no one else will either.

Cheers.

Open Wound or Ugly Scar: The Choice is Yours.

"The real healing begins when you decide to chose an ugly scar over an open wound."

#joyous perspective

I'm what most people would call 'accident prone'.

I have a tendency to have some cut or bruise on my body at any given moment in time. When I was a kid, I was the one who always had a skinned knee or elbow. I remember my mom threatening to buy me knee and elbow pads to wear to school. Funny, I got so accustomed to having these wounds that they became a focal point for me and turned into a nasty habit. I would sit in class or front of the television and pick at my scabbing wound. Eventually, you guessed it, it would begin to bleed out again, and I'd need a new bandaid. I was finally broken of the habit when I started noticing boys. I didn't want them to see this nasty evidence of my clumsiness.

But unfortunately, the nasty wounds would become an ugly scar sometimes.

My body still carried on it scars from severe falls or accidents from under the age of 10. I don't think they'll ever go away. And you know what? I'm okay with that because each one tells a story. A story that ends in a wound, sometimes even antibiotics, but it's closed up now and just a scar.

We've also got wounds that form unseen in our emotional and mental space, don't we?

Some of them were wielded upon us by people or life events we could not avoid. Others were completely self-induced and perpetuated. Once they are there, we can ignore them, even pick at them once scab forms and induce bleeding all over again. They can become infected, and the once non-physical wound can impact more than our psyche. It will spread to our body and make us ill. Just like teenager Joy, we will have to make the decision that this gaping wound is less desirable than even the ugliest scar. But no one can make us stop picking at it, especially if it obsesses us.

Only we can decide to choose to heal.

That living with a scar is better than any open wound.

Maybe it's time?

Cheers.

Perspective. Yes, it's that big of a deal.

"A Rose has thorns, or thorns have roses. You decide."

~#Joyousperspective

"I had to take you off my Social Media because you were just too optimistic."

I heard this from a really dear friend recently. I totally get their meaning. I often write something in a daily thought or blog and think, "Damn, that's syrupy." I'm sure people read some of what I write and roll their eyes. "Happy, happy joy joy..." Blech.  It's like I replied to my friend, "Yeah, most of the time I wake up feeling pretty good. But usually, about mid-day, I get really crabby. That's when I go back and read what I wrote in the morning. It helps me with my perspective.

If there's one thing that colors our lives and our responses, it's got to be perspective.

Perspective isn't just what you see, it's HOW you chose to see it. Yes, how you chose, not how it is. It is not just seeing the colors of the rainbow, but actually recognizing that you have to have a storm to get a rainbow. And just in case you find yourself wondering, the only reason I can write about 'joy' or a 'joyous perspective' is that I know what it means not to have it. I understand getting up filled with dread about the day ahead. I know what it is like to see the ugliness of the world and wonder how I will encourage those around me to never give up.

Yes,  it is one of the reasons I keep writing, even when I want to quit.

Because even if not one other person reads what I wrote, I will read it. I will have to reach in deep and convince myself that it is not just a bunch of malarky. I remind myself to open my eyes. And my mind. And my heart. 

And actually, see. 

And have a little faith.

Cheers.

Thanks for not killing me... I am stronger.

“That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.”

~Friedrich Nietzsche

Like many others, I go through some traditionally tough days every year.

Most of them are attached to one of the most devastating events of my life - the death of my son, Seth. In addition to the date that he died, I experience a profound sense of somberness around his birthday, and also on events where those who served are recognized, like Memorial Day and Veterans Day. His missing presence is also noticeable to me for every major holiday or significant family event. During these times, I'd say I'm rather like a person whose immunity is low. My skin is a little thinner, and my heart much softer. Tears are just right there at the brim of my eyes, ready to flow. Throughout the last nine years, I've gotten a little better at prepping, not in the sense of expecting or wanting to fall apart, but more like taking a bit more Vitamin C before I travel. I do what I can to build up my immunity because if there's one thing I've come to learn, it's this:

People will continue to live their lives, and you can't expect them to treat you with kid gloves.

I don't wear some sign that says, "My oldest son died on April 14th, so please give me some space." Even the most sensitive of humanity may have the occasion to come to me during these times looking for their need to be served and push a button or two. I get that. Believe me; I've been on the other side plenty of times. Those folks remind me that life goes on, and this event is not at the center of everyone's universe (and nor should it be mine if I intend to live a healthy life). Ah, but then there are those special few. Those who are completely aware of how challenging certain times can be for us but are so wrapped up in their agenda and desires that they discount the importance. They come at you with the same vengeance, regardless of the timing.

And the first few years it would happen to me, it did crush me.

It's easy to waste your precious time trying to figure out what would motivate someone to be cruel. Then more angst feeling guilty about your anger. It helps to remember that some people are just the victims of a condition that can only be cured by therapy. It's best just to choose forgiveness and opt to wish these people well and hope for their healing. Take note that avoiding their path is best for you, especially when you are susceptible to wounds. Perhaps learning this lesson is what has helped me to find a new kind of benefit of this interaction. It's the understated meaning of Nietzsche's quote above.

They didn't kill you, and they helped you to be stronger.

