Take Care Of Yourself - Because no one else will.
Some of us are lucky enough to have managed to get love right. To find that partner, our soul mate, our through thick and thin. They have each others back and genuinely enjoy each others company. They fight of course, and consider ending it all. But their commitment to each other pulls them back.
I see these couples, and I both envy and admire them. I was such a self assured young woman, thought I didn't need a man, and I didn't. But now I do.
You see I'm 51 years old now. My beauty and vitality are fading. A serious health condition is not helping in that area. Who has time for manicures and facials when managing 103 fevers and chills. Just getting out of bed is an accomplishment.
I had married, have two grown children who live with me. They are beginning in their relationships and I am reminded of the thrill of being in love, in everything being ok because of that one fact. Unfortunately, I never loved their father. Ours was a marriage born from an unexpected pregnancy. We are friends now, and are committed in our love for our daughters, but ours was never a true love. He was 14 years my senior and of another culture. It just never meshed. In my ignorance I thought nothing of our differences. Yet music alone separated us. He was oldies, I was Led Zeppelin. Our common ground was Earth, Wind and Fire.
There was my great high school love, the one I "should" have married. Except that the thought of my world being defined by my suburban upbringing scared the shit out of me. I had to get away, move into the city, see the world. His wife never left New Jersey.
But when it comes time when you need a helping hand. Who is there for you...really there for you?
For me, the answer is....me. That's it. Others tell you "take care of yourself" and they mean it, because they sure as hell aren't going to take care of you. They have their own lives, their own dramas.
To Thine Own Self Be True.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Why Jesus Can't Save Me
I don't believe human beings are a more valuable form of life on the the planet. So I cannot connect with a story that puts a man as a deity. Seems we are more of a virus than a blessing.
Motherhood
"How is your older daughter doing?" -
Inevitably the question comes up. People that know me, people that begin to know me, I am quick to remind them that although my youngest daughter is often the topic of my thoughts and posts and conversations, "I also have an older daughter". Its something I am bound to say. Because although our relationship consists of an occasional text and not much else, I refuse to let her become irrelevant to my life. I want people to know, I have an older daughter, who I love with all my heart.
Simply expressing this brings tears to my eyes and makes my chest ache. I sob. I must pause in my writing to wipe the tears.
"What happened?!" you may wonder, or "What's wrong?".
Nothing. Nothing that I can put my finger on anyway. Something I guess. Mostly a mystery to me.
My older, my first born. Can I tell you how much I adored this baby. How much I wanted her. I fought for her, I risked everything I knew to have her. I said "yes" to this unexpected pregnancy. At 28 years of age, only having dated her father for 3 months, I said no to what seemed the more practical choice to abort this child. I said yes to becoming a single mother. Because I felt I owed it to this life. Lest you misunderstand, I am strongly "pro-choice". And for me, at 28 years of age, I felt it was the right thing to do, to be responsible for my choices, and to welcome this baby into my life.
Her father and I had long pined for each other. When we finally got together after 4 years and a misguided marriage on his part, it was with the misguided notion that somehow this pregnancy confirmed that we "were meant to be". I suppose in the scheme of life that was ultimately true, because it "was". He and I were not "meant to be" spouses, but he and I were meant to bring her into the world.
He hesitated. I understood. Friends warned him no. I told him he could go. But I was choosing a different path. I was choosing to say yes.
And she was cherished. Our first 5 years together, although she witnessed much too much fighting between us, as far as I knew...I made up for it in my devotion to her. This child was breastfed, she wore organic cloth diapers. She ate organic baby food and drank soy milk. Her vaccinations were postponed. Nothing related to this child was done without having been researched and thought out. We played together, visited the different parks of New York City. Weekly visits to the green market for her favorite spinach pies and sheep's milk yogurt. Later it would become squid salad at the french bakery and market. How many 5 year olds do you know who like squid salad?
