Did you know that I hadn't been able to breathe through my nose since 2003?

It became a topic of conversation early last year when a former co-worker and I discovered that we would both be having sinus surgeries, albeit slightly different ones, within a couple of weeks of each other.

When we both returned to work after our surgeries, as people that have been through these situations tend to do, we started comparing surgery and recovery stories. Around a month into shared stories of low dose pain killers, constant bodily fluids, and grindingly slow healing, he dropped this line:  "You know?  It almost feels like learning to breathe all over again."

There is something to that.

A lot of my life has been holding my breath: waiting for some situation to end; waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for the next day, or payday, to handle business or just waiting for the calm after the storm.

​What is it like to breathe?

What is it like to finally get all of your credit cards paid off, without wondering how you will deal with an expensive emergency that you can't afford to ignore until you have the cash to pay for it outright, and you find yourself right back where you started?

What is it like to watch your child make progress and applaud without being constantly worried that it won't be long until, this, too, passes due to incident or circumstance?

What is it like to not wonder if you will EVER be able to change your housing situation for the better?

What is it like to breathe?

I am honest enough to admit that I have spent a lot of my life flailing: swimming against a tide of unfortunate circumstances, decisions made out of desperation due to aforementioned circumstances,  and merely trying to hold it together no matter what.  Oh Dear Dog, there was a great deal of "what".

I prayed. A lot.  I changed my approach to almost every area of my life: work, child rearing, relationships, financial management.  Some changes worked out, some definitely made everything worse, some were almost exceptionally neutral in that they produced zero net gains or losses, so I counted them as wins.  And Boy Howdy, did I learn some hard lessons along the way. Like don't take every success story you read at face value.  There is often some little tidbit that gets left out of the story that makes the end result a whole lot less heroic, or as easily achievable, as they are making it out to be.  And not every debt management plan is for everybody.  In fact, some plans will absolutely destroy your credit that you were trying so hard to build up.

In those rare moments when I have found time, space, and the ability to breathe a little, it finally occurred to me that these moments are fleeting.  For everyone. The most profound statement I ever heard regarding these fleeting moments came from a gentleman at church, speaking before the altar call: "Right now, either everyone has just come out of a storm, is going through one currently, or is about to go through one."

There is so much truth to that.

The key thing in learning to breathe again is just remembering that the physical process that you adopted to get through your difficulties doesn't have to go on indefinitely. Moving from only short inhalations through your nose because that was all you could do, and mostly breathing through your mouth because you had no choice, to full deep breaths; slowly in through your nose, then out through your mouth, quietly, rhythmically, filling your lungs and regulating your breathing in the healthiest possible way.

We will get through this.  All of us.  Whatever "this" is for us currently.  Some of us will pray, and lean on our faith.  Some of us will put our efforts into doing the absolute best we can, to the best of our knowledge, to help our situations .Some of us won't be able to do much but hope for the best, as we have already done all we can.

And it is my sincerest wish that somewhere in the middle of all of the striving, and praying, and hoping, and working, and occasional chaos,, that at some point, we all have the opportunity to stop for a quiet moment.  And breathe.





​

The picture on the left is on quite a few drains in and around Los Angeles County.  It warns people not to dump garbage into those particular sewers, as those drain directly to the ocean. Seeing as no one wants to swim in garbage, this seems like a pretty non controversial idea.  However there are those who would argue that it doesn't matter whether or not we dump things into the sewers that would pollute our waterways.  Garbage has to go somewhere, right?

Hold on to that thought for a minute.

I read an old Facebook post I made several years ago.  It dealt with my loose interpretation of Karma:  whatever you put out into the world, be it good, bad or indifferent, always comes back to you in some way. Although I have always tried to watch what I project, I haven't always been careful, and have let the negativity flow in my unguarded moments.  I spoke of this briefly in a post I made about my son's rough summer a few years ago.  Someone felt the need to kick me while I was already down, and feeling like I could not hit back (I did eventually), I let the garbage flow out of me onto whatever person, object, or behavior was the object of my ire at the particular moment.  After some amount of contrition, I reminded myself that everything we do has some residual effect on someone else.  I could have ruined someone's day over a minor slip, and I would never know it.

