Many years ago, I visited a pottery studio on Granite Lake known as Granite Lake Pottery. Inside were all of these original pieces of pottery in many colors and shapes. I was particularly fond of the ones that had pretty mauve flowers painted on them, with green leaves and a ribbon of pink running across the white speckled stoneware.

As I looked around there was a shelf that housed the seconds. These were the imperfect ones, sold for less money, functional but damaged in some way. Although I bought several things that day that were perfect, I decided on a salad bowl from the second’s shelf that had a slight crack in it. I couldn’t see it until I carefully inspected it, but under close scrutiny, I could see the flaw in the bowl that ran from midway up the bowl on the side to the lip of the bowl. I really wanted the bowl, but knew I would have to handle it with care if it was to last. I would not be able to put it into the dishwasher like the better made pieces, or accidentally ding it in the sink or place it too roughly on the counter. I knew if I was not gentle enough, the crack would expland, run down the side of the bowl and split into at least two pieces, never to be used again.

I have had that bowl all of these years; probably close to twenty, and that crack has never gotten any bigger. I have put macaroni and cheese in it; baked beans, potato salad and even put it in the oven a few times. It has endured a lot; but I have always handled it with care.

I never really thought about this bowl until a few days ago. For some reason in thinking about my life, the image of this bowl jumped into my head. This bowl…and me; me with the wound that runs inside me from about midway in my chest, back and deep and up; me with the flowers that are so pretty, but lack perfection; me with the wounds, the cracks, the memories that wake me from sleep at times, disallowing me to pretend these marks are not a part of me; me, feeling sometimes, that I am on the second’s shelf, waiting to be plucked from it, but being aware of the care that must be taken.

I tried so hard to disassociate myself from the horrors of my childhood. I tried to pretend that these things happened to other little girls but not to me. I could read the newspapers and feel sorrow for the other children these things happened to. I could read police reports when I was working and forget how connected my story was to those I was reading. I could keep achieving, keep accomplishing, keep pursuing, keep going…and it would seem that I had won; that those things could not have happened to me because surely, if they had, I would not have been able to have done so much. I thought I had disguised well, my imperfections.

As I look back now, I see things quite differently. The tireless energies of achievement and conquest in every form were not really all that satisfying. Just a list of things accomplished to be provided as proof that I had faired okay, despite abysmal parenting and nurturing.

The heart of the matter is that there are many of us on the second’s shelf. There are many of us who, if turned just right, have imbedded into our flesh the disfigurement of being handled too roughly or treated reprehensibly. We are also the ones who can handle the heat, survive the frozen artic air, be moved from place to place, forgotten for days, and still sit with dignity waiting to serve, be functional and strong. We are somehow impervious to our own fraility, ignoring the weak area that would otherwise break us apart.

I have recently learned it is okay to be flawed; that the flaw only adds to the msytique of our usefulness.

I can remember when I was young, I always had a yearning to write a book. I remember telling friends that someday I wanted to write something that made a difference; having no specific notion as to what the difference I would make might be.

As my life proceeded, the motivation to write a book took a back seat to the numerous self-made demands on my time. I think I just figured I would get around to it. Maybe I would write the next year, or the year after. But, each year turned into another year, and the next thing I knew I was fifty.

I used to beat myself up about being so remiss about following through with writing, even if it wasn’t a book. Writing is such an amazing way to record your life, your feelings, and events around you that influence you. The ability to write is also a gift. Not everyone can do it. Not everyone wants to do it. I always believed writing was my gift; some compensation for the tragedies I had to endure; a vehicle to express the pain and loss that sometimes is indescribable or unimagineable.

My brain is the largest notebook of my life’s journey, and every once and awhile I rummage through the pages looking for a moment. I think had I attempted to transcribe my life when I was younger there is much I would have missed. I have always had a deep reflective view of the path I have made, but I think my ability to capture the essence of some of the emotions involved would have been missed by my youthfulness.

To me, my life is made up of chapters. As I look back, I can assign definite emotions to the places I have been, every part in the road

Whenever I think of my childhood, I always feel sadness. At any moment when I am caused to visit in my mind the experiences of those early years, I can feel the deep seeded emotions of pain that still drip tears on the pages of the chapter I am in now. Of all the chapters in my life, the first chapter is the one that still conjures up the most powerful of feelings. Sometimes a smell can take me to that place; sometimes a sound or a song. I guess we are all like that to a large extent - all vulnerable to the sights and sounds that serve as a reminder of where we have been.

I have always believed that many of my best writings have been created by my visit to that place in my head and heart that is so far away and so encapsulated deep within. It is not a place I fear going; sometimes I even look forward to it because I believe those experiences and feelings have molded me; have helped me create my tapestry.