Then came the second pregnancy, unexpected and unplanned, again. I know what you're thinking. Here's the answer: A diaphragm, and miscalculations.
At first it was a routine gyno appointment. Then there was the discovery of an ovarian cyst. At the check up a few weeks later, the doctor told me to sit down. Fearing the worst, the news was somehow a relief, but not entirely. I was pregnant.
I called my husband. OK. Pregnant. OK.
Because you see there was the fighting. There was my strong feeling that our marriage would not make it. And now we were going to add another baby to this mix? Those were my feelings...mixed.
As the baby grew, so did the cyst. It had a life and blood vessels of its own. They couldn't be sure it was benign. The doctor said it had to come out or it could burst and cause premature labor.
We had to wait till after I got through the first trimester, when the baby would be in less danger from the risk of the surgery. I was permitted to listen to Gregorian Chants on my headphones while going into surgery. I felt pretty sure that day that everything would be OK. Although from what they told me, I didn't know if I would come out with everything or nothing. I named her Samantha that day. I told her to just hold on, it would all be OK. We'd make it through together.
And we did. Samantha became Olivia, a little fierce fireball of a baby. She would spend the next 5 years being the center of attention and a challenge to her older sister. Whereas Olivia was fierce and determined, Noelle was kind and thoughtful. Olivia would leave Noelle stunned with her selfishness and wit. She was just a child, but she knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. It wasn't fun for Noelle.
Just prior to Noelle's 6th birthday we left Manhattan for Hollywood, FL. The production company my husband and I had taken over from his partner the year before fell apart. Karma. It wasn't a pretty split between them. Bad advice led to bad choices. We would have been better off following our hearts than our accountant's head.
Within a 3 month period we went from possibilities to vacancy. Things simply dried up. Projects that were to happen in January were pushed to March, and then to May, and then indefinitely. By June, I needed a plan. I got to the second level of an interview, but ultimately they chose the guy. Without a job, without work. We were left with few options. I saw an ad in Shoot magazine for a Director/Cameraman wanted in Florida. I sent a letter on behalf of my husband. He was called for an interview and got the job.
We visited in June, moved in August. Sold our stake in Manhattan. Yes, its a regret although I know I shouldn't have those.
That's the last I can say for sure of what happened between Noelle and I. The last I can say for sure that it was good. The first year after moving down I was lost. Didn't know what to do, where to go. Took the city girl and stuck her in a suburb of South Florida. Yeah, you might say it was a bit of a culture shock.
Inevitably the question comes up. People that know me, people that begin to know me, I am quick to remind them that although my youngest daughter is often the topic of my thoughts and posts and conversations, "I also have an older daughter". Its something I am bound to say. Because although our relationship consists of an occasional text and not much else, I refuse to let her become irrelevant to my life. I want people to know, I have an older daughter, who I love with all my heart.
Simply expressing this brings tears to my eyes and makes my chest ache. I sob. I must pause in my writing to wipe the tears.
"What happened?!" you may wonder, or "What's wrong?".
Nothing. Nothing that I can put my finger on anyway. Something I guess. Mostly a mystery to me.
My older, my first born. Can I tell you how much I adored this baby. How much I wanted her. I fought for her, I risked everything I knew to have her. I said "yes" to this unexpected pregnancy. At 28 years of age, only having dated her father for 3 months, I said no to what seemed the more practical choice to abort this child. I said yes to becoming a single mother. Because I felt I owed it to this life. Lest you misunderstand, I am strongly "pro-choice". And for me, at 28 years of age, I felt it was the right thing to do, to be responsible for my choices, and to welcome this baby into my life.
Her father and I had long pined for each other. When we finally got together after 4 years and a misguided marriage on his part, it was with the misguided notion that somehow this pregnancy confirmed that we "were meant to be". I suppose in the scheme of life that was ultimately true, because it "was". He and I were not "meant to be" spouses, but he and I were meant to bring her into the world.