I do not have the time or energy for a mid-life crisis.  What I have had, instead, is a series of revelations that helped me put a great deal of what has gone on in my life into some sort of perspective.  It's that perspective that informs how I relate to the world around me, and thus, how I treat others.  I try to stay away from toxic positivity; mostly because that is merely hiding my own discomfort with another person's life issues and emotions behind meaningless platitudes meant to make me sound profound.  I strive to be genuine, and really be present for those I interact with.  Of course this isn't easy; what worth doing in life is?  The best any of us can do is navigate the path of our lives in all of it's glories and messiness without inadvertently taking any of the worst bits of it out on anyone else.

Like most social media users, I post a lot of memes: funny, sarcastic, uplifting, informative.  My attempt to keep from boring people by posting a lot of the same types of memes is also me projecting the kaleidoscope of my personality out there, in hopes that it is giving them the permission to do the same thing.

Walt Whitman was right.  We are indeed vast, and we do contain multitudes.

And, yes, while the negative is a part of that multitude, that's not the part I want to put on anyone else, if only because I want to lighten the load of the next person.  I have borne the burden of someone else's bad day, and I never want to burden anyone else that way if I can help it.

So I remind myself in many ways that my attitude is my responsibility, no matter what else is going on around me: by quiet morning meditation, by pleasant conversation, by smiling invocation.  By words, and pictures, and blue waves on concrete, am I reminded that I have the choice to either make, or ruin, someone's day.

​I choose peace.

"The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it." - Galadriel's Prologue from "Lord of the Rings - The Fellowship of the RIng" (Fran Walsh and Phillipa Boyens, 2001)

I haven't written a blog post since this day last year.

In between, I have started at least five different posts, but was never able to finish any of them. Between exhaustion, defeat, heartbreak, profound disappointment,  and good old writer's block, it was difficult for me to convey exactly what went on this year.

On the macro level, I have marveled from afar at man's increasingly open inhumanity to man, as they hide behind the anonymity of the internet to utter things they would never dare say to anyone's face for fear of retaliation.  Or at least some wouldn't say out loud.  Hatred now has many and varied soapboxes from which to shout, and uses them all as often, and as loudly as possible.  Insults and broad characterizations have replaced any kind of meaningful dialogue about differences, and we are further from any kind of understanding and moving towards the grey areas that unite us than ever before.  Social media has become a metaphorical slaughterhouse, where even the most innocent of comments can be targeted for a political bloodbath for any reason, or no reason at all.

There are glimmers of hope, and those working towards getting help to those that need it.  I find that I have to focus on those to keep from losing all faith in humanity.  That, and baby, puppy, and kitten videos to cleanse my social media palate.

As the circle moves closer in, I found people moving on in different ways:  changing jobs, either by choice or force; changing states: spiritually, emotionally, and sometimes physically; generally preparing for what would come next in life.

Here we get into the micro level:  2021 began a year of profound changes for my family and myself.  We are all preparing in some way for the next phase in our lives.  My older sister is preparing to become a 1st time grandmother.  My younger sisters both have toddlers, and are preparing for the K-12 marathon.  My son continued on his mission to create the life that he knows he is capable of, numerous hiccups aside.  My daughter started her Senior Year of high school in person, after a year and a half of distance learning, and suddenly returned to the kind of student she was at the beginning of her academic career.  She knows that this is the beginning of the end of her childhood, and there will be no more free do-overs.  Everything she does from now on goes straight toward her adult life: she got her first job, she is applying for colleges, yet still remaining flexible about how she would like the next part of her life to play out.

This is a profound change for me as well.  I turned 50 last month, and next month will become the parent of two adult children.  The everyday, day to day, hands on supervisory (Ok.  Micro-Management.  Who are we kidding,) part of my job will end, and my role will become more advisory:  I only step in when specifically asked, and then only to the extent specifically needed at that time.  

After nearly 30 years in the same role, this will be quite the transition for me.  As I will also now have to figure out who I am outside of my identity as "Damani and Ashley's mom".

All of us are in some stage or another of transition.  My family, Our government, The World at large.

