The thing about being one of those people who doesn’t believe in mere coincidence is that it makes it impossible to ever ignore my current circumstances. This Thanksgiving, to my terror, I took a second or seven to zoom out and get a screengrab of The Big Picture to find that it was painfully obvious that I’m exactly where I am because I’m destined for something effing massive.

Whoa, hang on. Don’t think I’m getting all egomaniacal here because this actually applies to you, too. However, being that I can’t speak on anyone’s [mental] behalf other than myself, I’m limited to a self-reflective angle from which to pontificate. Surprise surprise.

Let’s look at the bare facts:
Literal millions of people have worked for thousands of years to give me the life I have right now. Suffragettes were beaten and imprisoned so I can vote. Architects spent years smoothing out designs to give me affordable housing. Agriculturalists of every type have spent decades providing me with access to fresh, top-quality food of every variety from around the globe that is delivered within moments of my house. Thousands of hands have worked to create pretty things for me to hang in my closet. A bunch of crazy radicals who’d just had enough of their oppressive theocratic home country climbed aboard a tiny boat and moved to North America and begat a whole other group of crazy radicals who waged a grassroots war and started a whole new country so I can have the right to choose my own religion and say whatever the hell it is I want to say. Scientists and their research assistants spent decades perfecting treatments for potentially deadly diseases so I could be treated for various ailments and make it to the age of 26 without any major scares. Some dude sent his intern out in a thunderstorm with a key tied to a kite so he could learn about electricity so I can have refrigerated food and pay my bills online and can stay warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Hell, another guy tried 3000 times to make a light bulb so I can see what I’m doing at night. Someone else built a bed for me, someone else (the guy with the key and the kite) decided to give everyone in my country a free education, someone else invented an automobile that would take me across 2,000 miles in just a couple days, someone else researched the inner workings of the human mind and developed a way to talk it into functionality, someone else invented a system of symbols that would allow me to communicate with other people on a sheet of paper, someone else figured out how to boil wood and turn it into paper… The list goes way way on. And it’s pretty damned staggering, actually.

If I stop and look at all these incredible luxuries that have been provided for me to exist from day to day, it’s kind of overwhelming to think about how many people spent thousands of years slowly molding the world around me to be exactly right for my life at this exact moment, all wrought with comfort and access and privilege.

And then there are the more specific, “luck”-based facts of my life. I live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world where even the homeless can find a meal and even panhandlers can make $50,000 a year in small cities. I live in a time where communication with the globe is second nature and a wealth of information literally sits in the palm of our hands every day. I live in an era where women are taken seriously in the workplace and as intelligent beings (except to idiots, but who gives a shit?) and people of all races live among each other. How convenient.

When I step back and think about the odds of my having arrived right here, right now, as this person, with this particular life, I can’t help but note how incredibly small my chances would be of rolling the same die again.

But I really started realizing something was definitely up when I zoomed in a little closer and looked at my Specifics. I was born into a middle-class, Southern family with two college-educated parents who are not bigoted in any regard and were - for the most part - able to teach me morals, manners and compassion. I have three siblings whose intelligence has been tested in the “Above Average” zone since kindergarten and who have always remained healthy. I have survived numerous insanely dangerous situations, including a botched suicide attempt and a handful of evenings where I drove or attended shady parties/events by myself while in a days-long drunken blackout. I accidentally became pregnant while in the only healthy, sane, happy relationship I’d ever been in. I was approached and “adopted” by my AA sponsor when I was 20 years old, thus giving me the tools to combat my penchant for constant overembibing at an early enough age so that I didn’t ruin my entire existence. And frankly, I never had a traumatic childhood. I mean, yeah, there’s dysfunction I’ve seen that I can speak candidly about but there was no dark familial abuse, no alcoholism or addiction in my immediate family… in fact, I never once rode the school bus to or from school and my mom was still packing me a lunch in the 12th grade. Suffice to say, things were alright for me on a fundamental level. (We’re leaving out all the mental fuckery and how I used to habitually screw up all sorts of good things because of my self-sabotaging needs for now, enkay?)

I seem to have a good deal of luck on my side.

With all of this genuinely incredible evidence sitting in front of me it slowly started to sink in that maybe the Universe had “conspired to shower me with all these blessings” (as repeated repeatedly in Rob Breszny’s Pronoia) for more than just show. I mean, seriously, what are the odds?

And no matter how I might sit around and doubt myself and get all whiny about my abilities (which I still believe may be severely lacking outside my knowledge) and my pathetic floundering with self-worth, the evidence that the Universe isn’t paying attention to my petty excuses and has already clearly decided I’m worthy of Importance and a Big Purpose is unavoidable. And for someone like me who focuses so much on the “Attitude of Gratitude” (ugh… AA cliches) it would seem incredibly hypocritical not to recognize these gifts for what they are and maybe not squander them.