He hesitated. I understood. Friends warned him no. I told him he could go. But I was choosing a different path. I was choosing to say yes.
And she was cherished. Our first 5 years together, although she witnessed much too much fighting between us, as far as I knew...I made up for it in my devotion to her. This child was breastfed, she wore organic cloth diapers. She ate organic baby food and drank soy milk. Her vaccinations were postponed. Nothing related to this child was done without having been researched and thought out. We played together, visited the different parks of New York City. Weekly visits to the green market for her favorite spinach pies and sheep's milk yogurt. Later it would become squid salad at the french bakery and market. How many 5 year olds do you know who like squid salad?
Then came the second pregnancy, unexpected and unplanned, again. I know what you're thinking. Here's the answer: A diaphragm, and miscalculations.
At first it was a routine gyno appointment. Then there was the discovery of an ovarian cyst. At the check up a few weeks later, the doctor told me to sit down. Fearing the worst, the news was somehow a relief, but not entirely. I was pregnant.
I called my husband. OK. Pregnant. OK.
Because you see there was the fighting. There was my strong feeling that our marriage would not make it. And now we were going to add another baby to this mix? Those were my feelings...mixed.
As the baby grew, so did the cyst. It had a life and blood vessels of its own. They couldn't be sure it was benign. The doctor said it had to come out or it could burst and cause premature labor.
We had to wait till after I got through the first trimester, when the baby would be in less danger from the risk of the surgery. I was permitted to listen to Gregorian Chants on my headphones while going into surgery. I felt pretty sure that day that everything would be OK. Although from what they told me, I didn't know if I would come out with everything or nothing. I named her Samantha that day. I told her to just hold on, it would all be OK. We'd make it through together.
And we did. Samantha became Olivia, a little fierce fireball of a baby. She would spend the next 5 years being the center of attention and a challenge to her older sister. Whereas Olivia was fierce and determined, Noelle was kind and thoughtful. Olivia would leave Noelle stunned with her selfishness and wit. She was just a child, but she knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. It wasn't fun for Noelle.
Just prior to Noelle's 6th birthday we left Manhattan for Hollywood, FL. The production company my husband and I had taken over from his partner the year before fell apart. Karma. It wasn't a pretty split between them. Bad advice led to bad choices. We would have been better off following our hearts than our accountant's head.
Within a 3 month period we went from possibilities to vacancy. Things simply dried up. Projects that were to happen in January were pushed to March, and then to May, and then indefinitely. By June, I needed a plan. I got to the second level of an interview, but ultimately they chose the guy. Without a job, without work. We were left with few options. I saw an ad in Shoot magazine for a Director/Cameraman wanted in Florida. I sent a letter on behalf of my husband. He was called for an interview and got the job.
We visited in June, moved in August. Sold our stake in Manhattan. Yes, its a regret although I know I shouldn't have those.
That's the last I can say for sure of what happened between Noelle and I. The last I can say for sure that it was good. The first year after moving down I was lost. Didn't know what to do, where to go. Took the city girl and stuck her in a suburb of South Florida. Yeah, you might say it was a bit of a culture shock.
Between a Hard Rock and a Hard Line
In this year of new beginnings, much has to be shed. Top on the list is my attachment to my daughters as my "baby girls". Yes, they will always be my babies (add additional sappy disclaimers here), but I have come to see that the amount of pain and suffering I cause myself clinging to the memories of my relationship with the little girls they once were.
And so I will tell the tale of my youngest, my sweet baby girl. My ballerina beauty. Now a Go-Go dancer at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.
Ok first of all...Stop it! Its not that bad! She's not a stripper, she's a "go-go" dancer, ok? Innocent fun! So it takes place in a casino, with people smoking, drinking and gambling their lives away. It's the... "Hard Rock". You know...Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis' place?! Its where Nicole Smith died...she's famous! Its not just some sleazy bar.
And she is not pole dancing...its entertainment! Think Vegas! Show girls....yeah, like that.