I can't say anything profound right now.  But it is my sincerest hope that we are transitioning into the greatest possible version of ourselves; the loving, caring people we portray ourselves as, and show the very best of what we can be to the world.

See you on the other side.

Around a month or so ago, I found myself watching a documentary about Steven Spielberg on HBO Max.  Being a fan of biographies, documentaries, discussions of the creative process, and his movies, this seemed like a perfect way to wind down at the end of one of my usual busy days.  One thing that absolutely stuck out to me, was his realization that he had a tendency to re-visit the same subject repeatedly in his movies, albeit in different ways.  He posited that perhaps that was his way of dealing with the issue subliminally.  He sort of chuckled softly, then stated that "Art is therapy".

Hmmm.....

I haven't written much over the last three years.  I admit it has become hard for me to concentrate.  I have fallen into a pattern of barely getting out of bed in enough time to get to work, horrific eating habits, crawling home at the end of the day with only enough energy to eat, make sure my daughter is at least kinda, sorta okay, then engage in endless scrolling on social media to numb myself enough to kinda sorta sleep, so I can repeat the process the next day.

I participate in both individual and group therapy to deal with both current and lingering issues.  One thing that I notice that comes up in both instances is the suggestion of journaling:  writing down everything relevant to your journey in order to help you gain perspective and assist in your own healing.

I am almost 8 years into this exercise of writing and maintaining a blog.  For the first five years, when I was writing regularly, I admit that I didn't really know what the blog was about.  For me, it was a place to practice my gift, by jotting down whatever was going through my mind at any given time.  Sometimes funny, sometimes angry, sometimes thoughtful, and occasionally mundane, it was just me, unfiltered and mostly off the cuff.  Even through a few rough patches, sustaining the blog was the one thing I could regularly return to as an outlet for whatever was going on with, and around, me.

The last three years, especially this last year, has sorely tested everything that I thought I knew about myself and the world around me.  The exhaustion, the mean spiritedness, the loneliness, the isolation, and not always being able to adequately express it all in conversation led to the aforementioned mindless distraction tactics.

Then a mindless distraction tactic yielded a truth bomb that hit me where I lived.

Art IS Therapy.

What I never realized was that this blog was just me journaling.  I am happiest when I am writing, and when I began to doubt myself, and question whether or not I should write what I actually felt, the form of therapy that had served me well fell away from me almost as quickly as it came. It was never far away, as I made lengthy, thoughtful social media posts, but ultimately, the little angel on my right shoulder would whisper softly in my ear that I knew I missed writing, and that I should return to it.

What this blog is really about, then, is survival.

Through hills, valleys, depression, anxiety, triumphs, failures, exultant highs, and crushing lows.  Keep going.  Through people that spend as much time building you up as tearing you down, and they are often the same person.  Keep going.  Through that day job that you keep because jobs are scarce, rent doesn't pay itself and groceries are expensive, even though at times the job is absolutely soul-crushing.  Keep going.

For me, that means keep writing.  Writing is art is therapy is survival. 

If I take anything from this year of absolute clarity (2020 gave us more clarity than any of us asked for or wanted), it is that I am ultimately the architect of my own survival, and perhaps going into this New Year, I can finally begin to move from mere survival into actually living.  And continue writing, of course.

See you on the other side.

There are memes floating around about how that has been the Lentiest Lent most of us have ever experienced.

A global pandemic has challenged everything we thought we knew about the world around us, the people we interact with (or don't), and our very definition of the word normal.  Especially as we enter into the conclusion of a High Holy Season and find that all of our annual rituals have been disrupted by a disease that is no respecter of persons, class, creed, color, age, religious persuasion, or lack thereof.  All it needs is a host, and anybody will do.

This was going to be a post about how this will be the first Easter in almost 20 years that I have been un-churched.  I parted ways with my church home of 18 years late last year, and as with all long term relationships, I have chosen to make sure that I am healed, and have done some extensive internal work before entering into on another relationship.

But a global crisis was declared, and among many social distancing edicts issued, it was suggested that religious institutions move their observances online in order to reduce the spread to those most at risk of serious complications from this disease: the elderly, and those with underlying medical conditions that render them among the immuno-compromised.

