As I prepare for a busy day that will start at work, then descend into the rapid busyness of last minute runs to Target and the grocery store, followed by our traditional, beautiful candlelight service, and will culminate with me, as always, wrapping presents at midnight to surprise my kids on Christmas morning, I stop and offer a prayer to all of my friends and family.

To all of those out there struggling with financial issues, I pray for help when you need it most, and piece of mind while you work toward solutions;

To all those dealing with illness and injury, I pray for a healing touch and lasting wellness;

To those having relationship issues, or who are alternately experiencing feelings of loneliness, I pray for the knowledge that the love of God will always be enough to sustain you through this, and everything else that you might go through;


To those dealing with grief and loss, I pray for comforting words and to be surrounded by the love of family and friends.

But mostly, this morning, I pray for peace.  Peace in our hearts from the constant worries that have plagued so many of us this year.  Peace in our cities from the struggle to live together as equals. Peace in our world as we try to find mutual understanding, even if it is more profitable for some to keep us divided and in a perpetual state of war.

In what is called the Annunciation to the Shepherds, the angels declared Peace on Earth, Good will towards men.  I can't begin to express how much we need more of this type of sentiment.  Not the fake, shut up and go away type that so many deeply immersed in the current power structure would like, but true peace from people living in peace, one with another, with mutual respect and true kinship as among friends.  The way we should be living: free from fear of others or authority, free from fear of sudden economic collapse, free from fear of sudden terror at the hands of enemies, known or unknown.

There are so many issue that need to be addressed in the world: war, poverty, the mountains of debt threatening to enslave the formerly middle class, selfishness, ignorance, and a whole host of social and political ills.


But just for a day or two, let us have Peace.

So, November was a very busy month for me.

But I've already told you that story.

Sometime between my birthday and Thanksgiving I passed a very different sort of milestone.  It's not something most people would note, and with everything that was going on, I almost didn't remember it myself, until one night, seeking a little bit of quiet, I went for a short drive alone to sort out my thoughts.  Then it just kind of hit me sideways, like a little flashing light, just out of my line of vision, not that big a deal, but something I needed to remember.

The middle of November marked my 10th year of voluntary celibacy.

I undertook this journey when, at the end of my relationship with my daughter's father, I began to question why I kept getting into relationships that were pre-destined to end badly.  I constantly chose wildly inappropriate men, and ignored glaring red flags.  I was tired of my own behavior, and wanted to take a closer look at myself.  I also wanted to know what kind of relationships I would have, and how would they develop, if I removed sex from the equation.  It was to be, for me, a grand experiment in reshaping the way I viewed relationships, as well as my expectations regarding them.

Oh, the things you learn about yourself, when you remove all of your normal distractions!  It's important to note here that, for me, sex was a huge distraction.  It kept me from focusing on what I felt were my inadequacies, fed my mistaken notion that it was an equalizer between me and the "pretty" girls, and slowed down my eventual realization that relying solely on sex was no way to create, or maintain, a relationship.  Hard lesson to learn, but it's always better to figure that out sooner rather than later.

Some of what I learned I've touched on in other posts.  I finally figured out that I was jumping into relationships due to acute insecurity about my looks, or perceived lack thereof.  I realized that desperation attracts all the worst personality types, and any relationship with someone every bit as desperate and needy as you are is doomed to fail.  The most important takeaway from my strictly enforced vacation from relations, was that I started asking myself relevant questions about myself and my relationships: where did I want to go, what did I want to do and how do I relate to others?  It was only later that I found out that these are the kinds of question that relationship experts wish all people would ask themselves before entering into relationships and/or marriages.  Yeah, it would probably put them out of business, but a lot of heartache could be eliminated by a minimal amount of self examination beforehand.

1)  Who am I, really?
     Very few people know enough about themselves to really answer this question.  To be honest, though, most people will always be a work in progress, as the older we get, and the more we learn, we hopefully gain insight and wisdom, and become a little more refined in our behavior and approach to life.  But a little self-knowledge goes a long way.  I know that I am a rock and roll loving, Center-left, feminist, Christian introvert, with a serious tendency towards over helpfulness, that I channel into customer serviced based careers.  Knowing that about myself, why would I want to get involved with someone who hated rock music, was hard right politically, and really didn't like people who were different than themselves, just because he was good-looking, or had money, or a nice car?  This is just the situation that all of us, men and women get ourselves into, then cannot extricate ourselves from after we realize that we have gotten involved with the wrong person for the wrong reason.

