Friday, November 30, 2012

Heart = Warm

Has everyone been reading the story of the New York City police officer, Lawrence DePrimo who bought a pair of winter boots and socks for a homeless man he met while on duty? I have read the story at least 3 times and I am cuttin' onions!

I don't know why, but I am in love with this story. DePrimo says the man was very polite and you could see that he had blisters on the bottom of his feet and was walking on his heels, barefoot. He said it was freezing out that night and he just thought he had to help him.

The office talked to the man and he found out what shoe size he wore, then went to a nearby shoe store looking for shoes and socks. The store employee gave him his employee discount to help out and he took the shoes and socks to the man and knelt down to help him put them on. There was a woman visiting NYC from Arizona who snapped a photo and it went viral after she sent it to the NYPD to tell them what a great thing she witnessed. Her father had been in law enforcement and she knew what was happening.

The homeless man thanked him and walked away.

Something about this gets me every time. Just one human being offering shoes to another. There are a thousand ways to help people, big and small. A gesture that this officer didn't hesitate to make, and certainly didn't think anyone else would know about, but has changed him forever. The outpouring of love from people who read the story and know what it is like to reach down and help someone, or to have someone reach down and help them is so touching. People who wish they had the courage to do something, even something small to help someone else.

There's a line in the movie, We Bought A Zoo. The character Ben Mee says:

You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.

It can be difficult to ask for help. It can be harder to see someone need help and offer it. All you need to do is close your eyes, forget what you think you know and step forward. One step. Start talking. Don't think about doing it, just begin. Look for the opportunity to reach out. They are all around you. Then screw up the courage to take the leap that will change both of your lives forever.My heart is warmed by this person's leap. I'll try to find a way to take my own.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Jobs

So I may have already told you, but I've held a lot of jobs. I would like to tell you how many, but honestly I lost count. It's more than you have had, of that I am sure. That's what happens when you are a dreamer and don't want to be pigeonholed.

Currently I am in the shit stick of jobs. Its a quicksand pile of douchebaggery, punctuated by the ramblings of an overgrown baby in control of the place. Worst of all- I got this job on purpose. I needed a job, I applied, I willed them to interview me and unsurprisingly, they called me in. That was a year and a half ago. Its not even the worst job I've ever had. By a long shot. Its just the latest in a long string of jobs that were 'safe' and made 'sense' and let me get more mileage out of the 'office clothes' I've collected over the last decade and a half.

Now, I know where you are headed.....just stop. Stop right there, put down the "you're lucky to have a job" sign and step away. There. Much better, hmmm? M'kay.

Because I know I am fortunate to be employed. I know lots of people went to college, obtained important degrees and are stuck in jobs that are so far beneath them, they get vertigo stepping into the office. I know that, but unless you are new here, you know that will not stop me from talking about it.

Husband and I are currently embroiled in two of the worst jobs. The actual job description, location, climate, office, clothing, etc. are not the problem. The problem is the people in charge and the culture they create. You learn something from every experience in life, and from this one we are learning to ask, "So what is your management style? and 'How would you say you delegate tasks?', 'What anti psychotic medications are you currently taking?"and other questions to potential employers in future job interviews.

Everyone copes with their horrible, no good, very bad job in one way or another. I have decided that my job is going to get their money's worth out of me. No more than that. And I don't make millions here, so....You get a second blog post today! And you! And you!

Hey, at least I'm not working in retail over this holiday season, but I assure you I did not go to college so that I could help management figure out how to load a stapler. This place has pushed me closer to what I need to be doing than anything ever has. The realization of how much money my superiors make while they watch puppy videos on You Tube is the final crushing blow that forced me to write.

Hubby works for a long distance, self styled Type A manager without enough skills to do his job who has installed a new puppet to do her dirty work/surveillance. Such an oppressively fake atmosphere. In the spirit of terrible jobs we (should be grateful for) hate, let's list jobs we would love:

1. Writer
2. Bed tester
3. Book reviewer
4. Model
5. Secret Shopper
6. Toy company CEO
7.  Ice cream taster
8. Professional Ice Skater
9. New gadget tester
10. Philanthropist

Isn't that better? Now go buy a lottery ticket, I have heard its over $400 Million!

Chicken Day of the Yam Meltdown

Happy Thanksgiving. I know its late. Think of it as cold turkey....leftovers!
Cold turkey has two meanings and both of them are kind of awful...we should talk about that soon. Remind me.