So now, at least physically, we are all somewhat un-churched.

One of the rituals that we practice during this season is the stripping of the altar.  Performed in complete silence, it involves the removal of all of the vestments that are normally on the Altar, and the wiping down of the Altar itself.  And while I know that it is meant to symbolize one very specific thing, I can't help but find myself moved by the thought that there is something else being shown to us as believers as well.  

Everything we cling to as "normal" has been stripped away during this Lenten season.  We may have chosen something to fast from on Ash Wednesday, but perhaps our Spirit has been shown what we REALLY needed to eliminate not just during this season, but going forward:  the artifice that we construct to make our lives appear acceptable before others so that we can be acceptable to ourselves.  Our judgment of people that we see as beneath ourselves, even if all they are is different.  What the great Commandment ( Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” - Matt 22 37-40) really means, do we believe it, and are we prepared to follow that to wherever it leads, even if that place is only our couch.

What has been stripped away, I think anyway, is the "religion" part of our rituals, leaving us to focus on the relationship part of our connection, not necessarily one to another, but absolutely between God and ourselves.  Deep down in the most private parts of yourself that no one but God can see, who are you, really, and have you been honest enough with, and about, yourself to get real with God?  Spring cleaning isn't just about your material possessions.  Lent is the opportunity to clean out he internal mess that keeps us stuck in places that we should have moved on from long before we were ready to admit that we were in a place that was doing more harm than good, even if it didn't start out that way.  Habit is a brutal taskmaster, and our Lenten promises to replace bad habits with good shouldn't just include the physical manifestations of our internal struggles.  We should be moving to clear our mental and emotional closets as well.  Perhaps by having us forced to stay home, and abstain from everything we use to distract ourselves from ourselves, we have been given the opportunity to clear every closet in our minds and spirits, and finally let go of ideas, habits, rituals, and whatever else no longer serves it's intended purpose.

As we go forward into this Holy Weekend, we are of the belief that the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ set us free from the sins of the world.  We hold ourselves in bondage by clinging to internal things that we consider sacred that have little or nothing to do with our relationship to God, but everything to do with wanting to maintain appearances of whatever gives us comfort.  This season has given us permission to finally, let these things go.

Go forth.

​Be free.

Well...not all my life.  I have been here, obviously.  Just not "here".

The last two and a half, almost three years, have been a Shakespearean mix of comedy and tragedy, with almost as much drama.

And I have talked about parts of it here in this space.  The struggles with my son.  My dream job descending into nightmare territory. Making the best of my housing situation.  But there is one struggle that I haven't really mentioned, and it's a question all writers grapple with from time to time:

What on Earth do I write about?

While I have run, walked, limped, and at times crawled through my personal issues, the question has always dangled just in the back of my mind: how much do I talk about on the blog? How much can I really share without fear of reprimand, or causing offense?  The same goes for the sharply political turn the world has taken in the last few years as well.  Where I thought my views were moderate, at best, there seems to be a running social media campaign against any kind of sensible discussion of actual issues, so much as those shouting rhetoric and insults, protected by the anonymity of the internet.

So, what on Earth do I write about?

My son's finally acknowledging, and slowly getting help for, his mental health issues?

The fact that while Black respectability politics had it's day, and still has a place in certain corridors, for most people it is a losing proposition?

My daughter's huge numbers of false starts with high school, while dealing with depression and anxiety?

The notion that we are so addicted to our feeling of superiority that we willingly ignore anything that reminds that we are all too human, and dare I say it, maybe not as great as we want to believe?

That with all of the people that I know for a fact are going through so much, are so afraid to talk about it, for fear of being labeled as negative, when in fact, all they are really searching for is acknowledgement, and maybe a little empathy?

Not everything is storm clouds, of course.  My fascination with chicken wings has become a delicious search for the ultimate savory addition to a sweet favorite, waffles.  I have discovered peace in unexpected places.  I have come to realize why conversation is an art form. And that binge watching is the last refuge of the procrastinator.

​But, what on Earth do I write about?

Good Afternoon Dear Reader:

Can you believe that we are already six years into this little experiment?

