The Tale of the Kiss and the Slap

Or why the pain of rejection lingers. If a magical being flew into your life blessed one palm of a hand with a kiss and the other with a sharp slap which would you remember longer? Most might say the kiss because it was innocent, sweet and well, magical while the other was rude, disruptive and hurtful. Which one? It’s easy…the one that hurt. Pain whether it is physical or emotional tends to linger. We try to figure out what we did to deserve it or we waste energies trying to absolve ourselves. If you are an overthinker, like me, you turn over every minute, dissecting every detail. I have to tell myself to stop obsessing. When I was young and experiencing life on my own without the safety net of family, I did not know how to make friends. It is a skill set that, let’s be honest, we work at our whole lives. If you are blessed to have one close friend in your adult life, that you are not romantically involved with, congratulations! You have won the lottery! Sometimes relationships just stop working. We all enter into relationships because there is something there we are drawn toward. We need (OMG I SAID THE NEED WORD) to feel like a part of a larger picture or there is something we want that we might never have experienced before, or there is a beauty there we fall head over heels for. (THE KISS)

Why do relationships break down? BOREDOM? infidelity, having different life goals, age, maturity ? Yes, all of those things. I am saddened to say that sometimes there are other darker reasons : abuse, neglect, alcohol or drugs, betrayal. (THE SLAP) The relationship must end for the health of all involved. Some are successful with the breakdown while others spiral out of control. I use breakdown because no one feels up after a relationship ends. Well, I never do anyway. I used to be the one to spiral, not anymore. I know what I am worth. I want more for myself than what I used to settle for.

I am also not the same person I was before life slapped me around, lol. I am enough. I am a good person with a big heart. As I sit here writing this I realize that Once Upon A Time that wasn’t true, I was not a good person. I hated myself and things I wasn’t a part of. I carried around anger, hurt, disappointment … like they were accessories for my wardrobe. Often I was rude to people, disagreeable, because I was so unhappy with who I thought I should be instead of just being who I am. My younger sister taught me to see the vulnerability of life. If you look at something hard enough you learn to appreciate the work that went into making it a piece of art. My Dad thought the best of everyone he met, a rare quality. My husband was brave enough to scale my “wall of scorn” to learn who I was. I love him. He loves me. Our life together is no one else’s business. Have your opinions, I live my life. I love my life. I have learned to be a better person because of the people in and around my life.

Everyone who lives has regrets. I have few regrets. I love with my whole being. I am human, sometimes I am a queen sized ass hat. I try to own it all, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. I offer apology when it is offered in return. There have been people in my life who chose to be passive/ aggressive instead of working through a rough patch. I get it. Avoidance means that a person does not have to accept their roll in the souring of a friendship. It makes it easier to sell “the innocent victim roll” to everyone. I have been there and done that. It is an empty feeling because somewhere in middle of all that anger is the truth. Walking away takes strength. It is ok to be sad when you have a loss. Rest a bit, take stock in who you are, where you want to be and then go live your life. Go after whatever sparks JOY for you. GO after it. What ever that IT is.

Never Give Up On The Person You Are Meant To Be

Do YOU Believe…

in magic? I mean the kind of magic we are surrounded by everyday. A smile you weren’t looking for? A kindness not sought after? Yes, that kind of magic, not HOCUS POCUS but the simple magic. Simple magic exists in the every day moments and in people around us who have no idea of the power they possess. I did not start to write this to wax on about the beauty in the friends that I have around me and yet this is what this post is about.

Do you know how to tell if you are a successful person in life? No? Yeah, I could never quite grasp that either until I noticed how the room I walk into where my friends gather feels warm, inviting, inclusive, safe. That, my friends, is the magic. The magic of the smile I give/receive just by being in their presence. Knowing that even if it is a momentary thought shared that our days are made better by the happenstance of the moment. I used to be of the school of thought that I had no real friends. My life empty of people who I enjoyed that enjoyed me. What a fool I am some times. It is not the length of the parade that you remember but the spectacle of the joy it gave you.