Growing up, my older sister decided early on that I was responsible for all of the evil or inconvenient things that happened. Ever. Especially on holidays, and almost every Thanksgiving. Before me, she was the only girl. Even after my older brother was born, she was fine. But by the time I rolled around, she knew this was not good. The shit show of way too many kids was well on its way and I was the sign of the apocalypse. Therefore, it was all my fault. It is now a joke in my family to say "Thanks for ruining____________, Velvet!"

My brother said to me this year- Hey, where is someone to tell you how you are ruining everything? I offered that he could do it, but seeing as how he was eating food I prepared, he probably didn't feel up to it. (Did I mention he lives with us right now and I do most of his laundry/cooking/dishes?) he put another deviled egg in his mouth and hummed away.

I tried to ruin Thanksgiving, folks. I put all my effort into it. To no avail.

My mother is practically MIA on holidays anymore, two of our siblings live far away and my two younger siblings are single, so we do a little something at my house. This year, my sister reminded me how much she hates turkey (birthday too close to Thanksgiving her whole life) so I got rotisserie chickens from Costco (I KNOW!), cornbread stuffing and the pre-cut veggies from Trader Joe's, cranberries courtesy of Ocean Spray and then I made candied yams and deviled eggs so I could say, "I've been slavin' over this for hours, y'all!"

It worked. No one cared. Except my nephew. Who hates food. Not all food, just the ones made for Thanksgiving. Because he is four years old. We tried to feed him a bite of yam and endured 5 minutes of crying, interrupted by the view of chewed yam rolling around. This kid has serious will. He would not eat it. Finally I decided that was enough, handed him a napkin and told him I was done talking about yams. He rewarded me by sweetly asking if he could now have a "Shmarlow". How frickin' cute is that? I almost died. Yam meltdown forgiven. Two shmarlows for you, young child.

Our Thanksgiving was overflowing with the joy and gratefulness of the season, since I only had to lay eyes on my stepdaughter's mother one time for about 20 seconds. My cup overflows with gladness. Even though they picked her up almost an hour early. I shit you not. I still have no idea how that beautiful creature emerged from the DNA shared by these people. Miracle of life right there.

But in the end, we all got where we were going, we ate food, drank wine, played games and made snowflakes, everyone was safe and no one went hungry and that is so much more than we realize. I'm grateful that we have it so good. I hope you do as well.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

How to Get Your Way

I have discovered it. The thing you have been looking for forever. And I can tell you why you'll never get it.

So I work at a Community College, and boy does the name suit this place. It is a mangled mesh of all strands that make up the fabric of our little society. Working here affords me many things, not the least of which is that I am privy to some of the most interesting human interactions of my life. And that is how I found it.

You see, I have an issue with entitlement. Specifically, with people who believe in their own entitlement. (Just to clarify, I am talking about the, "but I'm here and I need it, so make it happen," sort, not the "I've worked all my life and paid in, now I want Social Security" sort.) I watch while certain people, from all walks of life are able to get people to do things for them that they would not do for others, imposing on their time, money, energy, position, whatever. Just so long as they can get the thing they want or need and not have to follow the rules that everyone else does. This is not the stray student looking for a pencil, although that takes a big pair to come find me and ask for a school supply you have been responsible for bringing with you since 3rd grade. No, this is the "I know this is not the way it's normally done, but...." line of thinking. You know how it goes. You get it all the time. Its either a boss, coworker, subordinate, child, friend, or maybe the person trying to cut in front of the line of cars merging onto the freeway.

Today, and today only, I will throw in that I have figured out why it works for those people and why it does NOT work for me. Or you. Probably. I hope it doesn't work for you.


I thought so. Here it is: .......................................


That is it.

 I know, a huge letdown, right? But let me explain. You see, if you ask someone something, they answer you. The answer to the overreaching question is undeniably "No." But if you press on, not by pushing forward, but simply by continuing to stand there, or stay on the line in silence, or stare at the person, you can make it happen. You can get your way. You can watch the tide roll back, the waters separate and billions of people praise your name. Well, basically.

And you know why it doesn't work for you and I? We cannot do it. You either have more dignity or you have more shame. Everyone has both, but you have a majority of one or the other. If you are deficient in your dignity, you can wait. And stare. And stand there. And look hopeless. And not leave. Not hang up. Never. Until you get your way.