How did this come to be? Well, it started with my daughter being a phenomenal dancer. In all genres (but tap, she hated tap) She was the prima ballerina in her dance studio, she won awards, beautiful lines, and great stage presence, excellent in Jazz and hip hop. The choreographers always placed her front and center. Simply put, the girl has moves!
Additionally, she is drop dead gorgeous. Thanks to her mixed heritage, she has an exotic bi-racial look. She has modeled since the age of 9 and has been approached by top agencies based on her instagram photos. If it weren't for her height, she would be a contender to become a Victoria's Secret angel. Seriously, she has that look.
As she approached 18, it was time for her to make a decision, and hers was that she did not desire to become a professional dancer. She knew the amount of training she would have to do to be a serious ballerina, and the back up lifestyle didn't appeal to her...auditions, living out of suitcases, always looking for the next gig. What good mother could argue with that?
However, during her last year at the studio, she became gainfully employed as an event dancer for bar and bat mitzvahs. Her job was to make sure that Ema and Aba had a good time, to dance along with the honoree and keep everyone in party mode. Part cheerleader, part line dancer, she loved it! Being paid to dance was fun, and the money was good. She made as much at one mitzvah as she would have in a week working in the mall. It was a good gig.
As these things happen, a fellow dancer friend worked for another event company, in this case for adult events. God get your head out of the gutter will you! Adult events...and the Hard Rock Casino. Some nights, she simply has to stand around in the lobby in a cute outfit dancing a little and greeting guests, other nights... she is dancing in a cage 20 feet above the casino's center bar.
Oh btw...did I mention that I am a feminist? Written papers about women's roles as sex symbols, objectified, etc..the entire rant? So is she. Her favorite class during her first semester of college was Society and Gender. Trust me, the irony of this is lost on either of us.
Back to the bar. One night, I decided it was time for me to actually see my daughter doing her thing. This was still a relatively new gig for her, and I was not totally comfortable with it. I knew it was ok, really, but still. Every time I told someone she was a go-go dancer, I got that look. The "oh" and eyes downcast. I had to see for myself.
That night I texted her to see if she would mind Mamma showing up at midnight. She texted back happily "Sure!" But no judgement! I have really short shorts on this time and I don't want to hear it." Ok, I thought, prepare yourself, no judgement. But who was I kidding. If I thought it was horrible I was 100% prepared to tell her and I will not allow her to do it, period.
As I walked from my car through the crowded hotel, I was intrigued by the scene itself. I left the party scene years ago and to see so many people out spending their money on booze, slot machines and smoky rooms...it struck me, "Who are these people?". Oh no...I was doing it! I was judging!
I entered into the main casino room and looked toward the center when my eyes landed on the bar. As I approached, I could see dancers on platforms down the center aisle ahead of me. In order to be more stealth, I quickly changed my approach and cut through the side aisles, thinking it might throw her off to see me approaching from afar.
As I came up to the bar, I couldn't find my girl. She wasn't on either of the platforms. Then something caught my eye. There up above the entire scene, was my girl...25 feet up in the air in the dancers "cage". Grooving and moving and waving to me. I laughed and smiled at her, as we do...because hey, that's my girl up there. In that moment, I knew it was ok.
It was quite a site. The center bar is an oval structure with two dozen varying sized tv monitors rising up all around, and then up about 20 feet above that is a platform surrounded by chain link fence, smaller at the bottom and fanning out at the top, like a funnel shaped cage.
And there she was. My baby girl. Her hair was done in a big loose mohawk type updo with intense dark eye makeup. She was wearing a big black feather top, with chains coming off of it, and as promised the short shorts, But she didn't look sleazy. It just looked like a costume. She danced well, lots of arm movements, nothing too provocative, mostly just eentertaining.
After the inital shock, I walked around and evaluated the scene. I went over to where one of the other girls was dancing on the platform just a few feet off from the floor. I preferred that my girl was up away from the glares of the crowd. They weren't nasty so much as they were curiously enthralled. The women and the men. But still, I didn't feature it so much.