Some people think when they read something that seems dark or full of pain, that I must not be in a good place. I prefer to think it is because I am in a “good” place that I am able to reach in and pull out the most honest of emotions from such a long ago inhabitated life. The real gift in my mind, is to be able to bring words to the emotions of an experience that happened so long ago, it can barely be remembered.

If I can accomplish this, then I will have succeeded in writing something that makes a difference, and maybe bring to others, the opportunity to look within their own heart.

How hard it is to be so passionate about something you are willing to sacrifice nearly everything to have it, only to find out at the end of the day, it was not yours to have, or always just a little too far beyond your reach.

All of us, no matter who we are, are all so vulnerable to feeling so meaningless. It doesn’t matter your station in life or what you have accomplished. At any given moment, on any given day, someone or some event can take something away from you, stripping you down the way finish is sanded off from old furniture.

Sometimes it is unintentional; and sometimes the sting is intended to be felt. Either way, the heart lies heavy in our chest, pressing so deeply inside of us our bones could break from the weight.

I first felt this pain when I was a young girl and I was left at a halfway house on my way to foster care and then adoption. I remember sitting on a bed in a room crying in desperate wails only a child can make. I can still see me bent over on the bed, a huddled child with tears unwiped and sobs unheard. I remember pressing my face against the windowpane, searching the streets with their mysterious shadows for a glimpse of my mother; a mother I knew from too much experience would not be coming back to get me anytime soon. I did not mean to let her take so much from me, but the turning of her back had the force of being lifted by the strongest wind of a hurricane. I was just left standing there after the fact, my heart the weight of a boulder bulging in my chest, thinking how little I must have mattered to be left behind so easily.

I also felt this feeling when my child died…that deep agonizing pain that screams cannot diminish; that sleep does not eliminate; that light cannot raise up. Sitting in a rocking chair holding her for the last time, my child, swaddled in a blanket with only her little face peeking out at me; and me, knowing she was no longer there. I had fought for her with all I had to muster, and never turned my back to leave her alone with strangers. I stood there after the fact, owning the pain of that indescribable searing of my heart that burns into blackness, thinking how little I must have mattered that she could have been taken from me so easily.

The feelings were the same: A little girl watching my mother slip from my life;
A young mother watching my little girl’s life slip from mine.

How meaningless sometimes my life has seemed.
How I have struggled to figure out what possibly exists out there that makes it worth it; that makes it worth wanting to try to do something that will matter in the moment, and be so insignficant later.

Some days the matter of living is not so simple a task. Though the weight of the pain subsides and shrinks back into the recesses unseen and sometimes unfelt, there remains a giant charcoal pit where the heart once cried with firey tears; a crater made of scars - the unseen scars you wear which is all that is left to remind you it happened.

Sometimes we let people take a lot from us and maybe, it is just because we are used to giving it up.

New Years Resolution #1: Avoid, at all costs, the unavailable and unattainable. Even if they or it, give pause to think otherwise, pay attention to the elephant in the living room. It is taking up the space on your sofa for a reason.

This resolution was the hardest to write and has the most personal meaning to me. I decided to try a different technique - something I used to do years ago….stream of consciousness poetry.

I did not plan to have my life run into yours.
When I saw your hand upon the door, I never guessed
that calling you back, would mean something more
than simply calling you back.

When the night prevailed I never thought
there would be much more to say.
I thought it was just another night; another conversation;
another person with a broken heart whose path I crossed.

A rocking chair sitting in one’s heart with someone sitting in it,
leaves no room for a guest.
You did not believe me. You told me you did not think that true.

When you left the first time
I never gave a second thought to you.
But soon enough the forces that remain so unexplained
began to move and as they did, we did.

Blasts of energy cascading color into the sky
with brilliant starlight and human silhouettes
as backdrops against the dusky night.

There was a dance for every song, and a song for every dance.
There was a touch, a sigh, a tear, a laugh.
Stories told that wrenched at heart strings; stories shared
that spoke of hope.

But gray filled skies and whipping winds;
A mountaintop with aging trees, sadly began to
mirror the foreboding in my heart.

I knew the risk; I heard the voice; I saw your eyes so
sorrow filled. I wiped away the tears most times;
and swallowed mine.

I turned a blind eye to the inevitable –
the songs of dance that were not meant for me;
the twisted turmoil river running down
your face with a destination that would not
end with me.

I denied the pain of being left to guess;
for a voice that never rang or plan that never
came. I sat in knowing wait.

Things never stay the same.
Things always change.
Someone always leaves. Something always dies.
And as quickly as your hand released the door
and came to pass the time with me;
So came the closing of a different door that
quickly shut; a silent echoed slamming I feel
and hear in sleep with all the days that pass.