Try doing it sometime. Ask for something you should not get, and try to stay in place, maintaining eye contact. I guarantee you will experience such a rush of discomfort and frustration that you will look like you need to evacuate your bowels. The person will no longer be under your spell and will ask that you leave the room, lest you ruin the nice furnishings. At the very least, they will begin to be uncomfortable and forget that you were trying to impose on them entirely. What you are experiencing here is shame. The other person is experiencing your discomfort and wants the whole thing to stop. Over the phone, it is palpable.

The people who can get what they want cannot get it themselves. They are a virus, requiring a host.

Don't be a virus. You know what you need to do. You know how it works, and what the rules are. You are not different or special in the way that someone else needs to be put out to accommodate you. If no one has ever told you that, now they have. You are welcome.

Don't be a host, either.  When the shame filled virus reaches you, you have defenses. Do not let it happen. Do not argue or continue to explain why it cannot happen, why you cannot do it, why those are the rules, blah blah blah... These are openings that will be exploited by the virus to find a problem with your logic and therefore impose on you. After you've said no, just stand there, silently, staring, thinking about what it is that you want (which is for them to go away) and for once, just this one time, you will get your own way. This behavior confuses the virus better than a Z Pak. Just wait. One more minute. Don't be uncomfortable. Stand high in your dignity.

You're welcome.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Epic Shitstorm

I have had a storm brewing. An Epic Shitstorm to be exact. This storm has been in position, waiting to strike for a long time. There have been smaller storms, times when in my anger and frustration, I tried to sit down and explain how we could avoid the Epic Shitstorm. I tried to tell the townspeople there was trouble and to do things to avoid making it worse.

But they thought they knew better than I do.

Today's list comes to you courtesy of my full time ass hat of a boss. This jerk thinks that if he storms around, bullying everyone into feeling bad, neglects key administrative duties, spends money in strange ways, promotes some people while ignoring others and whines enough about how hard it is, we'll all care. This management style is not very popular, to say the least.


Whoops. I started writing this post about 4 days ago. I stayed home Friday, gave up on it, and today it came to me why.

This is crap. I don't want to finish this post. This is not what I was put on the earth to do. I am not interested in pulling this negativity nearer to myself. This is powerful hatred of the first order and the longer I hang onto it, the more it consumes who and what I really am. And what I should be doing. Making a list of the reasons my boss sucks a bag of dicks does not help me. Boy, this blog thing is therapeutic. I just saved thousands by switching to sanity!

Most of the time my thinking is like a thick fog of smoke, but right now its clear as a bell. Everyone knows they are destined for greatness from a young age. The problem is that as you get older, you forget what you knew. It doesn't change. You do. Your expectations and experience and 'wisdom' get in the way. You get mired in thoughts of how much you hate someone and lose sight of how awesome you are. Focus on the positive. They look incredibly dull next to your brilliance. The reason they seem so petty is because you can see through all of it. The meaningless bribes are irritating to you because your self esteem is too high to be bought with junk. If you weren't so great, they wouldn't seem so terrible.

The lesson therefore, is to only pay attention to the forward motion you are making. Everything that is not on par with this will fade into the shadows of obscurity. For me, this means writing about funny things and irritating things alike, but nothing that is unworthy of my time.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Parenting and the Modern Woman

I have a different point of view on parenting and modern women. As the stepmother to one child and having been the middle of six children to a single mother, I have seen both what  too little interaction and too much can do. To some extent, you will be screwed up by your parents no matter what. Don't despair.

All children are helicopter parented. And there have been helicopters from the beginning. Some are sitting on the sideline drinking a martini, some are overhead, the thud of blades as loud as your own heartbeat. Others are parked in their own problems, too busy to hover over yours. It is interesting to think how one's children are a measure of their success and also how they are the creative outlet, excuse, justification and problematic situation for so many.

We parent the way we do as a result of so many factors. I think that working yourself into your child's life and watching every little thing and worrying about how it will make you look is the fuel for helicopters. So worried that their offspring will face any adversity, any slight in life, any indignity or discomfort, they intervene. In the process, the child never learns how to cope. In the process of protection, one shields nothing but time and lets a childhood lesson slip into adulthood. 