This is not to say I know exactly what this Great Purpose actually is at the moment but I really should trust that if the Universe helped me out so much up to this point, it obviously will let me know what The Plan is when I need to. And I’d be a real shithead if I said, “Yeah, thanks for all the awesomeness you’ve worked for thousands of years to surround me with, but I’m really just not up for whatever it is you have in mind as a way for me to return the favor. Thanks, though.”

So this year at Thanksgiving, the list of Things I’m Thankful For really became more of a “List of Reasons Why I Should Push Myself Toward Excellence with the Reckless Abandon of Someone About to Die.” I even sat down and wrote a massive list of things I’m genuinely grateful for that are even more reason why I shouldn’t settle for mediocrity and why my life is honest-to-God Important in a big way (heaps of these reasons coincide with others’ but, again, I can’t talk for err’body.)

Sickeningly, like a crazy postmodern gag-gift from God, the rush of warmth, comfort and incredible motivation I found from this List of Gifts was the thing I’m most grateful for this year.

Oh, the aftertaste of saccharin and sentiment.

I’m not one of those people who tends to fling myself wildly into trendy causes or mass events. I don’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day (because I’m not Irish and I don’t get wasted anymore) or Cinco de Mayo (because I’m not Mexican and I don’t get wasted anymore), I don’t donate money to anything claiming that they’re “stopping global warming”, and I kind of have emotional qualms with Talk Like a Pirate Day. (Honestly, why are we promoting pirates as a cool thing!?! I just don’t like glorifying people who were into raping, murdering and robbing people. If anyone who claims to be a pirate fan actually ran into a pirate from any era, you’d be none too happy about it. ::Sigh:: /tirade)

But this year a new grassroots event has sprung up and caught the attention of millions of people [thanks to the magic of Facebook-word-of-mouth] that I actually stand behind and am more than willing to support and perpetuate. To Write Love On Her Arms is a group who initially started out to earn money for a friend who was struggling to pay for her rehab bills after dealing with depression and addiction. They began selling t-shirts with the words “To Write Love On Her Arms” (which was the name of a short story one of them wrote about depression, addiction, self-mutilation and suicide) and found that the story and their cause really spoke to a lot of people. From that, they have worked to create an actual day dedicated to promoting awareness about depression and the other associated issues in which they ask participants to simply write “love” on their arms as a means of showing support for victims/survivors of depression.

Alright. I know this is something that a lot of kids are doing because cutting has somehow become a weird social trend in teenagers (BOTHERSOME) and because this group of people are relatively young and can make cool stuff like t-shirts and get popular musicians and celebrities on board it’ll have a very fad-style following at the beginning. So I know I’m totally flinging myself on a youth-perpetuated holiday that may be trendy as hell and very well may fade if the organizers get tired of working for the cause. (I pray they don’t.)

However, as someone to which every issue of TWLOHA’s mission applies, I feel that this sort of awareness-promoting holiday is long long overdue. I mean, we have an entire month for breast cancer awareness, which, while necessary and beautiful, doesn’t apply to nearly as many people as addiction and mental illness does. The truth of the matter is, there’s no reason the old stigmas of mental illness still exist. Because nobody knows how to publicly discuss it like any other health problem, our society has become completely schizophrenic about it, overmedicating some people who are just suffering from real life, while those who desperately need help don’t seek treatment because they’re still under the impression that it’ll make them appear crazy. Sadly, the latter of these two types aren’t inaccurate in their predictions as there are still tons of people from slightly older generations who perpetuate said stigmas constantly. (When my husband and I were talking to a health insurance agent before we got married, I calmly told the agent that I had a long history with depression and had been hospitalized twice for it. He kinda chuckled nervously and asked my then-fiance, “You sure you want to marry her?” Yeah, we didn’t buy shit from that guy…) There’s just not enough information being discussed in logical, mature settings to change the mindsets of those people who don’t bother to understand mental illness and addiction and so, we’re left with those ignorant outsiders believing that depression is just something people need to “snap out of” or addiction is “all about self-control”, which adds a whole new layer to the struggle of those who suffer from these very real illnesses.

When someone tells friends and family that they have cancer, nobody tries to tell them that it’s all in their head; they rally around the friend, actively helping them seek treatment or earn funds, etc. This doesn’t happen for mental illness patients. When people are hospitalized for mental illness, there are no cards and flowers, there are no fundraisers to help pay for medical bills, there isn’t an outpouring of love and concern. Friends and family of the mentally ill are often so confused and clueless as to how to go about dealing with these people that they say nothing at all out of their fear, which only adds to the victim’s belief that they’re not worth the time and energy to save. A lot of times, they take this a step further and criticize the judgment of the victim/survivor, telling each other that this person is doing what they’re doing for attention or that they’re too crazy or unstable to be bothered with anymore.