I used to laugh reading those corny sayings. You know, “be the change you want to see in the world”, “to have friends you must first be a friend”, “live, laugh, love” and so on. Well? who knew all of these sayings work? I try to apply them in my life and I am better for it. I love in a grand way. If I let you into my life as my friend I will always be in your corner. I will do my level best to be present in our conversations or our time together. I want you to enjoy our friendship as much as I enjoy yours. I am odd. I own that shit. I used to just want to be “normal” but that is not where my groove is, sorry, not sorry. I will take odd and magical any day over normal and mundane.

Cheers to the people in my life who have made it past the preliminary rounds. A lifetime of adventures await.

To know the value of a true friendship is the best gift you can give yourself. Love the people in your life. I do.

For my BFF, for…Marie, Raven, my Book club ladies, Peg, Emily, my adventure ladies, my work peeps, my WWS peeps, my hockey framily, for all the wonderful friends that my life has…thank you for you time, your attention, laughs and love. You make my life so much better just by being a part of it. You mean every thing to me and I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate you. Thanks for all of it.

My favorite kind of MAGIC…

It’s a Kind of Magic…

…LIFE, when it surprises you in unexpected positive ways. I started my unbirthday project last week. I carefully framed each of my photos that I had snapped at a sunflower festival. I wrapped each creation in tissue paper than I arranged them into waiting gift bags. As I made my way around handing out my gifts to the people I had selected, my heartbeat was catching in my throat. I was nervous with gleeful anticipation and dare I say a little apprehension.

The look in someone’s eye when the surprise is for them. The questioning look that asks,”what have I done to deserve this?” their happiness unfolds as their grin expands; that is what you have done, given back what I desire most, a smile. Not much really but everything that is grand about people. We have become a nation of anger. It breaks my heart in ways too numerous to tell here. Where have all the “good” people gone? the ones who put out a hand not to press you down but to steady you as you find your way? When did it become common place not to look people in the eye, exchange a quick good morning, or good afternoon and flash a warm smile their way. WHEN?

I usually post Friday nights but this week I just wasn’t feeling it. I wrenched my back earlier in the week. I spent three excruiating days not being able to do much of anything but cry in discomfort. I am happy to report that the spasming has slowed to a dull roar which has allowed me to be able to sit here long enough to enlighten you on how my unbirthday project has been progressing. I have a few more peeps to surprise, then I am done until the dead of Winter when happiness is in short supply. Love the people in your life while they are here to enjoy you.

Once Upon a Time…

when I still believed in magic.

It is Christmas time at my house or should I say apartment? I am very young probably between four and six years old. I am still too young to understand the nuances that come with reality and make believe. I am more than content to take “make believe” at face value and buy it all; hook, line and sinker as Gospel truth. I mean what four or five year old wouldn’t? Santa wouldn’t stand a chance without plausible deniability.

As December ticks off its days my imagination soars. If we have no fireplace how is Santa supposed to get in? Will he bring my “Kenner Give-A-Show Projector” and my baby dolls and popcorn balls? I try to be a good girl and do as I am told. At night my mother plugs in our tree, as I wait for sleep to close my weary eyes I watch the ceiling and the patterns the blinking lights make with the tree. I am happy; my tiny heart filled with joy. I am safe and loved and well cared for. My faith in the intangible magic of Christmas unshakeable.

Sometimes at night if I am restless my mother comes in and warns me that the footsteps I hear faintly above my head belong to one of Santa’s helpers sent to spy on little children. I gasp and try with my grandest of effort to be still. I am too young to see my mother’s mental illness or to know my dad works long hours and odd jobs just to put food on the table. As I look into my mother’s face I see her beauty, her eyes filled with love for us. I see my dad handsome and strong. They are everything to me and my sisters. I still don’t know how Santa got in but he always did. I got all of things I ever wanted. Clothes, boots underwear, art supplies, LPs, cameras, watches, basketballs, dolls, games, oranges, sweets, popcorn balls, silver half dollars, PJs, sleeping bags…

We had many Christmases together as a family. Some were over the top grand, others not so much. We had aunts, uncles and family friends, they were more like family than friends, who chipped in and helped my parents to make Christmas magical. As a child I never saw that part of the people in my life, I just believed everything would be OK. I was even fortunate enough to have a godmother( a fairy godmother; well, to me anyway ). Every Christmas she would bring a special gift just for me.