Then your 20 year old is being strip searched on the side of the road with cocaine in her mouth while trying to flirt her drunken way out of a ticket not realizing she wasn't even pulled over, that the cop drove by and noticed she hit the only pole she hasn't ever danced on.

No one is saying you shouldn't help your children, pick the little ones up and carry them in parking lots, hold hands and read and sing stories. But when your 3rd grader doesn't do her book report, you DO NOT stay up and fix it by telling her what it should say, running out to the all night Walmart to get a poster board and ruin your next day due to lack of sleep so you can yell at her and at the same time save her. Just skip it. Don't do either. Go to bed, get some sleep and let nature take its course. You are saving everyone.

But you can't, can you? Somehow between the neglect (perceived or real) of your parents and the pushing of society and your circle of people and their influence, you know that you must make sure that your child measures up. That whatever thing they are 'enriching their child with' or taking them to or exposing them to, making sure they know- your kid needs to know too! RIGHT? right? don't they?

You are convinced that you have to measure up. The modern day woman may not still sit at home, bored to death reading cookbooks and women's magazines that tell her how to keep a house and how to make her husband happy and how to mix a perfect cocktail, but she lives in another sort of parallel universe. She works, and she is expected to do well. To make good money, to have gone to school, to earn a worthwhile degree from a good college. She needs to get married at a reasonable age (trust me if you are over 35 and not married you are getting talked about behind your back). What? You say this isn't the 1940's? Oh really? Just go out there and see what happens. 

She is supposed to have children. Even her same aged friends are on her about this. Its how you know you measure up apparently. Because no self sacrificing mother in the neighborhood wants a childless woman ruining things for them. How in the world will they judge you as a person, judge your self worth and ability to follow the script, the way you raise your kids-if you don't have any?

She is supposed to make sacrifices. To somehow do it all. No one asks her husband what is for dinner. Or when her mom's birthday is. Or when the water bill is due. No one. You are expected as a modern woman to work, pay bills, have a clean house and well behaved, well dressed, properly indoctrinated/ inoculated children who know the score and are edging you to be the model citizen that your neighbors are. They are at the table eating your nutritious homemade meal right this minute.

And if you aren't out making money, you better be a stay at home mom, make a good looking couple of babies, have amazing shopping/organizing/party throwing skills, volunteer at your kid's school until they kick you out for stalking, then drive everyone to every event and have nothing but a great attitude about it.

Its enough to make you want to move to the country. Alone. Where there are no coupons.

I, on the other hand, like to drink and I like wool pants, umbrellas on beverages, loud music and moody thinking. I like retro design, making people laugh, the company of adults and not explaining myself to children. I like reading and writing and sleep. Remember when parents would retire to 'the den' in the evenings? Me either, but I feel like I've read about it and I'm bringing it back.

The helicopter style is no longer for me. I have settled in to what you might call 'canoe parenting'. The whole thing floats even when you aren't rowing and you can circle back to see how things are, then row a few yards away again. As long as you don't lean too far to one side, everything is fine and you can reasonably hold a drink.

Come with me, modern women. Come row on the breezy waters. Have a drink. The kids are fine.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

On my way

I have been writing nearly my whole life. I have hidden it at times, almost lying about it even to myself. For the past couple of years I have written prolifically. I am so afraid of the shadow of my own words, that I talked myself out of doing anything to make them public. I knew I had to write to keep from going crazy and I just couldn't bring myself out yet.

Lately I am going back to my writings, going back to the beginning, digging to find myself. In this experiment to find who I am, I am finding who I always was. I'm on the way to who I am.

Some of the entries really hit me when I read them again. One of those is from this past summer. This is when everything combined to make the perfect storm. Forced to face what I was doing, I came head to head with the problem. This is a moment in time I am so glad I captured. Thank you for being a part of the journey with me.

July 9, 2012

So over the weekend it came to me in a rush.

I am in my own way. As a writer,  my biggest obstacle is getting out of the way. I am worried about all of the things that make a good worry wart (and sometimes a good writer) and things that feed my excuses bucket - if I write an essay am I now an essay writer? If I write a song, am I now a songwriter? If I write humor, will no one ever take me seriously? What if my humor hits a flat note, what if no one thinks I am funny? What if I write tons of stuff and no one ever ever cares? What if I write and critics say 'It has been done before'.?

