This House Believes

For as long as I can remember, my mother had a sign that hung all year long, on our fireplace I think, that said, “This House Believes.”  The sign was for Christmas and Santa obviously, but it never got taken down…I do not really recall when my Mom started leaving “Christmas” decorations out all year but it eventually happened and they just became like all of the other decorations, old reliables…things that didn’t change with her mood…which could be loons, (yes the water fowl,) to country, to modern country, to penguins…you get the idea…there was a theme that changed with her whimsical moods…but one thing never did change…and that was the “This House Believes” sign.

The first Christmas my parents were separated was probably one of the worst ones of my life.  And I believed in nothing.  And I mean nothing.  My heart was breaking for both of them, all of us.  Faith Hill’s song, “Where are you Christmas,” (yes the one from The Grinch) played on an endless loop in my head.  Separate Christmas’ at our age?  This is nuts!  This house believes in crap.  And then, just when I thought it could not get worse, it got so much worse.  Our first Christmas without our father alive.  That Christmas took the cake.  I stopped believing in a lot of things.

There is something that you need to understand about a Cubs fan.  They never stop believing.  And they love the underdog.  And they fight for the little guy.  And they stand up to bullies, because Cub fans have been bullied their whole lives.  Lovable losers just like their team.  Sentimental favorites if for no other reason, they are so pathetic you have to feel sorry for them.  If you stand there and try to tell me differently, I will tell you to stop talking because all of the above is true.  I know of no other sports team in the world with such devoted fans.  Who in their right mind enjoys constantly losing and losing over and over and over and over?  Cubs fans do…because guess what, there was/is always next year.  WE BELIEVED.

First and foremost, whatever the outcome of the 2016 World Series, when the Chicago Cubs earned their right to play in this game, I witnessed something that has never happened as long as I have been alive, and almost that many years before that.  I am about to get candid here if you didn’t already expect that from me.  Here goes…

·        Shut up.  Honest to God shut the Hell up if you are not cheering for the Chicago Cubs tonight, or any night.  Honestly, no one who is cheering for them gives a shit if you are not.  And we do not need you to cheer for them, for us to enjoy the game.  If you don’t want to cheer for your division don’t, but no one cares and I mean no one.  Unless you are a Cleveland Indians fan, and honestly, I don’t know any, but then you should be cheering for them.

·        I don’t give a flying FRICK how many rings you have.  I think they are gaudy and ridiculous.  And I have never measured a man by how many diamonds he has.  Bragging rights, yes, you have earned them.  You did not earn the privilege of shoving them down my throat.

·        Cubs fans will not burn the city of Chicago down as so many of you are hoping for.  They should however make it a state holiday if they do win.  Just saying.

·        History was made by them getting here.  Again, if History is not your thing, I don’t need to hear about it.  Maybe you should direct your focus on math or science, but I am going to sit in this moment in time for as long as I can.  (Preferably only 4 games and preferably the outcome will be favorable.)

·        Making fun of those of us who shed genuine heartfelt tears over this speaks volumes about you, not me.  I enjoy having a heart and showing it.  I live out loud.  Go back to your rocks and crawl back under them.

·        There are a lot of people I love and have loved for my whole life, who are St. Louis Cardinals fans.  Kudos.  I love anyone who BELIEVES in anything.  I don’t care.  I am not.  Never will be.  I know you will never be a Cubs fan.  Doesn’t mean I stop loving you, nor does it mean you remind me that you are.  You BELIEVE what you want to BELIEVE.

·        The Chicago Cubs team that is playing in the World Series that starts tonight has given me something to BELIEVE in again.  Don’t take that away from me with your cocky, arrogant rendition of how many World Series’ you have won.  I don’t care.  I never have.  And I cheered for you when you went.  So you can’t cheer for them because your religion (the Church of Baseball) forbids you?  Great…I find it ironic that your religion doesn’t forbid you to remind us all of this fact.  But that is the thing about religion isn’t it?  We don’t all have to believe in the same things.

·        I am thanking God, Buddha, baby Jesus, the Dalai Lama, the earth shifting its access, global warming, the Pope, my father, Trumps hair, Harry Carey…whoever the hell is responsible for this happening, because it has made this joke of an election seem like yesterday’s news. 

·        Stop comparing this to that one team, or that one time.  It has never happened before in most of our lives, so we cannot compare it to anything, and I mean ANYTHING.

·        Lastly, if you cannot be happy for this team and you cannot be happy for me just being happy, then please just go away.  I mean that in the sweetest most sincerest of ways.  Find me after it is over and so help me God if we do lose, do not say to me that you knew they couldn’t do it, because so help me God, I will punch you in your face.  And I have never punched anyone.

I told Kristina the other day that other than marrying her, there is nothing on this earth I want more than this.  I meant it.  Nothing.  We get asked a lot, (Cubs fans, not Kristina and I,) how we can cheer for a losing team, year after year after year after year.  Because we are not like you that is why.  Nothing hurts us more than when we lose, trust that.  But we accept it and move on and BELIEVE that we will probably win the next game.  We lose a lot so we are genuinely excited and have no expectations; we are just insane with joy that it happened.  Why would someone want to take that away from us?  We got here.  We made it to the “ship!” Let us have this moment and all of these moments.  You don’t have to like it or go along with it or even care about it, but if you don’t, leave it at that.  Just leave it.

All season long my mother has text us and text us one word and one word only.  BELIEVE.  She and Terry watched every game pretty much from start to finish.  I cannot say the same, because when I did they would lose and that made me sad, so I just didn’t watch them.  I only have one thing to say before tonight’s game and one thing only.  I BELIEVE.  And really when it gets down to it, isn’t that what all Cubs fans feel like?  We just BELIEVE.  Believe with us or do not, it matters not to me.  But I can finally say, in regards to my own house…THIS HOUSE BELIEVES.

I wrote a letter to Santa when I was 8 I think, that went like this.  The significance of this letter is that nothing really has changed.  I am still just a girl who’s best team is the Cubs.

  

So here is my letter to Santa this year. 

Dear Santa,

It is almost Christmas and this year I want a new refrigerator, ours is too small for 2 adults and 3 teenage boys who eat like 6 more adults.

I work with paints and brushes, so I don’t need any of those this year.

I really like football and baseball still.  My two best teams are the Cubs and the Bears.   The Bears are awful this year.  However, you probably already know that the Cubs are in the World Series, so what I really want for Christmas is for them to win it.  But if they don’t that is ok too because they will still always be one of my best teams.

I never thought I would get to write a letter to you at my age.  I am 44 years old and am working full time, all my school is done.