I know that my posts have been few and far between these last couple of years, and I can only apologize.  A combination, of exhaustion, stress, and exhaustion from stress, has kept me from you for far too long.  I promise you that we will meet again soon!  With apologies to Lewis Carroll:  The time will come, and very soon, to talk of many things: of mental health, and drop off lines, and proper chicken wings!

When next we catch up, we can talk about everything that's happened over the last couple of years, and Boy Howdy, has there been a lot.

​See you soon, Dear Reader.

Today, I committed a revolutionary act.

I let my daughter sleep.

We have both been taking turns dealing with various levels of illnesses over the last couple of months, and not always successfully, so for once, after a kinda rough night of alternating between sneezing and blowing her nose, I let her sleep.

During the week, she has to get up no later than 5:30 am, in order to be out of the house by no later than 6:20, so that she can be dropped off with the same sitter that she has had since she was 18 months old before I go to work.  From there, she will walk to school with the same kids she has known all her life.  We go through this exercise because, unfortunately, she is not good at waking up on her own to get to school on time, and truancy is a real thing that parents are held accountable for, and this is my way of making sure she gets to school on time every day.  Despite all of her activities, we do try hard to make sure that she is in bed by 9:00 on school nights.  Although it doesn't always happen that way.  Then she ends up not getting as much sleep as she should.

So today, I let her sleep.

Lately, our Saturdays have been busy.  After having to move her bi-weekly hair appointments from Friday afternoons to early Saturday mornings to accommodate both her new Drill Team schedule, and her very popular hair stylist (who just happens to be the salon's owner.  Who is just that GOOD!), and trying to accommodate her visitation schedule with her dad, balanced against church activities, a doctor that will mercifully see her on Saturdays, and everything else on her packed calendar, sometimes even a nap is asking too much.

For the past 17 years, we have gotten up and gone to same church almost every Sunday morning.  Up until a year or so ago, that meant unless one of the choirs we sing with was performing somewhere else, we were there.  Rain or shine, sick or tired or worn out, we showed up.  It finally occurred to me the year that I kept showing up to church so sick that I could hardly speak, that with the number of children and elderly people at church, that spreading what eventually turned out to be strep throat that morphed into an ear infection, amounted to nothing more than a foolish consistency that didn't impress anyone at best, and exposed vulnerable populations to very dangerous diseases for no real reason except ego, at worst.  I know how much I don't like it when people who are sick are spreading the germs around, so I decided not to do the one thing I quietly hate.

So today, I let her sleep.

In our push to make sure our kids are kept busy so as not to get into any kind of trouble, I think we forget that their bodies and brains are still developing.  Getting adequate food, water, exercise, and REST are huge parts of that development.  We adults love to brag about how little sleep we need to survive, and pass this unhealthy mentality on to our children, as examples of toughness, or fortitude, or whatever.  I admit to being steeped in these kind of attitudes, and this whole self care thing is new to me, and I am still learning when to push ahead, and when to slow down, for both my daughter and myself.  It takes time to learn to prioritize your family's and your own health and well being after a lifetime of not doing so.  One small step at a time.

​So today, I let her sleep.

I am sitting on the edge of my bed, typing this blog post in the waning hours of another year.  As I sit, it occurs to me that I spend quite a bit of time just waiting for things to end. A boring meeting, a long work day, a hard year, a difficult relationship.  When my natural impatience kicks in, I think of the words of wisdom given to me by my father during a very frustrating period in my life: Is this season over, or are you just trying to bring it to an end because you are tired of dealing with it?

While years will always end on December 31st, this particular year, I became much more cognizant of the different seasons that we all go through, and it is how we deal with those seasons that determine what comes next in our lives.  Did we just wait impatiently for the season to end? Did we pray, study, or try to learn from the season?

I retreated.

Overwhelmed by the sheer number of things that both I and my daughter were involved in (for the wrong reasons), and emotionally drained from those background episodes that we all go through (and a couple of incredibly devastating items that exposed me to a type of pain I had never experienced and hope to never go through again), the burnout that had been threatening to take over for years finally tapped me on the shoulder and loudly announced it's presence.  Either deal with it, or it would deal with me.