A rocking chair sitting in one’s heart with someone sitting in it,
leaves no room for a guest.
You did not believe me.
But now you do.

Click To Hear Music File

New Year’s Resolution #4: Remember how lucky I am to wake up in the morning, no matter how crappy the day may become. The alternative is worse. Look for the goodness.

I think the gift of life is totally underrated. We seem to appreciate it when babies are born or when loved ones die. We appreciate it when we hear about plane crashes or devastating earthquakes. For brief periods of time
following a tragedy, we acknowledge the value of life and the shortness of it, aware of our mortality. We extol the virtues of life and the ability to do what we can.

Slowly but surely, the troubles of the day begin to sink in. The car won’t start. The hot water pipe is frozen. The kids are screaming. The bills, the boss, the bank, the boyfriend…many different problems and influences impact the kind of day we are going to have. The troubles of life are often times bigger than the privilege of having it. It is easy to forget, or rather difficult to remember, that life is short, and as I am fond of saying “This ain’t no dress rehearsal.”

In many ways, it is just sheer luck to wake up every morning; to have the opportunity to have another day to tell my children I love them; to see the smiles on my grandchildren’s faces; to spend time with friends; to smell the air; or feel the sun against my face.

Reading any paper or watching the news on television makes it abundantly clear how quickly life can be taken from you, with no opportunity for a final run or second chance. As much as we are burdened by our problems (most of them people made) we should not lose sight of how amazing and incredible it is to be here. We must not undervalue the experiences we get to have and the lives that touch us everday. It should not have to be a discipline to remember to be thankful for life, and yet with so many distractions, it is almost necessary to take a step back, breathe, and remember the alternative to life. A second in time can change everything and you often get no warning.

I am lucky to wake up in the morning. As I write this blog it is morning. The pink curtains in my bedroom are twirling and fluttering as the heat pushes up against them. The morning light, still gray and soft, is just beginning to filter in between the slats of the window blinds. I can feel the warmth of the blankets swaddled around me as I write, and with all of my own personal problems, I am truly grateful that I am here another day.

My resolution is to take time everyday to give life the tribute it deserves. No matter what the roadblock may be; no matter what the card is I may be dealt; no matter how difficult or hurtful an experience may be - it is up to me to decide the kind of day I am going to have. I choose life and to be happy in it; to find the goodness in it.

If you concentrate on finding whatever is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.
– Rabbi Harold Kushner

This is not one of the resolutions, but appropriate for circumstances I recently needed to deal with.

You can tell a lot about a person by what it takes to get them upset. Our emotions are either controlled by our circumstances or our character. When someone is rude, our emotions say, “Pay them back. Get even”, which doesn’t take much discipline! But when our strength is under control and we’ve taken the time to develop our character, we realize, “I’m bigger than this. I’m not going to let them pull me down. I’ve got places to go, goals to accomplish and dreams to bring to fruition.”

We can’t always control how others treat us, but we can control how we react to others. We’re not supposed to drag through the day frustrated, upset and offended. We’re supposed to be full of joy, peace and victory.

When you allow what someone says or does to upset you, you allow them to control you. When you say “you make me so mad”, you are admitting to giving away your power. What someone says about you does not define who you are. Their opinion of you does not determine your self worth. They have every right to have their opinion and you have every right to ignore it. You don’t have to respond to every critic and try to prove to people who you are. You must stay on the high road. I think we all know people who say things or do things that offend us. It is very difficult to accept they have every right to say what they want, but we have every right not to be offended.

People have the right to be obnoxious, rude and inconsiderate. We have the right to be kind, happy and friendly. I have known people in my life that never seem to be happy. There is always something wrong; always some complaint or criticism. Always some conflict that needs to be confronted. The negativity in others is a poison that we cannot allow to contaminate us. We have to decide for ourselves how our day is going to be. We get to choose how the behaviors and words of others will impact our life. We do get to “turn the other cheek.” Meekness does not equal weakness. Meekness is strength under control. A wild horse tamed is still just as strong, with the same power and speed; you can walk up, pat him or ride him, but he still has the same power and veracity as before. His strength, however, is under control.

We all have the strength and power to do something about people who push our buttons. We all have the ability to “straighten” somebody out. But, really, our time is too valuable. Those who attempt to oppress us must be pretty impressed with us, or they wouldn’t try to pull us down. Take the high road. Walk away.

New Year’s Resolution #6: Respect and LISTEN to my inner voice. Need I say more about that!

We all have it. You know, that little pesty voice inside your head that is talking to you all the time. This voice is usually considered an annoyance or distraction; and has a particular habit of wanting to talk right when you are in the middle of doing something that is probably wrong, stupid or just plain not good for you.