The answer is- of course it has. Writing is many things to many people. To me it is a statement of my experience. Telling my life and the struggle I see. Choosing the right words to tease the give a shit right out of you so that you get sucked in and read my experience and care. Our experience is all we know. To think no one has ever felt the way that you do or faced the same  pressures is the mindset of a 13 year old girl with a celebrity crush. 

Of course it has been written. But it has not been written by you. Mural artists don't say "well, someone else already painted a touching ghetto scene so there's really nothing to add to that art" and just go home, cans of spray paint hanging out of baggy pockets with a glum look on their face. No.

They paint their experience. They ignore the criticism sure to come their way. With the piranhas circling, breath baited, waiting to make light of the experience. Of the art. And they can't hear the critics because they are busy shaking up the next can of color to show you how the world looks to them.

My words are my paint. I have seen the same things as others. I have read the same books. Why should my writing seek to mirror the style or rhythm or even dialogue as another? Or seek to stay so far away from anything anyone else has ever done  until it is not even my experience anymore, just a ghost of me trying to please someone I have never met and avoid criticism I have never heard or read about writing I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN.

Here is my stand. This is my writing. This is my life. This is how I see it. You may not like it and you may loathe it. Know that I won't base my judgement of myself (or you for that matter) on your feelings. For that is your experience, and you are free to share it. Even if someone else has said it already. Even if you have nothing new to add. Your voice is just as important. Equal. What a concept.

I have great things to say. I have a crazy family with a crazy upbringing. I have had dozens of jobs. I am funny and interesting and interested. I do not need a journalism degree to write. I don't need an English degree or plaques on my wall, or distinguished credentials or your approval. I don't need to reference amazing authors and works of art to let you know that right now, in this moment, I am telling you my story.

That has always been the problem. What am I writing? Am I writing my story? Of course. Even when I write fiction, especially when I write a song or humor, its my story. Not my life story even, it could be the story of today. Or that one day. Or a hopeful one day. Its a story of what I see/have seen/can see/will see. But only I can see it. I am the only one that will see this exact thing this exact way. 

So I write. I write everywhere. On scraps of paper to make days pass, on notebook paper to let it out before it eats me alive. On screens when I should be doing anything else. I write to forget what is important. Then I write a list so I don't forget what's not.

I have always written to relieve the pressure. Its always been a steam valve. What if I take the lid off? The pressure all along has been placed there by living a life as a terrible compromise. One I should not have made, did not have the right to make- I promised myself that I will be better than my parents, that I will live a fuller, better life than the one that was handed to me. That I will work hard at a respectable job that makes sense, that I will be married, own a home, go on vacations, pay my taxes, wear sensible shoes and not have anything stick out too much. Lest it get cut down.

Ah.....there it is. To not stand out too much. 
But then I see myself in the mirror. I catch my real self. She is shaking her head, almost imperceptably. A sideways nod. Hmm.. I see you are doing this again she says.

But I was not born to blend in. Born in the middle and determined not to be needy. To make it at all costs, to go to college. To do everything to ensure a stable and secure life. That is what is threatened now. Not my ability to eat. Not the roof over my head. What is threatened is my status quo. My careful picture. The show I show to others. The other side of the curtain. Security in the eyes of the world. And really, myself.

I can write. I can take my (or someone else's) experience and translate it. This is what I have done for as long as I have been able. I always wrote to run away, to write what I couldn't say. To scream the words on paper that would make your ears bleed if I said them out loud. This has always been my refuge. In bad relationships, when shit got real or when I am bored at my aimless jobs.

I write.

Because its what I am good at. For once, I don't need validation on that.

I once read - pay attention to what you do when you are procrastinating. That is what you should be doing. Well, then I should be writing. I should be listening to other people, helping them to write their stories. Helping them to become what they need to be. In the process, I will become what I am.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

List for my Husband

During a trip to the dreaded Wal-Mart yesterday, it occurred to me that there are things I feel I should have written on a list for my husband before we got married. Things he needed to know. We had been together many years when we got married but somehow he still gives me this crazy sideways look when I do certain things. That look says to me, "Where is this on the list?" To which I silently reply, "It isn't, you didn't get a list." so we will have to remedy that. Husband knows all of these things but we can all use a refresher from time to time.