I have a lot of friends.  Period.

Well, good bye.

Your friend, Tiffany Buckman

P.S. Santa?  I BELIEVE.

Carpe Diem

When my father passed away suddenly, unexpectedly, in his sleep one night, my whole entire world turned on its axis.  Tilted if you will.  The thing I remember most about that day, that moment, that section of my life, is that I had never driven my car as fast as it was going, only briefly thinking if I don’t slow down, I won’t make it there alive…but I remember thinking this isn’t real.  This isn’t happening.  I am going to pull into the driveway and they are going to tell me they gave him CPR and he was alive, it was ok.  I didn’t know he had died many hours before.  None of us did.  And very few people know that we did find out the time he had passed, thanks to the miracle of science and a CPap machine.  By the time we realized my father had left this earth, it was over a day too late to save him.  But I also remember thinking; it is way too beautiful of a day for this to be real.  This is a horrible dream, and why are all these people in it.  There was not a cloud in the sky, it was so beautiful blue and the air was perfect, like 75 degrees, and I remember checking the temperature for reasons I will never know. 

The point of this is the following:

The person who drove in to that driveway is not the person that is typing this blog.  She is gone.  And it was not instant…in fact it took several months, because even when you are grieving, you don’t know you are grieving.  I was in a literal fog.  If you have ever lost someone this close to you, you understand.

The girl who drove in to that driveway spent a lot of the days prior to this moment, not living in the moment.  Not doing things I wanted to do, for reasons like: I did not have enough time, I could not miss work, I did not have the money, I was too tired, whatever reason, I had one.  And I spent a lot of time alone.  Not really sure what I was looking for, but I couldn’t find it.  Even after he passed away, I shut myself in my tiny little home and distanced myself from a lot of people because grief is ugly.  It makes you feel ugly.  It makes you sick to your stomach ugly.  And I did not want anyone to see it or me.  A lot of things happened during this time that I wish I had done differently but I do not regret it, because everything teaches us a lesson of some sort, and I do not even wish to go back and re do those things or do them differently, they happened.  They taught me a lot about myself.

Eventually, the darkness cleared and something happened.  Something changed inside of me.  I was no longer putting things off that meant something to me or that I wanted to do.  Opportunities that had always been in front of me were right there again, blaring, TAKE ME, TAKE THIS, DO IT!  And so I did.

Since my father died I have crossed off several bucket list items.  And it is not like I hadn’t done bucket list stuff before, but this time it was different.  This time I felt these things to my core.  LET myself feel again, but good stuff.  Not sad stuff.  And a funny thing happened when I did this…the universe opened up and said, hello Tiffany, we have been waiting for you.  And I finally got the guts (that were 3 years in the making) to talk to Kristina…and I wouldn’t stop talking…I made her listen to me.  Made her SEE me.  I boldly screamed HERE I AM and you are going to love me.  And low and behold she did.  But this blog is not about Kristina and I. 

Some very dear friends of mine have lost their sons to war.  Whether it was in active duty or as a result of a war, they lost them.  And since I will never have my own children, (sorry if I mention that often,) I will never know that kind of loss.  My step father lost his son in an automobile accident.  I cannot conceive the loss a parent feels when their child dies, at any age, for any reason.  I also, have never understood war, in any capacity, I mean I get it, but I don’t.  I don’t understand why we have to send our troops over to fight other countries battles and I may never get that concept as long as I live, I just know that there are men and woman who know or feel like, their sole purpose in life is to defend our freedoms. I do not understand wanting to do that, but I respect and deeply appreciate it.  And I wonder, if when they do go “over there,” are they expecting to come home or do they go every single time scared to death never really knowing that answer?  I mean, I expect they expect they are going to be returned safely?  Or is it just like being here?  Every day, we go through our routines and we do this and we do that and we EXPECT that all will be right in the world and everything we will be status quo, until one day, it just isn’t.

A friend of mine lost his son yesterday in Afghanistan.  He was a fairly newly married young man with two little children.  He was simply doing his job, which per the CNN news article was assisting and training Afghan security services, when a gunman opened fire and took his life.  Just like that, his very short life was extinguished for reasons we will never understand.  And I know that anyone that goes over there understands the magnitude of being there.  It is not safe.  Hell it is not safe in very many places over here anymore either.  I am positive his wife and family EXPECTED he would come home safely.  I did not know him personally, but what I do know is that he was serving his country and proudly.  My heart goes out to his family, friends, children, and his company he was serving with over there, all of them.  Another loss I will never comprehend in my lifetime.

What I do understand is how I am connecting this with my own loss.  Not one single solitary second is promised to us.  Not one.  We are all on borrowed time.  And I have no earthly clue how long my time is but after my own personal loss, I realized I needed to make every single day count.  Am I perfect at this?  Not one bit, but I do try.  I do try to live for the moment, seize the day, wake up in a good place and leave a little piece of happiness in the places I do touch.  My job is following art supplies after they get ordered, from overseas to the warehouse.  And making sure they get out the door.  I do nothing fancy or noteworthy, and I certainly do not protect our country.  My hope though is that I can touch some lives here and there and hope I do so in a way that makes people remember me and do so in a good way.

I cannot comprehend what is happening right now for the this family and I cannot conceive of their loss, but it served as a reminder to myself that we have no idea what tomorrow brings.  Are we doing what we want to do?  Are we proud of it?  Did we tell everyone we love that we loved them today?  Did I see the places and things I wanted to see?  Taste the tastes, feel the feels, and smell the smells?  We get so caught up going through the motions that we forget to live.  Truly live.  And I don’t want to forget and become complacent, I want to lay my head down at the end of the day and know in my heart I am at a great place with my life. 

I hate that one person’s tragedy has to wake me up, and remind me to live.  We shouldn’t need tragedies to remind us, we should just do it.  Live each day like it’s your last.  It isn’t always feasible, but damnit I have to try.  And I have to try harder.  Carpe Diem.

That September Day...

Alan Jackson has a song called “Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning.”  He asks this in the first line of the song and he goes on to say… “That September day.”  Well, there is a day in September, which was not September 11^th, where my world did stop turning.  It’s today, September 23.

You have been gone for 3 years today.  3 years.  It feels like it just happened yesterday.  I remember every single heart beat that day.  I had literally posted one of my Questions of the Day and asked the World Wide Web, what they would do if they had one extra hour in the day.  We had no idea you passed quietly in your sleep.  We had no idea that life as we knew it would change forever that most beautiful day in September, and my God, it was beautiful.  I cannot remember a more beautiful day.