This is for my parents June and Roger and to everyone I could think to add : Terry, John, Veda, Fran, Charlie, Meredith, Maryann and Roni, Dolly, Mary, Edgar, Cecile, Nap, Bobby, Monica, Sophie Smith, Cleo…

I wrote this to say thank you to all of the people in my life for always being there for me even when I didn’t see.
Thanks for all the magic you enriched my life with. Love is the greatest gift.

Happiest of Holidays

It Always Comes Back to This…Singing

I can always tell when I have anger issues that go unresolved.
The more of my anger I hold in the wider I become. I am not really overweight. I am stuffed with unhealthy anger. As I slide the shower door open a wave of deja vu sweeps over me. I imagine if only for the briefest of moments the scene before me will be as if I am Dorothy alighting from her house, planted into a world of color and beauty and uniqueness where all my dreams wait for me, along the brick road wanting to be discovered and fulfilled; but,it is just my bathroom no magic, no hope, no dreams. In my mind I can see when my view of myself changed. Where in the grand scheme I belonged. Where I changed and become small and scared. I withdrew into a safe place. This place has grown tight and stale. I need to let go of my childish fears and OZ and be the adult I know is there.

In the back of my mind it is 1976. I am 12, the magic of life waiting to unfold.
My mother gave me her stereo for my birthday. She must have loved me very much. She knew I loved to sing. She knew I had it in my heart to become the next Streisand. She loved my voice. I think it was her way of giving me her undying support. My father worked a long time to buy her that stereo. It was an Emerson. You could actually lock the turntable by lifting it into the cabinet between its two side mounted speakers.

I loved that thing. I wore it out. Blew the amplifier, wore the turntable down so it wouldn’t turn any more. I was heartbroken. With that stereo I taught myself how to breathe, to let the notes float out of my soul and over the space in front of me. Singing has always made me feel beautiful. A beauty no one can take or borrow or change. Music makes me feel unbroken.

I have never had a formal lesson. I hear the melody in my mind and I know if it is in the right key. I know if it is my range, if I have enough vocal reserve to hit the high notes. I fly when I sing soaring to heights no one but I can reach. My dreams waiting for me not to be afraid.

Twenty Weeks, Five Days

I am obsessed with my birthday. I always have been, I probably always will be.  Somewhere in the course of my life, I have convinced myself that if I have a problem; I can (if I try hard enough and believe in magic) fix whatever ails me by my birthday. For the record, it has never worked. Why I keep traveling down the same road looking for Trish Nirvana is beyond me. (Smacks self in head). There is something to be said though for the optimism that I feel whenever I make this declaration of achieving greatness by my birthday.

In the depths of my soul I believe in myself. It loses strength somewhere on its way to the top. I am never able to hold onto that self-belief very long. Fear is not what keeps success in myself from fruition. It is my unwillingness to accept that as a human being I have value, a worthiness that is mine and mine alone simply because I am alive. I don’t know why I am so hard on myself. I am the one who keeps my dreams at bay. I am the one who gives up on herself. I am the one who cradles my feelings. I am the one who dodges affection. I am the one who avoids the truth.

Dorothy held onto a belief (not to mention she had no other choices) if she got herself to the Emerald City the Wizard would help solve her problems and get her back home.  With her goofy sidekicks and a few miss-steps she learned to rely on herself, ok except for the part where the flying monkeys carry her ass off. She never needed the Wizard to rescue her, she needed herself.  Perhaps the Yellow Brick Road is our life path. We place the bricks each day. Where it leads to is up to us.

I started my brickway many times and in various directions. The time has come for paths to connect and roads to end. I have been lost for far too long. It is time to take up my journey once again, traveling my road one brick at a time. I owe it to myself. I am worthy. I have goofy sidekicks, who I love more than I care to admit. I am stronger with them by my side. I know I have what it takes to see this journey through to the next journey.

Flying monkeys beware. I am ready for your bad asses.

Twenty weeks and five days from now I will still be Trish. It will be my birthday. My life will not magically fall into place on this day but I remain optimistic.  = )