Taking up a shield of understanding vs. absorbing a blow adds a new kind of strength during these challenging times. Oddly, their behavior then makes us stronger. They become a part of an important reminder.

A reminder that you have survived one of the worst days of your life.

And now, you can do more than survive. 

Thrive.

Cheers. 

Memorial Day, From One Who Knows What It Really Means.

"Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."

~Samuel Clemmons (AKA, Mark Twain)

This is a picture of a young man who has the world by the tail. Who had achieved his dreams.

This is my son, Seth. This picture was taken just weeks before he boarded a plane to go to Germany and begin training for deployment to Iraq. A California boy who loved the water, the sunshine and chillin'. Proudly displaying his Tags. This blog is about why Memorial Day is important to me and others like me, and what I hope you remember to do this next weekend. And it's not to be sad or feel guilty about being happy.

One week from today in the United States, we'll all be doing something because of a holiday.

Monday, May 29. Memorial Day. Since 1971, it's been called an 'official' holiday here in the US. It's one of the few days that most companies close here in the land of consumers. So many of us will have the day to do with what we please. Perhaps you'll be sleeping in. You might have a delicious bbq planned. It's one of those days a lot of things are on Sale: Mattresses? I never get that correlation, but it's a big one. Gardens will be tended to, houses will be painted, and boats will be launched for perhaps the first day of the season. The more fashion sensitive and maybe older of us will bring out their white shoes. 

Yes, it's a day of revelry for many. But for some of us, it's a day when we will hear the song of 'Reveille.' A day we remember those we love who went off one day and didn't come back. Or perhaps they did, but they were never quite the same. 

I have one of those in my life. 

On Monday, I'll make the trek to Danville National Cemetery where I will join many others in remembering men and women like my son, SPC Seth A. Miller. That is where his body rests.  These people all answered a call. For some, it was the government knocking on their door and drafting them into service. It was either go, run, or be jailed. Some went because it was the best choice for them at that point in life. And then there were others, like Seth. Men and women who seemed to be born to be a part of the Military. They loved the way it made then a part of something bigger. Something that stirred that Patriotism that Twain talks about in my quote above. For all of these different kinds of soldiers, the aspect of War was probably not their hope and dream. It was a necessary evil and one that ultimately might have changed them forever. No matter if they died in service or long after.

Going to a cemetery to remember your child is never simple.

I'm painfully aware of many parents who carry the burden of visiting your child's grave. It's an act that cannot be explained by my simple attempts in words. But for me, there is something about going to visit Seth's grave in Danville that somehow removes a bit of the sting. You see, unlike countless other parents, I know without a doubt that my boy was doing exactly what he wanted to be doing the day he died. He was right were he wanted to be, and having the time of his life. He certainly had issues with the War, as most of those who serve do. But he wanted to be a part of ending it if at all possible. And that is the way Seth lived. He lived to end conflict, and usually by a show of his force. He lived a BIG life. And next Monday, while I am standing in the cemetery, I will remember not how and why Seth died, but rather, how and why HE LIVED. 

That's why I love that picture above vs. the many I have of him in uniform. Don't get me wrong, those also make me proud. But this one makes me happy. And that's why I want you to do something for me this next weekend.

Please, go and enjoy a beautiful day.

Sleep in. Eat an enormous calorie-laden breakfast followed by a feast around a BBQ with your favorite people, because no one could eat like my boy. If you enjoy beer, drink a large German one for my boy. Get in the pool, the lake, the ocean, the river - because he would be in one if he were here today. Go spend your hard earned money on something you need that you can get a helluva deal on because Lord knows Seth could spend money. And, if while you are doing these things, it comes to your mind, smile and be thankful for those who will be honored in Cemeteries across America today. And better yet, take a moment to thank a Veteran, and perhaps remember that they too carry the wounds of War and service. 

Let nothing stand in the way of your fun. 

Because Seth never did. 

And that fun and freedom don't come for free. 

Cheers. 

Unstuck Yourself: Grow something...

"A garden requires patient labor and attention. Plants do not grow merely to satisfy ambitions or to fulfill good intentions. They thrive because someone expended effort on them."

— Liberty Hyde Bailey

There's nothing like the thud one can feel as you drop back into life after vacation.

You try to prepare for a soft landing, but much like the jarring sensation you felt as the wheels touched down on the tarmac, you are reminded that you are human. And therefore, you must face the reality that you play, you pay...

So, after a view of my over 100 emails and load of catch up, I felt a little stuck.

Stuck like I was the first time a cousin tricked me into stepping in a deep puddle of wet cow manure. I could not seem to lift my feet to get going in any direction. Not just overwhelmed, but apathetic too. Sigh. How in the world does one get out of this situation?

How about taking off your shoes and stepping into some new ones?

I did it, and you can too, with a simple act of stepping out of those weighed down pumps. Leave them in the sludge and go find your favorite footwear for doing what you love most. What is it you think about doing when you daydream? What is on your feet while you're doing it? It might be hiking boots, or perhaps running shoes or flip flops. For me, it's my pair of gardening clogs. It's like the magic of Dorothy putting on those ruby slippers.  You're whisked away back to where you belong.

You get back to your roots, what inspires you and grows you.

And suddenly, there's no place like home.

Your head gets cleared and work gets done.

Go grow something.

Cheers.