How are you Dad?  Sometimes, there is an ache in my heart and it is not like the normal aches, it is like the kind of ache you get when you know someone, somewhere, is missing you, real bad.  And your heart aches back because you cannot fix it or get to them.  I FEEL you missing me.  I FEEL you missing all of us.  And although I know you are at peace where you are, I also know you are sad you had to go.  Actually, I have no idea if you are at peace where you are, I just hope to goodness you are.

So much has changed in the last 3 years Dad.  You would be so proud of your grandchildren, who are no longer children, but grown young adults.  Ethan FINALLY graduated college, I wish you could have seen it…it was such an emotional time for Sister.  Bella is on her last year of college, can you believe that?  The one who hated school?  She has to work so hard to get where she is going, I hope someday life gives her a break.  Dalton is a beast and I mean a beast.  He is probably going to be in strongman competition someday soon and he is so handsome, he is a senior this year Dad, graduating High School!  Kolbie, oh my goodness, you would not recognize how beautiful she is, and a different hair color almost every other week!  She still loves school as much as she always has, not, but she is going to the homecoming dance this year and I am positive you would have raked that young man that is taking her, over the coals before they went.  Brother is doing well, I am so proud of him, you already know why.  I see so much of you in him anymore, it is kind of scary.  Sister works like 4 jobs and I hardly ever see her anymore, but we stay in touch. 

The most important news I have for you is about me.  I don’t even remember the last time I was able to talk about something positive about myself with you, it always felt like I was just going to be faced with many adversities my whole life and I guess I was getting used to just living that way.

Anyway, I am getting married; her name is Kristina.  On a Beach in the Florida Keys.  And most importantly to my best friend.  I never fathomed this day to would come.  Someone I feel like I have already known for a lifetime.    You would love her.  She is originally from Up North, near Green Bay, BOO, but she is smart, she is funny, she is beautiful, she loves me unconditionally, she was a total surprise and by surprise I mean I had been trying for years to get her to pay attention to me, and for whatever reason she finally did.  We work together, I know I know, but it works for us.  She is my car pooler and we have a lot of fun.  She makes me laugh.  A lot. 

She has 3 teenage boys Dad.  THREE!  TEENAGE BOYS.  They eat a lot of food.  And we always never have enough in the house.  They are active and involved in a lot of things so sometimes its major chaos and if you remember me, I don’t do chaos well.  I am not very good at this parenting thing.  Not good at all.  And I am always reminded about the time I was told 3 years ago that I would not be able to have kids and you grabbed my foot and said “they aren’t all they are cracked up to be.”  They are a lot of work.  They are a full time job.  I don’t parent them, as they have parents, I just try to support her and be supportive and it is hard when they push her buttons, to keep my mouth shut and let what happens, happen.  Contrary to popular opinion, she is a damn good mother and its one of the reasons I fell in love with her.

I am saddened to my core that you are not alive to see one of the biggest events in my life.  I can hear you say “Florida, what’s in Florida?”  Well, we both love beaches and hope to someday end up living close to one.  I know you would have made the trip, as you had become quite the world traveler before you passed.  I also know you would have driven me nuts once we got there. 

I am sad you will never know these boys.  I have a feeling you and Brock would have hit it off quite well.  He’s a ladies man and has these huge dimples which usually win people over, but he is quite ornery.  You would have loved all the boys and I would have said good luck getting much out of Drew, he’s the quiet one.  But don’t let that fool you; there is so very much going on in his mind.  You would have loved coming to the basketball games and watching Quinn play, he is amazing and very fun to watch.

There are moments, I cannot breathe without tears rolling down my eyes…and sometimes I just look at Kristina and say, he should be here and she knows what I am talking about.  You see, her father passed suddenly too, it was something we had in common and she gets it, she really gets it.

My health has not been the best, but you know I have fought this since I was 7.  We take one day at a time and Kristina has been a blessing…for the first time in my life, I don’t have to go through things alone.  After you died I took on the motto of getting busy living instead of getting busy dying, but this has made this hard to do sometimes.

Most importantly, I wanted you to know that I am no longer alone.  43 years…was a long lonely time.  She fills and continues to fill, all of the empty spaces.  She lets me be me, and honors and respects who I am.

I finally published my book and I finally made it to see Adele.  Never mind who she is, it was a great concert.  This year alone, I have been to Mexico, California, Wisconsin and Minnesota.  Collecting memories not things.  We get a lot of grief about our travels, but if I die tomorrow, I sure as hell am not going to care about people who think I travel too much.

September is so hard for me.  On so many levels for so many reasons, but today, on the day we found out our father was gone, I try to take a moment and tell myself that I need to live life to the fullest.  To embrace all the good days and bad days because at least I still have the days.  I know we don’t tell the people we love that we love them enough.  I know we get caught up in the nonsense of life…

I am glad you are not here to see what the world is becoming, everyone hates everyone.  It is so sad.  Donald Trump could be our next President for the love of God, which you would absolutely love.  And you would love telling Crooked Hillary jokes…all day long; to whoever would listen to them.  God you would love it.  I don’t want either one of them running our country but I can assure you that if Donald wins, the world will never be the same.

I do not know where you are, or what you are doing today, I just hope you don’t have to relive what happened like we do.  I hope you are happy, laughing, fishing, and telling stupid jokes, whatever it is that makes that ache a little less today.  And wherever you are, I hope you know that I am finally, for the first time in my life, deeply loved.  And it feels amazing.

I love and miss you so very much.

Fear

II bet most people would be surprised to know that I feel fear. I feel like if I say that, a lot of people would say, not you. You aren't afraid of anything. Wrong. I'm afraid of a lot of things. 

You know the phrase frozen in fear? The one time I remember being in such a state I was driving to northern Minnesota with my friend Dana and her very little daughter who was sleeping soundly in the back seat. In my peripheral vision I saw a giant blob came at the side of the car and in a fraction of a second the glass had shattered everywhere. I didn't slam on the brakes, I didn't swerve. I didn't even scream. In fact I just let off the gas till we coasted to a stop. I remember Dana speaking. Words that I couldn't hear. I parked the car looked at her daughter who was completely covered in glass and still asleep. I got out of the car and stood in the pitch black road staring at the ground. I could still hear Dana speaking but I couldn't speak back. I was literally frozen in fear. I didn't want her daughter to wake up and grab the glass. I was responsible for these two lives and I almost lost them. Almost lost myself. I was petrified. 

I wouldn't experience that fear again until years later on a lake, also in Minnesota, when I literally almost snapped my back in half. When I was completely frozen in fear my with face under the water not able to feel my legs. 