2) What do I want/need/expect?
    If you have no idea what you want in a relationship, it's a lead pipe cinch you probably aren't going to get it.  You would think that was common sense, but this simple truth misses most people by a wide margin.  When I talk about wants, needs, and expectations, I am not talking about physical traits.  Everybody has their own specific set of features that works for them, so hey: Whatever Blows You Hair Back.  But once you have your person with your physical features of choice, then what?  Making sure that you know that you want someone who is kind to others, need someone with a sense of humor that is at least somewhat similar to yours, and expect to be treated with a certain amount of respect is merely scratching the surface of finding out what internal qualities are important to you.  In the end, it's those internal qualities that are going to determine whether of not what you have is a short fling, or the romance that will last until...

3) What really matters?
    I've noted before that the older I became (and frankly the longer this experiment has gone on), the more philosophical I became.  I came to the conclusion that if I couldn't make better choices in romantic partners than the messy people I kept attracting, then it was just better all around for me to simply not be in any relationship at all.  The focus was then on getting my life to the point where I was content no matter what happened, rather than pinning all of my hopes on my happiness coming from the outside, being provided by someone else.  Making peace with yourself, ( quirks, flaws, odd dents, and needed improvements), is the best possible thing you can do for yourself, and eventually for whomever you decide to bring into your life. 

Or not.  In my 43 rotations around the sun, I have known many, many people whose primary goal in life was to get married. For a while, I was one of them.  As I got older, had children, struggled, renewed my faith, and simply kept living, it finally occurred to me that I was content with the basic parts of my life, whether I found a romantic partner or not. I had achieved a certain peace, and that was all that really mattered.

This path of celibacy is not for everyone, nor is it a cure-all for relational ills.  I knew what my weakness was, and I removed it.  That's not to say it's been an easy spiritual walk.  I am a complete hedonist, and I know it.  While I was getting my head together I used food to soothe my emotions, and subsequently gained a lot of weight that I now have to lose. These things happen. 

What's most important to me, is that I am not where I was ten years ago.  What I hope, is that I now know enough about myself to make better relationship choices, even if that choice is not to be involved in a relationship.   As far as I've come, to my own mind, I still have a long way to go.

Here's hoping the next journey will be every bit as interesting as this one.
    

The Sunday after Thanksgiving marked the end of a very long, strange, and ultimately revealing trip in my life.

What started with a 3-day notice back in October, and ended with my eviction in mid-November, has now morphed into a beautiful combination of blessings, revelations that I am far from the only one that I know personally that has had to go through this, and a new resolve to help those that will go through this situation in the future.  If a well lived life is about a life spent helping others (or simply keeping one's head out of one's own ass), then what I learned that week was that admitting to mistakes and failure was not the same as BEING a failure, and that people will genuinely want to help you, and sometimes in a way that inspires you (or in my case, strengthens your resolve) to help others.

This story picks up in a courtroom, where I am trying to plead with the owner of my former apartment for some sort of deal to work things out, and failing miserably.  To the the point where even the judge noted that I had made extraordinary efforts to make some sort of deal to stay in my apartment.  No such deal was to be had on that day, and I had to leave.  ASAP.  I sat in the courtroom after everyone had left except the court clerk, and cried my eyes out.  The court clerk listened to my pathetic sobs as I told my story, and related to me in that she sat in the court everyday, day after day, and heard story after story of people's slow descent from the middle class.  She also became the first of three people to tell me to forget my pride, and figure out where my kids and I were going to live.

Later on that evening, I found myself posting about the whole humiliating ordeal with some long time online friends, and I heard again that dropping the pride might be the best thing to do, and admitting that I needed help.  I realized then that Pride, that old friend that I would wrap around me like a warm quilt that magically warded off hurt and anger, would be my undoing if I didn't put it away and talk about what happened to the kids and myself, and what would happen if I didn't get any assistance.  I had to ask myself if it was more important to find and finance a place to live, or to maintain the "everything is okay" image I had been cultivating for so long.