I decided to have a seat. I watched for while. I took in the surrounding scene. The variety of souls, some looking lost, some simply having a good time. One particularly good looking man approached a machine nearby, and I was struck by two things: One that he was alone. The other the way he continued to stare at that slot machine, and watch the numbers roll..again, and again, and again.
There I sat, a plainly dressed woman, without a drink in my hand, my back to the slots, I wondered what I must look like, just staring up at this dancer. I laughed at the vision. Yet I also felt completely invisible. I didn't fit in, and I just disappeared into the cacophony of sounds and visual stimuli.
As I watched my daughter, I was taken my motherly concern. It was tiring! I noticed when she lost her balance a little, she would grab onto the chain link part of the fence to stabilize herself. My maternal safety radar went on. "Don't hold onto the link, it could give way, hold onto the bar". I knew I would have to tell her this when I saw her. She might roll her eyes, and think "there she goes again, being over protective," but that is a label I'll wear as a mother. The way I see it, that's my job. We're like secret service agents. Our job is to anticipate trouble, to scan the buildings for snipers.
I sat there and choose to consciously process it all. I asked myself how I felt about her being up there, on display. I imagined her at 4 years old, and again at 8. I remembered how she bounced around the house when she booked her first modeling job, and recalled how exquisite she looked as the Snow Queen in the Nutcracker with her tiara and snow white tutu.
I rationalized...really how much different was this from her days of competition dance? The costumes, the make up, the performances for the judges. Ok, so now there were bouncers and booze and gambling, but her role in it, really wasn't much different.
I realized in that moment, that I had to acknowledge that my daughter had grown up. She was now a young woman. She was dancing now not for fun, but to make money to pay for her car insurance. This hurt me, because I wish I could still provide for all her needs. But I know that this is not the way. That she must learn, and earn and grow in the process of becoming an adult. I can't protect her from that, nor should I want to. It reminded me of the scene in Into the Woods, where Meryl Streep sings to Rapunzal..who she has locked away and tried to keep an innocent young child. You cannot stifle your children's growth, or they will resent you and you will lose them - the very thing you are so desperately trying to avoid.
This realization made me understand more clearly why she gets impatient with me when I treat her like a little girl. She is dancing in a casino to make money. She is not a little girl. Nor is she a whore. She is simply young and making money having fun. Who's smarter than her?
As these pangs of protection provoked my heart, I also reminded myself that I too worked in a night club at her age. I was a cocktail waitress in a club. I served drinks in a smoky room and got tips. My daughter doesn't get tips. In fact, no one is allowed to get near her. They have a very well organized system which includes a female handler who walks the girls to and from the green room to the bar for their shifts and bouncers who make sure no one lays a hand on them.
When her shift ended, and the handler came to whisk her and her fellow dancers away, she came to me quickly and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then she rushed off. I followed, I just had to deliver the one mom message about holding onto the bar instead of the chain link. I'm her mother after all. Its my job to protect her.
And off she flew in her feathers...I stayed awake until she came in at 3am. "Good night mamma"
Good night, baby girl...
The dancers
And so I will tell the tale of my youngest, my sweet baby girl. My ballerina beauty. Now a Go-Go dancer at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.
Ok first of all...Stop it! Its not that bad! She's not a stripper, she's a "go-go" dancer, ok? Innocent fun! So it takes place in a casino, with people smoking, drinking and gambling their lives away. It's the... "Hard Rock". You know...Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis' place?! Its where Nicole Smith died...she's famous! Its not just some sleazy bar.
And she is not pole dancing...its entertainment! Think Vegas! Show girls....yeah, like that.
How did this come to be? Well, it started with my daughter being a phenomenal dancer. In all genres (but tap, she hated tap) She was the prima ballerina in her dance studio, she won awards, beautiful lines, and great stage presence, excellent in Jazz and hip hop. The choreographers always placed her front and center. Simply put, the girl has moves!