I fear a lot of things. I fear my mother will not be proud of me. I fear I won't do my job to the best of my ability. I fear Brodie will have a massive seizure and it will be the last one he will ever have.  I used to fear I would never love another human being or that I would never allow one to love me. But recently I have a new fear. And it's not one I am accustomed to. I fear I won't wake up. 

Apparently this is a common feeling or phenomenon that a person who has lost a loved one experiences. It doesn't feel common. It feels terrible. It feels ominous. It feels sad. 

My father was for all intents and purposes plucked out of the sky. He went to sleep. And never woke up.  

I live big. I love big. Everything I do I do it with my whole heart or I don't bother doing it. There is no point. Everything I do is out loud. Larger than life. Go big or go home. It has to be. Living is no exception. But recently my mortality has been nagging at me and it has created an enormous amount of fear. Not debilitating. It's just there. Like a cloak. It doesn't come in waves it's just there. Present. Tap tap tapping on me to listen. 

I don't profess to be the best person. I just try to be the best me I can be. There will never be another me. And I will not have children to leave this legacy of me through. I hate that I will never have a person say to me that he or she gets that trait from their mother. There are a lot of things I will never be. That one pains me the most. 

Do any of us know when our last day is? No. We don't. Or when. Or how. Or why. But we sure spend a lot of time not living. So when you see me out and about and your first thoughts are wow she's intense. Or wow she's so sensitive. Know this. I'm scared to death. Scared of not living while I am living because to be honest I can close my eyes tonight and that could be it. So while I am living it's going to be big. And it's going to be out loud. Or for me, it's just really not living at all. 

My wish for anyone reading this is to please live. Now. 

Our Father...

Hey Buddy! 

Lol. I've never called you that. 

Hi Dad!

It's been two years in a few short hours. Feels like 2 minutes. I've been overwhelmed? Overcome? With grief these past few weeks. I say weeks because it's seriously been that long. Weeks since I've felt anything besides pain. I don't know why. I don't know how. I just know it's all I feel. 

I tried to explain it to Mom tonight but I can't. And yet I know she understands. I hope she does. I pray she does. 

I pray for a lot of things Dad. I mostly pray that you are listening. Because I cannot imagine a world any longer in which you are not. 

Year two brings all sorts of regrets. Things I should have said. Things I wished I had said. Things I DID say. I am not sure where these regrets came from but there they were.

 I'm incredibly imperfect. Mom told me she tried to tell you so and you refused to listen. Or you wouldn't help her sort it out. I am blessed that she took it on herself and embraced me. I know you did too. We had a chat. Over an ice run for four-wheelers. Lol. Never forget it. 

I miss you. Something fierce. 

I don't know if I will ever find me again. I don't know if I ever knew who she was to begin with. I just know that my heart has an empty space where you used to be. And I also know I will never be the VP of Dick Blick. But thank you for telling that young man that night that I was. Because I will never forget it. 

My God I miss you. 

Our Father. Who Art in Heaven. Please tell my Dad I miss him. 

The Grief Blanket

Sometimes grief is like a blanket.  And I wear it wrapped around me like I am in a cocoon.  And I fear getting out of it because I am not sure I will understand how to function without it wrapped around me.  Sometimes the grief is there, but not wrapped tightly.  Just enough so I can feel it on my skin; feel its weight, but it is not overwhelming.  Like when you need just a sheet on at night…

I do not know when I will wear grief.  It is not like I get up in the morning and when I am deciding what to wear that I look at grief hanging over in the corner waiting for me to pick it for the day.  Grief climbs on no matter what color I choose.  Sometimes it is subtle and sometimes I cannot put on enough clothes to cover it up.  I do not know in advance that it is stopping by.  It doesn’t really ask for an invitation, it just sort of shows up.  So, I cannot really plan for it or prepare.  Like the dinner guest you did not know you were having, but the guilt is so overwhelming, so you feed them something even if it is something you just had to throw together.

I can tell you that at its heaviest, it can feel like that weighted “jacket” they give you when you are getting an x-ray.  But not in a way that you can just slide it off…it is attached…tied behind you, so you cannot just unlatch it.  It is there.  It’s on tight…it is locked.  It is not something you want someone else unlocking either, otherwise that creates a dependency you do not want or need.  The grief blanket is an easy thing to want someone else to remove for you, or help you with, but let me tell you in advance, that is not a good idea.  No one can wear your grief for you, or remove it from your wardrobe.  It’s an individual, personal journey.  And the road is long.

This is a tough week for me.  I know that it is not an easy one for my siblings either, but thankfully I cannot get in their heads and express their emotions.  They would not love that if I could. This was his favorite time of year.  He worked stupid hard on getting the farm ready.  He LOVED throwing the year’s biggest party.  He also loved drinking everyone’s beer and eating their food.  It was a balance for him.

The worst part about this week is that in just a few more weeks after this one, it will be the anniversary of when I feel like he was just plucked out of the sky.  I know that loss, grief, etc. works differently for everyone.  I can go along for months seemingly unaware of its presence, but knowing it is there because it feels like a soft t-shirt; comfortable, but not bothersome…tolerable perhaps even.  Then, for reasons I will never know, the t-shirt becomes a heavy blanket.

This used to be my favorite time of year.  Now I just want to have someone, in the words of one of Sisters favorite songs, “wake me up, when September ends.” 

It does not get easier.  For anyone that hopes it will, or tells me it will.  It does not.  I cannot tell you when it will happen or why, I just know it will.  And I won’t be able to explain it to someone who has not gone through it, I just hope I find the right people to be around who get it.  Who at least will understand?  Understand that although they cannot see it, I am dragging around a very heavy blanket and that sometimes I just want to crawl under it.

It takes a tremendous amount of strength to push it off and move forward.  And there can be a sense of loss just by trying to remove it too, which sounds incredulous, but it’s true. Because although there are times it can smother you, you also do not want it to disappear because then that means you have forgot him completely.  And I never, ever want to do that.

My grief blanket is heavy right now…and I just wanted you to know Dad, that I am doing everything I can to lift it and honor you by trying to celebrate this week, not loathe it.  Holy mother of God it is hard.

21 Days After...

Many of you have asked so here you go...

The truth is...if you are just reading this and don't know anything about the 21 days I'm talking about you better go back and read the last blog. That will catch you up. 

The truth is...after the 21 days I felt like a different person. The Tiff who used to live in Minnesota. Who had boundless energy and motivation. And even that Tiff didn't come easy. 