After a day of stalling and trepidation, I finally set up a GoFundMe page, and told my story to a wider world.  If there is anything more damaging to one's pride than admitting that you royally screwed up, and now need help to right your ship, I am not sure what it is.  What I feared most by admitting that I had an issue and needed help was the judgement of others.  What would people think of me, that I had failed so obviously at so elementary a task?  I reviewed and edited my page, said a fervent prayer, then released my request to the internet.

I never expected the overwhelmingly positive response I got.  After publishing my story in a few places, I found out that my story is so common, especially right now, as to almost be passe.  The court steps are populated by those that were living on the financial edge, and only needed one unexpected incident to push them over.  We are a brotherhood: those who were once financially okay, now just barely getting by, and sometimes,  not even that.

Because I had no idea how any of this would work out, I formed two plans.  The first  was to hurriedly find a place, and, if I could raise the money, pay the deposit, and move in as soon as possible.  Barring that, I would just put everything into storage, and move the children and myself back into the residential motel that we had lived in before.  But more than anything else, I absolutely had to vacate the apartment before the first of December.

Everything I am about to tell you happened in the space of roughly 10 days.

Tuesday, I lost my court battle to stay in my apartment.

Wednesday, I posted the GoFundMe page.

On Thursday I got a call from a dear friend, asking what on Earth had happened. I stood in an empty-ish hallway at work, telling the Reader's Digest condensed version of the events of the past several months. This phone call would turn out to be a Godsend, but I will  get to that later.

I got off work on a Friday, and decided to ride up and down three city blocks, collecting phone numbers on For Rent signs.  My goal was to collect between 5 and 10 numbers, call all of them, and seriously hope one of them worked out.  After leaving several messages, I finally got a live person on the 4th call, and arranged to look at an apartment the next day. I tell the kids that we are going to look at a place tomorrow, and if the person likes us, we are applying, and we are going to take it if approved.  We have to go, and this is no time to be picky.  They agree.

Saturday, we look at a place.  It's smaller than the place we currently live, but there is a garage where we can store the extra stuff, the kids are happy to not be going to a motel if we get it.  We meet the manager, who seems to really like us, even after my son makes a Romanian gymnast joke (and I cringe!), and I fill out an application.  We have to wait until Monday for an answer.

My campaign has actually brought in some money, for which I am insanely happy, and by Sunday word has gotten around my small church community that all is not necessarily well in my world.  Here was another place I was afraid to admit I had an issue, as, being both an introvert, and socially awkward, sometimes people take that as being snobby or standoffish.  Definitely NOT a good impression.  I figured most people didn't realize I didn't talk much for fear of accidentally inserting my foot in my mouth.  I figured I didn't have many friends here, but I was offered very discreet help, and left church with enough to put a serious dent in covering my moving expenses.

Monday, I got the call I had been waiting for.  I had been approved for the apartment.  The dear friend I spoke with the prior Thursday, had offered to be my Angel investor, and completely covered the deposit on the new apartment, and made an extraordinary effort to make sure I had it in a timely fashion.  I immediately make arrangements to pay the deposit, sign the lease, and get the keys.  I also begin to transfer utilities and mail, reserve a truck, and have my son begin soliciting what of his college aged friends can help us with the move, which, out of necessity, is going to have to happen the day after Thanksgiving. I purchase the first set of boxes today.

Tuesday, I meet with the manager and pay the deposit, Wednesday, I get the keys, and begin moving small items into the apartment.  We also continue packing, with my 10-year-old daughter proving herself to be the MVP of packing boxes.  I have never seen a more organized effort to fill, tape, and mark boxes, as the effort put forth by my daughter during her first major move.

Thursday, Thanksgiving day, is spent packing, eating, then packing until we run out of boxes.

Friday morning is a whirlwind of activity that sees me running to get more boxes (and donuts to feed my "crew"), running to replace a suddenly destroyed tire, running to finish packing before my son's friends arrive, running to pick up a U-Haul truck, running home, trying to get all of the heavy furniture out of the house and onto the truck before my college-aged crew has to leave, especially considering the limited amount of time I had the truck, getting the first load done and unloaded, running back to the old place to try to hurry and get the boxes loaded onto the truck, realizing that two ten year olds and a twelve year old with dollies do an EXCELLENT job of neatly loading boxes onto a truck, running back to unload the truck and return it to U-Haul, then running home to clean up, and run to my sister's place for Thanksgiving leftovers.