Additionally, she is drop dead gorgeous. Thanks to her mixed heritage, she has an exotic bi-racial look. She has modeled since the age of 9 and has been approached by top agencies based on her instagram photos. If it weren't for her height, she would be a contender to become a Victoria's Secret angel. Seriously, she has that look.
As she approached 18, it was time for her to make a decision, and hers was that she did not desire to become a professional dancer. She knew the amount of training she would have to do to be a serious ballerina, and the back up lifestyle didn't appeal to her...auditions, living out of suitcases, always looking for the next gig. What good mother could argue with that?
However, during her last year at the studio, she became gainfully employed as an event dancer for bar and bat mitzvahs. Her job was to make sure that Ema and Aba had a good time, to dance along with the honoree and keep everyone in party mode. Part cheerleader, part line dancer, she loved it! Being paid to dance was fun, and the money was good. She made as much at one mitzvah as she would have in a week working in the mall. It was a good gig.
As these things happen, a fellow dancer friend worked for another event company, in this case for adult events. God get your head out of the gutter will you! Adult events...and the Hard Rock Casino. Some nights, she simply has to stand around in the lobby in a cute outfit dancing a little and greeting guests, other nights... she is dancing in a cage 20 feet above the casino's center bar.
Oh btw...did I mention that I am a feminist? Written papers about women's roles as sex symbols, objectified, etc..the entire rant? So is she. Her favorite class during her first semester of college was Society and Gender. Trust me, the irony of this is lost on either of us.
Back to the bar. One night, I decided it was time for me to actually see my daughter doing her thing. This was still a relatively new gig for her, and I was not totally comfortable with it. I knew it was ok, really, but still. Every time I told someone she was a go-go dancer, I got that look. The "oh" and eyes downcast. I had to see for myself.
That night I texted her to see if she would mind Mamma showing up at midnight. She texted back happily "Sure!" But no judgement! I have really short shorts on this time and I don't want to hear it." Ok, I thought, prepare yourself, no judgement. But who was I kidding. If I thought it was horrible I was 100% prepared to tell her and I will not allow her to do it, period.
As I walked from my car through the crowded hotel, I was intrigued by the scene itself. I left the party scene years ago and to see so many people out spending their money on booze, slot machines and smoky rooms...it struck me, "Who are these people?". Oh no...I was doing it! I was judging!
I entered into the main casino room and looked toward the center when my eyes landed on the bar. As I approached, I could see dancers on platforms down the center aisle ahead of me. In order to be more stealth, I quickly changed my approach and cut through the side aisles, thinking it might throw her off to see me approaching from afar.
As I came up to the bar, I couldn't find my girl. She wasn't on either of the platforms. Then something caught my eye. There up above the entire scene, was my girl...25 feet up in the air in the dancers "cage". Grooving and moving and waving to me. I laughed and smiled at her, as we do...because hey, that's my girl up there. In that moment, I knew it was ok.
It was quite a site. The center bar is an oval structure with two dozen varying sized tv monitors rising up all around, and then up about 20 feet above that is a platform surrounded by chain link fence, smaller at the bottom and fanning out at the top, like a funnel shaped cage.
And there she was. My baby girl. Her hair was done in a big loose mohawk type updo with intense dark eye makeup. She was wearing a big black feather top, with chains coming off of it, and as promised the short shorts, But she didn't look sleazy. It just looked like a costume. She danced well, lots of arm movements, nothing too provocative, mostly just eentertaining.
After the inital shock, I walked around and evaluated the scene. I went over to where one of the other girls was dancing on the platform just a few feet off from the floor. I preferred that my girl was up away from the glares of the crowd. They weren't nasty so much as they were curiously enthralled. The women and the men. But still, I didn't feature it so much.