The truth is...it has now been officially 36 days and I feel like a slug. I want to blame it on making poor diet choices again but I'm not. I have reintroduced many of the things that were not allowed on the cleanse but these were reintroduced slowly and methodically. They were not all done at once either. If I had meat that was all. No bread or dairy or sugar. Now, I'm not going to say their hasn't been the occasional picnic where I've had a burger or some pasta salad or whatever but I've truly kept it pretty clean. Aside from those moments 98% of the time I'm eating organic. Grass-fed and antibiotic free meat, chicken, eggs etc., very little dairy, but what dairy I have eaten has been whole fat and natural not processed. Still eating tons of fruits and vegetables. Still consuming copious amounts of water. I've pretty much given up beer. ME. RIGHT? I had a few on my trip and some fruity rum drinks but I was too busy moving to stop and get intoxicated. 

For all intents and purposes I have followed this to the t. Dotted my i's. But on the Monday upon returning from my trip I got a migraine that took 3 days to pass. I have not felt good since. I'm trying to basically go back to eating like I'm on the cleanse and see where that takes me. But I've had no energy. I feel completely drained. I will say this past weekend I was emotionally drained which plays a HUGE part in the whole remaining healthy process but I was hoping to be so far ahead of the game that it would be ok. 

My conundrum here, if that's the right word; is that this journey was not an easy one to take. But having completed it I felt accomplished! Alive. Well. I had made it. And I would continue it. And then I hit a wall. I'm damn tired of hitting walls. My whole life has been a wall. From the time I was 7. One obstacle after another. Have I overcome them? Yes most. My mom would say all. But I'm tired of having to overcome anything. Why is this easy for some and so damn hard for others. Why do some people have nascar metabolisms and mine died the day I broke my back. There are questions I will never have answers to and if you know me at all you will know I HATE NOT HAVING ANSWERS. 

The truth is...I'm currently bummed. But I'm holding out faith it will turn a corner and I will get back on track. My issue is I don't know where I got off track. Coming back? My heart is at peace on the ocean. Any large body of water. Perhaps it needs to go there and stay. 

I have a tremendous amount of respect for any of you going through any lifestyle change because it's a lot of work reinventing yourself. Or getting back to who you once were. It's a lot of work and the truth is...some of it is not always rewarding. Some of it sucks. And sometimes you have to push through when you feel like you are sinking in quicksand.

So there you have it. The truth is...I've hit a rough patch. But thankfully, the truth is...this too shall pass. 

21 Days...

On the day before my 43rd birthday, I started on a journey that I would have never dreamed I would have started on.  In fact, if I would have been able to bet against myself, I would have taken that bet.  I lacked the discipline that this journey was going to require.  I didn’t believe in the possible positive outcomes that had been presented to me.  I couldn’t conceive that anyone in their right mind would start such a journey in the first place, certainly not me.  It was almost maniacal to think someone would CHOOSE to do this.

Let me start by telling you how much I used to love beer.  If you read that sentence correctly, you will realize I said used to.  I don’t know if I still love beer, or if I ever will again.  I loved the way it tastes.  I loved what it represented socially, because although there was a time I probably drank beer at home alone, for the past couple years or so, 97% of my drinking had been socially.  I went to Church faithfully and if you know me at all, you know my Church was not a house of God.  I am not sure that I did anything as good as I could drink a few beers with friends.

That being said, I also loved wine.  And food.  And pairing food with wine.  Again, if you know anything about me, you know I pride myself in being a fairly good cook.  I had a very eclectic palate and pretty much loved just about all foods.  Not sweet potatoes or beets though.  And that hasn’t changed. 

I met Dr. Rita at The Path in Galesburg a couple years ago; maybe it hasn’t even been that long.  My Sister had taken Bella to see her and I am not entirely sure how they heard about her, but they loved her philosophy.  The Path is what I would call a holistic healing center.  Dr. Rita is a Chiropractor.  When I began my relationship with her, I was not in the best of places, but I was working on it.  I was talking to a counselor about my anger over my father’s death.  I was trying to find outlets to deal with my emotions as well as my poor health, that I attribute 100% to inactivity and sitting on my butt for my job.  (I lost a lot of weight owning a bar, which sounds surprising, but I never sat down.)  

Sick and tired of being sick and tired, I began training with the couch to 5K program.  I wanted to run a 5k by Christmas.  I made it 4 weeks into the program before I had to stop.  I had another tumor in my foot and it was causing my gait to go wonky, so running became not comfortable to do and it was desperately killing my back.  It wasn’t worth it to lose the weight.  I felt defeated, pissed, angry…every time I set my mind to something; something came and made sure I couldn’t complete it.

I got back into my usual routines of self-loathing and inactivity because it is comfortable there…Sister recommended I go see Dr. Rita for my back pain, because aside from her chiropractic expertise she had some pretty strong feelings about what food was doing to our bodies and Sister thought I would enjoy what she had to say.  Also that she was very into the mind/body healing mantra and Sister knows how much I hate the medical profession, so she thought it would be right up my alley; holistic health.  I was very big in to it in my former healthy life; it would make sense to get back in it again.

I thoroughly enjoyed my treatments and felt some immediate relief.  The things she wanted me to focus on, things I already knew I should be focusing on, were somehow easier with a guide.  Like, take better care of myself.  Get more sleep, reduce stress, etc.  That last one is the hardest thing to do ever.  But we began a relationship that would ultimately change my life.  I started taking Vitamin D and probiotics and just overall became a happier person.

That was until this past winter, when I caught some sort of demonic virus from the depths of hell.  Seriously wanting to die by self-inflicted having a car run me over, it took me weeks to get well…I believe it was 40 some days that I was consistently feeling like death.  I had somehow managed to get a virus that no one at work hard or my family.  I dropped again into my self-loathing routine and became a walking ball of pain.  So much pain.  But I refuse to take pain pills, so I lived with it and became a very angry human being again and also because Dr. Rita thought she should take maternity leave in the middle of my 15th mid-life crisis.

I will try to condense the rest of this story, since I have obviously been dragging on with how I arrived where I did on June 7th.

Dr. Rita is a strong believer in food is medicine.  Raw, whole foods in their natural state.  She had this program she had been asking me to try, kind of from the minute I met her, although she did have some other goals with me first, her Purification program was brought up frequently.  When I found out what it was, I laughed and said good luck.  There was no earthly way I would conceive of participating in it.  I loved food and I loved beer.  And I was not going to give them up.  This conversation would go on between us for quite some time.  Over a year.