Well, maybe we don’t all have it. Charles Manson probably doesn’t have it. The little assholes responsible for the Mont Vernon home invasion clearly don’t have it. And for sure the Underwear Bomber doesn’t have it.

So, most of us have it. Some say it is the voice of reason; our conscience; or intuition…whatever it is, the voice speaks to us and tries to help us make better decisions.

Often times, the voice is ignored.

Studies have been done of survivors of vicious assaults and many of those interviewed said that they had a feeling, or intuition not to get into the elevator; not to jog in a certain area; not to get in the car with someone they just met. Most of these victims ignored their inner voice. They patently disregarded the voice, thinking it silly.

Fortunately, most of us who choose to zip the lip of our inner voice, do not suffer such tragedy as the people above mentioned. We do, however, put ourselves through things that are pretty unpleasant and might have otherwise been avoided had we paid closer attention.

I, myself, can think of several occasions in the not so distant past when that little voice was trying to steer me away from a particular situation. One event in particular, I would find myself many times during the course of a day sshhhhushing that voice; ignoring my intuition and stuffing down the voice of reason. At times my inner voice manifested itself in ways my body would react. I felt shakey and tired; jittery at times. I knew, down deep, that the inner voice was right to move me away from what I was doing, but I perservered believing in time the circumstances would change in my favor. I ignored all the signs and even in my effort to “do the right thing” would eventually dismiss my whispering savior. I had no respect whatsoever for that nagging little mini me tugging on my ear, and continued with superior indignation in the pursuit of my so-called “happiness.”

In the end, the outcome was not what I wanted, but I was truthfully not surprised. The inner voice(s) had been telling me to stay clear, to walk away, to take care of myself. I thought I knew better; thought I was smarter. I wasn’t.

Luckily, this was a matter of the heart and didn’t have the consequence of jogging in an area I had a bad feeling about. Yes, matters of the heart are still life altering, but without the paralysis that other tragedies leave behind.

This year I will heed my inner voice. I will respect its experience and knowledge and not dismiss it as inconsequential like some bug buzzing around my head.

I have paid the price for my ticket on this journey and my inner voice is the tour guide. I have to respect that the guide probably knows the road a little better than I do.

New Year’s Resolution #7: Enjoy life more (is that possible?) and learn something new!

You might wonder why I would have a resolution to enjoy life more. It would seem that enjoying life would just be a natural occurrence that a person wouldn’t have to make an effort to do. But, the truth of the matter is a lot of us are mired down in our own shit or the shit of others. (For further reference, see Blog 2).

As I reflect back on the last several years, I know I have spent a lot of time worrying. While it is true, I have had a lot to worry about, it is also true that often times the worrying interfered with my ability to appreciate, absorb and embrace all the things in my life that were amazing. I became so consumed with worrying, I could feel the negativity taking over my body, like the alien that lived inside of Sigourney Weaver (in a few of the movies she was in).

Sometime during the last three or four months, and I can’t pinpoint the day or time, I suddenly paid attention to the words I often used when speaking with others…”This is no dress rehearsal; we are going to do the dirt nap a lot longer than we will live.” Finally, I took to heart the sentiments I had been sharing with others to motivate them to seize the moment.

Yes, the issues exist for all of us that cause us to worry, but those concerns should not make us become self-absorbed, thoughtless or unavailable to people we love and care about. Once I really “got” this concept, I felt a burden taken off my shoulders and I was able to be present in the moment I was experiencing. We can’t go back and re-live them. We are here now and worrying doesn’t solve our problems; but possibly a solution lies in where we are. I resolved that I would keep a good heart and focus on the positives; that the money I didn’t have, the cards I have been dealt for good or for bad, should not detract from my ability to keep a good heart.

Worrying will always be a facet of life and of our humanness, but our present moment will slip through our fingers, never to be recaptured. Even if you visit the same place twice, the experience is never the same. So, I decided, worrying could stay in the back and I would be grateful for what is with me and before me. This attitude has totally changed my life. Resilience is an understated attribute and I am definitely enjoying the gift of my life more than I ever have.

As for learning something new, I have never been one to sit idle, but feel in the recent past I have been paralyzed in some ways. (Probably the worrying and dealing with the shit (See Blog #2)). Part of enjoying life is being open to new things and new experiences. I have not yet decided what the new thing is I am going to learn, but life is not scripted and I expect I will know soon enough what the new thing will be.

There is still a whole journey that awaits me on my path and for the first time in a long time, I am excited (not afraid) of what lies behind each corner. I am enthusiastic about the adventure and appreciate in a whole new way the miracle of each day. I know this sounds very cliched, but it is truly what is in my heart.

I believe writing this blog or following this blog, will illustrate how much this particular resolution has changed me for the better. And, ultimately, that is what is important….becoming a better person.