Saturday and Sunday were spent retrieving what we had left in the old place (my clothes dryer was the largest item) and doing what cleaning we could, as I had re-aggravated a hand injury, and my son and I were both extremely sore.  My knees have yet to forgive me for the move into a second floor apartment.

And yet by the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we were done.  There were still cries of "What box/bag is that in?", and beds still needed to be assembled, but by the Grace of God, we had landed safely in a new place.  We are exactly where we need to be, as we are close to my daycare, and my daughter is now in the district she needed to be in in order to go to the middle school she wanted to go to.  Yes there are some things that were lost in the move, and some things we will have to purchase to complete the adaption to this new space, but we made it, we are safe, at home.  

It is after midnight here, and all is...quiet.

And I realize in this quiet that it is now my job to continue to bring attention to the plight of those whose lives are entangled in a system that routinely turns people out on to the street, at what is perhaps the worst financial moment in their lives.  For me, for this moment, my fight is over, assisted along the way by many wonderful people.   But my fight for others in the same and similar situations is just beginning.

But on that Sunday night, after Thanksgiving, it was time to relax, and rejoice in my many blessings.  A glass of wine, a slice of leftover pie, and the knowledge that, so long as you reach out, honestly and humbly, you are never really alone.

It is very difficult to have an emotionless discussion about the allegations surrounding Bill Cosby.

His longtime fans have been crying opportunist at these women for as long as the stories have been popping up. They see an attempt to tar the image of the one completely accepted Black man in America.  He is hard-working, respectable, and created non-stereotypical characters for several hugely successful television programs.  He pointed out some things about popular urban culture that DID need to be said out loud (although I do have a small issue with the often condescending tone of the remarks), and most that have worked with him have nothing but kind things to say.

Those that have been victims of sexual assault, however, know what it means to be silenced, and want to at least give the victims a chance to be heard.  Let's be honest here.  The treatment of rape victims, not just in this country, but all over the world, is deplorable.  We tell them to speak up when it happens, but not all police department know not to actively discourage them from identifying their accusers, slut-shaming them, especially in cases of incapacitated women, and God forbid the accused be someone in a position of great respect or authority.  For the victim, it might as well not have actually happened.

Remember, too, that the crime of rape is almost NEVER about sex.  It's about power, humiliation and degradation.  Someone uses a position of power that they have over another person to coerce them to commit acts that they would not do under ordinary circumstances.  In the case of rape they are sexual acts meant to debase, humiliate or degrade the person in the lessor position for the emotional, psychological or even physical gratification of the perceived authority figure.  When drugs are introduced into the act, it is assumed that a lack of consent was not the concern of the person in the position of authority.

These, then, are the unanswered questions when talk of this case comes up.  It is clear that Mr. Cosby held, and still holds a position of great respect and authority in the entertainment industry.  The question is: Did he abuse the trust and authority he had gained by being a successful actor with a clean image?  Presumably, the women were hoping for some career assistance, and we were all aware of the rumors of the Hollywood "casting couch", but barring that: Did he take advantage of his clean image to drug and rape unsuspecting women, knowing that his image was going to allow for him to receive the benefit of the doubt, while his victims were vilified?  Those of us that follow Hollywood, know that occasionally, actors will have certain personal "peccadilloes" that the studios would rather the general public not know about, if only to protect their own bottom lines.  They will also go to ruthless means to protect the image of publicly beloved personalities, again, mostly to ensure black ink in their ledgers at the end of the day.  IF this is the case, then who, above Cosby, facilitated what could possibly be one of the largest cover-ups in the history of Hollywood?

Like a lot of people, I really don't want these allegations to be true.  We need all of the positive role models we can get, and it pains me to see someone brought down by false allegations.  However, there are three sides to every story: one side, the other side, and the truth, which always tends to lay somewhere in the middle of the two extremes.  If there is any shred of truth to these accusations, then Cosby would be setting the best example by admitting to his wrongdoing, on whatever level it was committed.  At the very least he would get to control the narrative of what was going on, and actually tell his side of the story.  It would also give the women the acknowledgement and closure they obviously seek, while allowing them the vindication of what are in many cases decades of shame and silence.  That would be the best possible outcome.

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. - John 8:32