About a month before my 43rd birthday, when I was explaining to her that I wasn’t sleeping, that I was irritable, that I was in constant pain, she basically said in not these exact words, “you need to try the Purification program, it is the only thing I have asked you to do, that you have not done.”  For some ungodly reason I said FINE.  That I was not going to like it and I will be your worst patient ever.  I will make you miserable.  And we cannot start until after my vacation to Indiana with my family because I know copious amounts of beer are going to be drank and I don’t want to miss it.  Well, when can you start?  Well, June is not the best month, but I guess it is as good as any, because if you talk to me about this anymore, I will talk myself out of it.  Completely and totally.  My birthday is June 8th.  I love my birthday.  But it is on a Monday this year and I do not like Mondays, however Monday is good day to start something you don’t think you will survive.

The 21 Day Standard Process Purification Program is exactly that.  21 days.  21 Days of only fruits and vegetables (twice as many as fruit), shakes and filtered water.  ½ your body weight in ounces in water.  The shakes can only be made with filtered water.

No dairy.

No caffeine.

No meat.

No sugar.

No grains.

No gluten.

No nuts.

No ALCHOHOL.

Of course I wondered what day I would die from starvation.  And it is true, you pretty much wonder during the first 5 days, which day it will be that you meet your demise.

So with that being said, on June 7th, 2015 I started the 21 day cleanse.

I can write more about the 21 day cleanse and what I ate and how I survived if anyone wants to know, but I didn’t tell a lot of people about it initially because I didn’t think I would succeed.  Honest to God I did not.  At best I thought I would cheat.  The first five days I wanted eggs and cheese so bad it hurt to even think about them.  How on earth could I live on nothing but fruits and vegetables in their purest form.  Organic when possible even.  And nothing to drink but water.  Filtered water.  

The whole premise behind this is to remove the toxins from your body that were caused by eating processed foods.  Toxins that cause inflammation, irritability, insomnia, gas, bloating, muscle aches and pains, running nose, constantly feeling like you have allergies, the list is very long.  To clean out the liver, your stomach, etc.  To remove waste.  Many many many years of waste.  To eat and taste food in its purest form before our world changed it and added, well additives to make it taste better.  Additives that are basically killing us.  Additives that I don’t think existed when our grandparents were growing up.  I mean my Great Grandmother lived to be 100 and she ate fried bologna every day.

For 21 days you eat nothing but fruits and vegetables and drink filtered water.  You can eat these pretty much any way you want, just not cooked in the microwave.  You drink two shakes a day, which are not meal replacements, but can be used as snacks, and those shakes include whole food fiber.  You can put whatever fruit and veggies you want in them, but I am telling you now, they still taste like grass.  You are allowed good oils, like EVOO and Coconut to cook with or mix in the shakes.  You can include some Quinoa and some lentils in moderation with your vegetables.  You can use most any spice you want as long as it is in its truest form as well.

This is not a diet.  It’s not a passing fad.  It’s a true cleanse.  And not in the sense that you better be close to a bathroom cleanse but a complete body and mind detoxification.  Everything we eat, every single day, is our diet.  So all of us have a diet, but we are not ON A DIET.  Until you believe that or get that through your head, it won’t work.  This is why I could not have done this one minute before I was ready.  If you change or alter your diet for a period of time and then go back to doing things the way you did before the alteration, then yes, I guess you can say, you were on a diet…but until you decide your diet is daily, every choice you make, then things like this just don’t work.

My primary focus was not to do this to lose weight; otherwise I would be severely disappointed if I didn’t do well or succeed.  This is coming from someone who has not physically looked at the # on a scale since maybe 1998.  However, at the beginning of this I went and bought my first scale ever.  Because something told me this was going to be something I would do a lot longer than 21 days.  And something told me I would need to monitor it to make myself a believer.

I have lost 10 pounds. I only weigh once a week and that is on Sunday mornings.  Yes, I desperately needed to lose weight but I needed an attitude adjustment far more than I needed to lose weight.

I love food.  I love all food.  I love all ethnicities of foods.  But food was killing me.

In closing, I want to finish with what I have learned in 21 days.

I can survive on only fruits and vegetables.  And yes I still miss eggs.   

Water has become my friend.  And lots of it.

I love Kosher Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper, more than I ever dreamed I could.

Brodie loves vegetables.  ADORES THEM.

I will reintroduce foods and beer back in my diet and I will probably not like it. And I am perfectly fine with that! I had some beer today and I don't enjoy the way it's made me feel. 

I intend in a year to be the best version of myself I've ever been. This was a lifestyle change. And not a fleeting joke. 

I had the discipline I couldn't conceive of. It was always right there. It was buried under a lot of toxic crap. But it was there. 

And lastly I believe in me again. And it's been a really long time since I've felt that. 

 

Ostriches

The old saying often used when someone does not want to acknowledge something, someone, a situation, (usually a problem,) is that they are “burying their head in the sand.”  And it came from the popular belief that an ostrich would do that when they are scared or out of fear.  Interestingly though, apparently, not even ostriches are that dumb, because they can run up to 40mph, so they would not bother to actually dig a hole at all, they would just run.  However if they are unable to get away or say, they do not have the ability to make a quick getaway, they will “lay low” which resembles and appears that they may have their heads buried, so as to “blend in” with their surroundings, to fool the predator into thinking they are just a rock or shrub or some other part of the scenery.

Funny…people do this too.

I believe there are times in a person’s life when they must ask for help.  I am terrible at this, but when I needed help the most, I have asked.  There have been times when I needed help and didn’t ask and no one showed up and I got really pissed off because I thought the people that knew and cared about me most should KNOW when I was hurting, SEE when I was needing help, SENSE when I was in trouble, HEAR when I really didn’t have to say anything at all.  I mean isn’t that why we go through life strategically placing the different people we have in our lives?  People are here for reasons, for seasons, for lifetimes.  You pick out a life partner with the expectation of spending YOUR LIFE with this person.  You have certain friends you can only tell certain things to and you only do certain things with. We do not get to pick our family, but we have them, they are there, like it or not and if you are close to them then you are blessed.  My point is we should all have someone who we can truly be raw and honest and whole with. Bare bones, nitty gritty, truly naked and I don’t meant the kind without clothes.  And you should know when they need you and you should know when they don’t.  And you should know when to speak, or when to listen.  And you should not have to do certain things on your own, no matter what it is.  