I decided to have a seat. I watched for while. I took in the surrounding scene. The variety of souls, some looking lost, some simply having a good time. One particularly good looking man approached a machine nearby, and I was struck by two things: One that he was alone. The other the way he continued to stare at that slot machine, and watch the numbers roll..again, and again, and again.
There I sat, a plainly dressed woman, without a drink in my hand, my back to the slots, I wondered what I must look like, just staring up at this dancer. I laughed at the vision. Yet I also felt completely invisible. I didn't fit in, and I just disappeared into the cacophony of sounds and visual stimuli.
As I watched my daughter, I was taken my motherly concern. It was tiring! I noticed when she lost her balance a little, she would grab onto the chain link part of the fence to stabilize herself. My maternal safety radar went on. "Don't hold onto the link, it could give way, hold onto the bar". I knew I would have to tell her this when I saw her. She might roll her eyes, and think "there she goes again, being over protective," but that is a label I'll wear as a mother. The way I see it, that's my job. We're like secret service agents. Our job is to anticipate trouble, to scan the buildings for snipers.
I sat there and choose to consciously process it all. I asked myself how I felt about her being up there, on display. I imagined her at 4 years old, and again at 8. I remembered how she bounced around the house when she booked her first modeling job, and recalled how exquisite she looked as the Snow Queen in the Nutcracker with her tiara and snow white tutu.
I rationalized...really how much different was this from her days of competition dance? The costumes, the make up, the performances for the judges. Ok, so now there were bouncers and booze and gambling, but her role in it, really wasn't much different.
I realized in that moment, that I had to acknowledge that my daughter had grown up. She was now a young woman. She was dancing now not for fun, but to make money to pay for her car insurance. This hurt me, because I wish I could still provide for all her needs. But I know that this is not the way. That she must learn, and earn and grow in the process of becoming an adult. I can't protect her from that, nor should I want to. It reminded me of the scene in Into the Woods, where Meryl Streep sings to Rapunzal..who she has locked away and tried to keep an innocent young child. You cannot stifle your children's growth, or they will resent you and you will lose them - the very thing you are so desperately trying to avoid.
This realization made me understand more clearly why she gets impatient with me when I treat her like a little girl. She is dancing in a casino to make money. She is not a little girl. Nor is she a whore. She is simply young and making money having fun. Who's smarter than her?
As these pangs of protection provoked my heart, I also reminded myself that I too worked in a night club at her age. I was a cocktail waitress in a club. I served drinks in a smoky room and got tips. My daughter doesn't get tips. In fact, no one is allowed to get near her. They have a very well organized system which includes a female handler who walks the girls to and from the green room to the bar for their shifts and bouncers who make sure no one lays a hand on them.
When her shift ended, and the handler came to whisk her and her fellow dancers away, she came to me quickly and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then she rushed off. I followed, I just had to deliver the one mom message about holding onto the bar instead of the chain link. I'm her mother after all. Its my job to protect her.
And off she flew in her feathers...I stayed awake until she came in at 3am. "Good night mamma"
Good night, baby girl...
The dancers
The Escape From All False Ties
What
do I have to offer? What do I have to teach?
It’s
a question that many of us ask ourselves as we seek to grow and be of use to
others.
There
are so many people offering their advice, “the way” to contentment and
fulfillment…how do we connect with one, or another? Who can know my journey?
Whose words will be the keys to unlock my mystery? For some its Jesus, for
others, the Dali Lama, or maybe their mothers or fathers. My teachers include
Pema Chodran, Eckhart Tolle & Jeff Foster. These wise ones speak a language that inspires and helps me
to understand.
Ultimately,
what I have to offer is not much different from what they, or you, have to
offer. Our unique understanding of life, through our experiences and the
lessons we’ve learned from them. In my case, I’ve chosen to make this
understanding my profession. I have educated myself, learned about how people
change, what helps them to heal and to face the challenges with grace and hope.
This is my life’s purpose.
I
humbly share my thoughts, hoping in my words you will find insight, comfort,
and meaning, and that my interpretation of life will spark something in you to
further your understanding of your journey.