So I took a month off.  Of EVERYTHING, except work.  That month was the first time in memory that I wasn't always waiting for one thing or another to end.  I suddenly found myself more aware of what I actually did with my time, my actual feelings about what was going on around me, and the reality that all my impatient waiting around for this event or that tantrum to end was just me trying to force an end to a particularly painful season, because all of the distractions I'd lined up to help me deal with it had stopped working long before I ever admitted it to myself.

As my daughter started high school, and slowly added, or added back, activities that meant the most to her, I had to come to the realization that, first and foremost, I had to learn to prioritize myself.  For me, that started with not making decisions based on what I feared was being said about me when I was not present to defend myself, which in turn completely freed me from putting myself in situations where all I could do was wait for the eternal "it", whatever "it" was, to be over.  It took me far too long to figure out that this was no way to live.

This is where I get honest about therapy: had I not found a good therapist (who understood both my Christian perspective and my worldly perspective, as well as the sometimes difficult intersections where they overlapped), I don't know that I would have ever gotten to the point where I realized that occasionally, my own inner voice was was the relentless master in the endless game of three dimensional chess that my life had become, that I was destined never to win.

While the sun sets slowly over 2018, for the first time I am actually looking forward to the new year.  Not just rushing to be done with all of the bad, but finally, the feeling that I may actually done with this season, and prepared to move on to the next.

So one year ends, and another begins, as we move from season to season in our lives.

But is this season really over, or did we just try to bring it to an end because we were tired of dealing with it?

So it seems the theme of much of this past spring and summer has been growth and change.

I watched my daughter navigate no less that three Rites of Passage in the space of six weeks:  Confirmation, Middle School Graduation, and her first plane ride out of state without me.  She wasn't even kind of worried about her first day of high school; it was me that was a bundle of nerves.



We are now on that last stretch of childhood: the journey of the teen as she makes her final approach towards adulthood.

My daughter, who I jokingly refer to as The Teenager in all my social media posts, has surprised me in all the best ways one can, especially a Mother that has told her repeatedly that "I do not like surprises":

- She has pursued, and succeeded, at a goal she set when she first saw the movie "Bring It On" back in elementary school: After realizing that she wasn't really feeling the cheer squad, she tried out for, and made, the drill team at her high school within the first month of being there.

-Realizing that she would need to keep her grades up not only to graduate, but also to remain on the Drill Team, she went back on her medication for ADHD, completely reversed the slide in her grades, and is back to being the primarily A and B student she was in elementary school.

-Most important to me, though, is she has acknowledged our hereditary issues with depression and anxiety, up to and including her own, and is committed to working those issues out in such a way that she won't have larger issues dealing with them later.

She fascinates me sometimes, this daughter of mine.  As frustrating as these years can be, and believe me, between ADHD, depression and anxiety, combined with all of the other teenage hormonal stuff, the parts I don't talk about are going to give me gray hair before this is all over and done with, I sincerely pray and believe that we may both make it through these next four years mostly unscathed and hopefully in one piece.

I can see the beginnings of a person who pursues her interests passionately, and will stick to things that she actually wants to do until she sees them through.  The key words in that sentence are the SHE WANTS to do.  I am learning that at this age, picking one's battles as a parent become paramount in keeping that trust relationship strong, as well as LISTENING twice as much as I talk.  And while I might be losing some respect with other parents for not embracing an Authoritarian parenting style at all times (I keep it in my back pocket to be whipped out on an As-Needed basis), what I hope to see is a young lady who learned to stand up for herself, even to authority figures,  respectfully, and in appropriate situations (see note above about learning to pick one's battles).

We have both come so far, and still have so far to go...

These next few years will feature change and growth on both our parts; she, preparing herself for further education and eventually, a career; me readying to be the parent of two adults, the coming empty nest, and firming up my retirement plans.

Mostly, though, I will be watching her: how she grows, what she knows, emotions she shows, her ebb and flow.  Trying to be there when she needs me, and learning when to pull back and let her go on her own.  Reading her like the absorbing novel she both currently is, and is slowly becoming, carefully turning each page because as exciting as all of this is,

I both do, and do not, want to reach the end to the journey.