A big pet peeve of mine when I know someone I care about is struggling or needs help, is when someone who I feel should be there for them says the following: “I will pray for you.” Like that exempts them and “covers” them from having to help that person in need, because guess what, it doesn’t.  If you don’t want to be there and support your friends/family through the shitty things, because you can’t or you are incapable, then own that and say that.  Say, “I am sorry; I suck as a human and cannot help you when things get tough.” Because I don’t think it is fair that you get to be there for just the good times and that is what this blog is about.

We all have boxes. Heavy, heavy, boxes.  (Read previous blog.)  I don’t judge yours; you don’t judge mine, yada yada yada.  But when the box gets too heavy, and someone acknowledges that openly, and they say I am going to put this box down and I am going to do the following things to make this box easier to carry, you are a damn hypocrite if you turn your head and “bury it in the sand” or run as fast as you can because you don’t want to see them put the box down, or you don’t want to help, or you don’t like watching how hard it will be for them to let the thing go.       

Life is ugly.  Not always, but it can be.  It’s not always sunshine and rainbows.  And some really wonderful people go through some really not so wonderful stuff.  And some really strong people like to bury their head because ya know what, they have enough on their plate, or they have their own problems, or they are busy, or whatever the damn reason. And trust me when I tell you that it is very, very easy to say, screw you I got my own shit here, and I would expect that from the people who are not in my arsenal, the people who I did not recruit to form my backbone…who were not there every time the dust settles.  So if I, (or anyone,) tells you I am going to put my box down, that I need help, that I don’t want to carry it anymore, and you say “I will pray for you” and then you proceed to put your head in the sand, well you can damn sure bet I have an open position in the arsenal.  

Open your eyes and ears every single day.  Someone needs something from you.  I am not talking about a lunch packed or a juice box, or a Band-Aid or phone call or a couple dollars for gas.  It’s much bigger and deeper than that and if you don’t have the space for it say so and run along.  But don’t get offended if you don’t get invited to the celebration party when they conquer the demon, or beat their fears, or climb the hurdle or whatever.  Because anyone can cheer. But it takes a really special person to keep their head out of the sand. 

The Box

Every single one us has one. Some of us store it for long periods of time.  Some of us get ours out at different times to go through it, or perhaps, put new things in it, or maybe, if we are lucky enough, remove something from it.  Some of us carry ours with us only putting it down when it gets too heavy to carry.  And some of us carry the son of a bitch no matter how heavy it is, at all times, not matter the circumstance.

Most of us, the majority I would say, cannot see everyone else’s.  We know it’s there, or we should.  We are ignorant if we think otherwise.  Or if we think someone doesn’t have one.  We all have one.  Although one of the worst things we do as human beings is compare one another’s.  “Oh, theirs is bigger, so they can carry more stuff…or theirs is smaller so they don’t have to, or theirs they can put away they don’t have to carry it, or theirs is so nice and compartmentalized and mine is so chaotic and a mess.”  

Some people open theirs up, and it’s like a giant movie screen that projects it for the world to see…here is what is inside, I have nothing to hide.  Others have theirs wrapped up and closed so tight, they either have to start a whole new one because there is no way to get inside, or they simply just do not put any more in one.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

I am talking about boxes.  We all carry our “stuff” in boxes.  Imaginary vessels that hold all of the good, the bad, the ugly, the scary, the unknown…the hopes, the fears.  Mostly the things we don’t want to deal with, because we do not have time, we will not make time, it hurts us, it will hurt someone else…whatever the reason…maybe we are afraid to believe it.  Who knows honestly, the list is endless for why these things are in there to begin with.  Sometimes we put stuff in there to forget.  Other times it is so we DON’T forget, but rather go back to it later so we can devote the right time to it. I could write forever about the reasons we have boxes, the reasons we put things in them, and the reasons we get them out or don’t.  But the real reason that I am writing about them is that once in a blue moon, maybe even more rare than that, if you are lucky, you will be with someone who will care enough about you to let go of their hold on their box a little, to show you a little bit of what is inside of theirs.  And the reasons why they let go and are showing you are so meaningless compared to WHAT is being shown.  For instance, if they have had a couple drinks, and feel “safe” enough to tell you or share something with you that that box holds, who gives a rats ass that a few beers caused that.  Trust me a box doesn’t open with just liquid courage alone.  It takes willpower as well.

Someone I care very much about opened their box and shared something very intricate, detailed, powerful and intensely close to them.  I am forever changed.  And as corny and as ridiculous as that may sound, “They opened their box…” there was nothing corny about this.  Although I didn’t know some of the information that was shared, I wouldn’t say I was shocked or taken back, but more rather things made sense that I didn’t know didn’t make sense before.  Or that I even needed to have make sense before.  And perhaps they didn’t, because I love her unconditionally and do not judge anyone and certainly do not judge another person’s trials and tribulations. I carry a lot of shit in my own box, but I am fool to think mine weighs more or means more than someone else’s… 

I do not look at her differently because of what she shared…I think her aura has changed actually…the air around her has changed, she has not.  I do not hold her in any higher regard than I did prior; I respect her just as much now as I did before.  I just understand more.  She apologized for getting sappy and sharing and I said never apologize for being human…I love when people can be real and authentic and can honestly say; sometimes my box is too damn heavy.  And this is why.

I do not know why I needed this to happen when it did, but everything happens for a reason.  I just know that if we all stood back and realized that we were all carrying around some pretty heavy boxes, I think we would be a little kinder, a little more understanding, a little more authentic, not just to each other, but to ourselves.  

 

 

When I come Home...

I don't think he will know. 

I don't think he will ever know. 

I don't think he will understand how it was just him and I against the world and we didn't conquer it...oh hell no. We didn't come close. We laughed. We laughed at how far away we were at actually conquering it that it wasn't even funny. 

It was my Father who my made me find you. It was my father who didn't want you in his house in the first place that sought you out. 

Was it because he knew I would be alone? Was it because he knew I needed you as much as you needed me? 

I didn't want to need anything don't you get it?

And yet every single damn day. Rain or shine. Day or night. Early or late. You are there. Not judging me like so many do. And I can't take your unconditional love sometimes because I don't feel like I deserve it. I got you when I least had the ability to train you. And yet you waited patiently in that pen until one day you jumped over it and said I am here. Here. 

And you've taken care of me every single day since. And you are rotten. Spoiled rotten. And maybe because I can't have my own kids and maybe because the sister before you was special needs and I didn't get her for very long either. 

Regardless. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could physically tell you how much you mean to me. I wish you knew that after the day I had or the feelings I had, that I could say, Brodie James, it means every God damn thing in the world to me that you leap for the sky when I walk in this room after being gone all day, because I promise you, I won't live long enough for another human being to make me feel the way you you do when I come home. 