With that, here is today's list:

  1. I have a potty mouth. I swear, sometimes in public.
  2. I sleep a lot. Also sometimes in public.
  3. I drink. I appreciate that you enable encourage this behavior.
  4. If you are hearing me say things that seem odd or unusual, it means I trust you. Most people I just give my regular line of bullshit and a knowing give the person behind the curtain.
  5. I do not...repeat do not... like cleaning floors. I don't like cleaning anything, but I like things to be clean. I clean every day. Floors-just no.
  6. I am not a good worker bee. I chafe at the idea of being what everyone wants/needs me to be rather than being what I am and hoping that its enough. 
  7. I get frustrated with electronics quickly, but I will write until my fingers bleed.
  8. I don't like video games. Stop asking questions right there.
  9. I have at least two personalities. Neither one is perfect. Both are crazy about you.
  10. Let's not go to Wal-Mart ever again. Deal? Deal.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Shit to get done

Shit to get done:

So I write a lot of lists. I get it from my father. The thing about lists is that they have a purpose that is unique to the person writing them. I love to find other people's grocery lists in a cart I get at the store. I am inherently curious as to what other people shop for. That is just because I am a nosy busybody and want to know what everyone else has in their fridge. Because I can't go to their house, open the fridge and stand in front of it for 10 minutes. I can only see their lists. Or their cart. But if you've ever stared at someone's cart for more than a few seconds, you know that you are branded as a stalker to them. If they leave their list in a cart and you happen to get that cart, you are able to see in the window of who that person is. Baby food? Glad I'm not you. Tampons? Been there, sister. Yoplait? I like your must have sent someone else to the store. Ice? Hmmm, maybe you are a drinker, I might like you. Vodka? Now we're talking.

Lists are important to me. I can write a list of things to do the next day and the simple fact that I put it on paper means that I can go to sleep. My mind no longer has to juggle all of those items, making sure that in fact I put all of the things on there in order of importance or sequence of time (depending on how OCD that particular day is going). I have it all on my little list.

These are always on pieces of paper. Not even in a spiral notebook. A loose, all on its own piece of paper such as an index card or those huge sticky notes or half a sheet of copy paper that I grabbed from the printer. Paper. Real paper. I have an iphone and people say to me- do you know you can put all of that in the phone? No. I did not know that. I have never used this phone. Does this make calls? Get the fuck away. Now I have to find a piece of paper so I can write "SHIT LIST" on the top and make sure you are the first line. Go fuck yourself.

So many lists. I find that it is how I organize my thoughts, keep myself from going insane, remember to do things that I would otherwise forget or find too unpleasant to do. It can be scooping out the cat shit and if I write it on a list, I will totally do it, because I need the self approval that comes from crossing it off of a list. You know you have an inner voice when you won't cross something off of a list that you haven't done yet. You also know you are a lazy slob when you put stuff on the list that you have done so that you have more items crossed off. I'm not judging, I'm telling you that I do that...

Number one on a list for a long time for me has been to start a blog. This has been at the top of a lot of mental lists. I read (lurk) a lot of blogs. Big famous blogs and smaller, lesser known, (happen to stumble on it and stayed 6 hours) kind of blogs. I've only written this goal a handful of times. I am was afraid.

That is the reality. You can call it busy, lazy, ADHD, OCD, whatever you want. Fear is an incredible motivator and it kept me motivated not to do this. It even kept the idea of blogging off of my lists. Fear is powerful like that sometimes.

I've had an epiphany. Like all long words that mean changing your reality, this one came with the realization that I was afraid. The next logical question was to ask- of what? Ah, that is where the truth comes in. Afraid of judgement, of others seeing what I only write on scraps of paper or in legal pads when I am at the office pretending to do work. Of how I feel. Of who I am. 

There it is. Of who I am. Because I keep that well hidden under a pile of lists. I am a writer. I am a thinker, I am a free spirit and a closet hippie. I am good at a lot of things and I don't want to do any of them all of the days of my life. I can tie my shoes and I will not do that professionally, so I am not that interested in making my living off of keeping my boss from losing his mind or holding onto mine as long as I work with him. None of that is who I am. This is. And that is scary. 

What is not scary to me are internet trolls, those who read only to comment. Who pick at the spaces between. You are missing the forest for the trees. No one fears you. Stop judging. Write your own blog. Come out from behind your 'anonymous' tag and show yourself and  your abilities. No? Maybe a list of your own shortcomings. Don't be afraid. This is for your own good.

I am embracing the fear. This is the work you have to do. Even when no one reads it. Even when everyone does. It will be worth it. It already is.