From
one of the world’s greatest thinkers, Emerson, I’ve attempted to live according
to these ideals:
The escape from all false ties ; courage to be what we are
; and love of what is simple and beautiful; independence and cheerful relation
— these are the essentials. These, and the wish to serve, to add somewhat to
the well-being of men.
Starting today, and with my next few
blog posts, I will be taking apart this quote line by line. Mediating on each
message. I hope you’ll join me!
THE
ESCAPE FROM ALL FALSE TIES
Huge concept. What are the false ties in
your life? For some it may be a sense of obligation to others, or to a career
path. Perhaps you think you have to appear a certain way to be loved. To be
cool. To make your parents proud. Maybe its fake friendships. Do you truly
enjoy the company of those you spend your time with? Are they supportive of
your true dreams? Are you comfortable enough with them to share your dreams? Do
you feel accepted and loved unconditionally? Or judged and discounted? These
are difficult questions…and they lead to answers that could be hard to face.
But isn’t an authentic life worth more than false ties? Only you know the
answer that question, and only when you’re ready can you ask it.
Are you in a marriage that is a lie? Do
you pretend all is well when you are dying inside? That’s hard to face. But if
its truly not supporting you as a person, then maybe its time to make a change.
This doesn’t mean you have to divorce your spouse. Maybe you do, maybe you
don’t. Chances are your spouse is suffering false ties as well. What would it
mean to be honest with yourself? To have the courage to take steps to move the
relationship in a direction that is more in line with your truth. It takes
work, and again we have to ask ourselves…what is the value of authenticity in
my life?
Perhaps a false tie is achieving
financial success, or a sentimental attachment to scarcity…to being an “artist”
and not “selling out”. Is it a Fendi bag? Cartier watch? An Audi? Membership to
the club?
And what about social media? The
appearance of being well, popular, loved. Is the image you present on social
media a false tie? Its ok to share
good news, that’s not necessarily false. But if you are feeling a social
pressure to keep up with the friends, co-workers or family…if it feels fake,
then you may need to evaluate what motivates you.
Its not new news…in our American
culture, we value “things”.
Material possessions tell us we have succeeded. So how do we make sense
of those who have more than they could possible need, and yet are miserable,
suicidal, who would give it all up for peace of mind or authentic relationships?
Don’t get me wrong, I like nice things
and grand adventures as much as the next person. It would be great to have a
few million banked away. But I am sincerely thankful that my sense of self
worth is not wrapped up in the possession of things. I don’t suffer anxiety
because of the things I don’t have. Rather, I remind myself of all I do have. Gratitude
is truly the antidote for the illness of envy, entitlement and lack-based
anxiety.
I stumbled upon this experience several
years ago...when I was gripped by fear of lack. It was torturous, and in
seeking relief, I began to think about what I did have…and it was a truly
transformative experience. Its not just a corny admonition, “you should count
your blessings”. It really works!
If you find yourself wishing things were
different…if only you had done this or that, or gripped by anxiety of what will
be - I recommend you give Gratitude a try. Make it tangible. Write down all you
have in your life. The family, the friends, the job or career. If you don’t
have much of those, don’t compare or think about needing more. Just count the blessings
you do have. If you’re in good health that’s a major one. Or maybe its that one
neighbor who always says hi, or your dog or cat who are so happy to see you. For
me its my family and friends that truly love me. Its the sunrise and ocean, the
beautiful night sky, simply an amazing flower. I am grateful that I can
perceive beauty, and that it fills my heart with joy. This is such a blessing. Let
the emotions settle in your soul. Even if all you have is another day to try, you
can choose to view that as a blessing. Opportunities to grow, although at times
painful, are blessings. They keep you moving forward.
What
are your false ties? Where in your life are you pretending to be, want, or feel
something you’re not?
Next
post: THE COURAGE TO BE WHO WE ARE…
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