Not in the right place...

I have been in love twice.

Two times. My whole entire existence. 

Like truly let go and let be.

Once with a man and once with a woman. 

This may be the part where my mom stops reading. I doubt it.

If he was alive today and I could read this to him, because he did not have Internet or anything of the sort, he would've said, and trust me he did...on more than one occasion...once picking up ice for coolers and once because both of us were just sobbing because sometimes what you think you want, isn't what you really want...,he would've said...

Sis? Can you handle this? And I would've said of course Dad. 

I have tried in the past few weeks to reach out and re evaluate and do all sorts of things that growth from loss require. The truth is, and trust me, the truth hurts...I didn't grieve properly. Any of it. 

Loss is loss is loss. It all affects us differently. I remember a guinea pig death, that changed a little girls life. Sure we can laugh about it now. But at the time? It wasn't funny to her. 

The holidays are incredibly hard for me. And not just because of my most recent loss. But because of so many of them that came before it. 

Yes. I feel. I think. I analyze. I pick apart. I break down things to all the bits and pieces. I always have. I need to know how things work. It infuriates those that care about me. It infuriates me that they think I do that. 

I'm not going to apologize for infuriating you. I'm not going to apologize for wanting more from someone compassion wise. I feel misunderstood and that bothers me. Because I've never felt that way before. I'm pretty transparent. Too much. 

If I in any way have reached out to you recently in whatever way...it took a lot for me. This takes a lot for me. To be lonely in a room full of people is, well, a lonely place to be. My talking about it, posting it, acknowledging it is huge. And this was the first step. I don't want pity. Or sympathy. 

I want you to know that just because it's a holiday, it doesn't meant someone isn't hurting. 

PS. Not worried about love finding me. I'm just not in the right place. :) 

Authentic

There are several times in your life where you will want to know if something you have in your possession is authentic.  Otherwise, the value of it drastically changes.  Or your decision to have it in your possession in the first place changes.  If you bought for instance a coin, which was supposed to be rare.  And it was supposed to come with a certificate of authenticity.  You would probably not purchase this coin, without this proof, or this documentation.  The same with a car, a house, sports memorabilia, etc.  You get my point I hope.  Whatever it is, hell, even pets, we want pedigree papers on their authenticity.

The only papers of authenticity we come with personally are our birth, our origin.  And even that is sometimes debatable. Sure we have some that prove and show our worth or value in dollars, but that isn’t something you can really put on a piece of paper is it?    And normally when you meet people for the first time they don’t hand you a spreadsheet with all of this pertinent information on it.  These are things you learn, if you so desire, over time.  What a person loves, what makes them laugh, what they spend their money on, how they save their money, what they value, what they don’t value, how they treat people, how they don’t treat people, especially children, what kind of music makes them move and what kind of music moves them to tears, or does music move them at all.  My point is we don’t know an authentic person from a fraud when we first meet them.  And sometimes a person’s true colors take a great deal of time to unfold.   

Before everyone gets excited about trying to figure out who the person is in my life that I just recently realized is a fraud, save your energy, this isn’t about a specific event or person…it’s just about learning things as I get older.  And asking myself what things are most important in my relationships with people. 

It’s not a secret the holidays are hard for me.  Always have been, always will be.  They were when I had two married parents, and I was childless and single.  They were when I had two separated parents, still childless and single.  They were worse when I had two divorced parents after 40 years, again with the no children and single.  And I was pretty sure hard wasn’t the correct word to describe anything that I was feeling when I went through the first one having one parent dead, knowing he would never see me with children and he would never spend a holiday with me when I wasn’t alone.  

It’s also not a secret that after I lost my father, my social life drastically changed.  Good, bad, who’s to say or judge and I don’t really care who says or judge’s, it just changed…death forever changes you.  It creeps in when you are laughing and happy and says, hey, remember me, and don’t forget.  Or when you think you have some peace and quiet and can accept the reality of it, something or someone will upset the calm that you have and you will remember that you have experienced a profound loss.

I am incredibly different from most people I know.  And maybe some of my acquaintances would disagree…but that’s why they are acquaintances and not friends.  My true friends will tell you it’s the truth.  Different yes.  I do not, cannot it, will not, possess the skill to be someone I am not.  I don’t know how.  I am not programmed that way…I know there are times Sister wishes I could pretend to be, but I can’t.  If you put me in a room full of 20 people for one hour and then when that hour is up, change the people and put 20 different people in the room, I am the exact same Tiffany I was with the first 20 people.  I have nothing to prove to any of them, except to treat them the exact way I want to be treated, which is like a human being.  

I remember at my first big job out of college, the first time they told me the CEO was coming down to work out.  Ummm ok.  “Does the whole place have to evacuate or something?”  “No but he likes a certain treadmill that’s in front of a certain TV, on a certain channel, and the music needs turned off and he needs two towels and make sure his water is cold.”  “Ummmmm, does he pay more for his membership?”  “No Tiffany, he is the CEO.”  “But he pays the exact same fee as the janitor, right?”  “Tiffany, please just do the job as we asked you to do.”  “Oh, I will do it, but it’s not because I agree with it, because it goes against every fiber of my being.  Unless he bought all this equipment and he sweats gold that I need to collect in buckets, his damn dollar has the exact same value as the guy who just got hired to sort mail. And I really can’t work for people with this kind of philosophy.”  I wasn’t asked to get ready for his arrival again.  To be honest I don’t know that he worked out that much. 

My point and my philosophy are simple.  I do not change to accommodate the group of people I happen to be around. If I have to, then something is wrong.  Either with me or the group of people I am hanging around.  Authenticity has never been as important as it is to me right now and I am not really sure why.  I am sure my therapist can tell me.  But at least daily I am disappointed to learn that someone I thought was or could be really isn’t.  And maybe I shouldn’t blame them; maybe it’s just not in the cards for some people.  It’s like breathing for me, to be who I truly am.  And maybe that is scary to be so raw and honest…but it’s scary to me to not be.   

One of the fastest ways to piss me off, if you really want to, is tell me I over analyze.  Or that I feel too much or think too much.  If you really want to rub me the wrong way, start off with that and you won’t have to worry about going any further.  How do you humanly, honestly tell someone they feel too much?  Maybe it’s to make up for those who don’t feel enough.

Anyway, wouldn’t it be great…if people came with certificates of authenticity?  To save us all time.  Some of our greatest possessions, our greatest assets are our relationships…we devote tremendous amounts of time to them. It would be nice to know an authentic one right out of the gate, so you could know its true value.