This is something I have experienced firsthand. I experienced being belittled and ignored when I expressed my very real symptoms of depression to those around me when it started in my pre-teen years and I felt the confusion and ostracization from those around me each time I was hospitalized. These outside influences and social mentality allowed me to continue believing that my self-destructive behaviors and self-loathing beliefs were based in truth. It allowed me to feel isolated even further from the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. It allowed me to feel hopeless and it took the momentum out of my new actions for recovery. My story is not unique.

So I’m adamantly in favor of this holiday, organization and entire movement. I don’t care if that makes me look like I’ve mindlessly climbed on board some new trend; this is something my heart really stands behind.

There have to be more discussions about how to care and show love for the people who suffer from this very real problem. Mental illness education has to be put on the health class curriculum in schools. People have to start listening to facts and changing their minds about depression and addiction to create a society that supports and promotes recovery and hope. This movement has to happen if there’s ever going to be any sort of hope for the mentally ill.

As an Addict and Mentally Ill Patient in Recovery, this is something I both need and want to see succeed.

Today I’m painting “Love” on my arms. I’d like to invite you to do the same.

* This is a continuation of my confessional post from the other day. I enjoyed the exercise so much I thought I’d overdo it. It’s my deal.

I only clean my house six times a year at most, but I do laundry and dishes daily. I adore TCBY but I always order the same thing (white chocolate mousse with cookie dough) because I don’t get to go there often and wouldn’t want to waste a visit on medioce yogurt. Whenever I stay in a 5-star resort/hotel or rented home, I always pretend I’m a princess being doted on in her castle. I can’t sleep unless I have a heavy cover on me, even if it’s a hundred degrees in the room. I long for red hair but look awful with it. I’m one of those weird people who calls companies to praise them (this is a good way to get coupons and freebies, though.) I have an unhealthy addiction to useless knowledge and will waste eras on MentalFloss.com or watching History or Travel channel shows that NOBODY would tune into. (Did you know that Dr. Seuss invented the word “nerd”?) I used to take handfuls of Unisom for a cheap high, so now it takes about 4 to have any effect against my insomnia. (I don’t buy it anymore because I’m afraid I’ll detroy my liver with that many, so I deal with a lot of insomnia.) My favorite part of the morning is when I refill the Bear’s juice cup and yell, “Order up!” and then meet her at the gate in the doorway of the kitchen where she responds with, “Oh, up! K’shoo!” (Translation: Order up! Thank you!) I get a laugh at fragrance commercials because they are so unbelievably pointless. I only bathe about 2-3 times a week, unless I’m doing lots of physical activity - this is something I stand behind and believe in as my skin and hair are remarkably balanced due to lack of overstripping its natural oils. I giggled at the ridiculousness of my arrest, so I’m smirking in my mug shot. I make an abundance of confessions and self-expositions so people will assume I don’t have any really deep, dark, awful secrets, even though I’m pretty sure nobody I know is dumb enough to believe that. I have to write things down in order for them to seem “real” to me, so I have an overwhelming abundance of lists, ranging from my daily “To Do’s” to my 1, 5, and 10-year plans. I can’t apply fake lashes to save my life. I love telling people that I’m a writer and my husband is an artist and I recently learned that he loves telling people about us being weird, artsy folk, too. I absorb information better when I’m doodling henna-knockoff-style doodles. I literally get aroused when I see leaves changing in the autumn. I’ve shaved my upper lip since I was 11, so I can vouch for the inaccuracy of that old wives’ tale about it growing back thicker. I have this need to physically own books and music that I love so, even if I haven’t read a book in years or have all my CDs in mpg form, I still hoard the originals on numerous bookshelves. I look awful in yellow. I get the most disgusted at myself when I realize I’ve been acting like a victim for no reason. I indulge in one trashy, awful, shamelessly annoying, trite reality show every year as a means of taking a mental vacation - this year is “For the Love of Ray J.” I’ve made a pledge to donate 40% of my winnings to charity should I win the lottery or some enormous contest, which really bothers my husband. I always eat ice cream from a cup (instead of a bowl), using an oversized spoon and shaving layers off the top and sides. I write about 6 fan letters to obscure celebrities every year. I love [and collect] hats but loathe baseball caps. I enter at least 300 sweepstakes every year. I think the sexiest thing a man can do is tap dance. I like the feeling of being cripplingly sore after a day of vigorous activity. I don’t give a shit about love stories, but I’ll bawl my eyes out in movies involving parents being removed from their children. (”The Land Before Time” has gotten me since I was sobbing in the theatre at 8 years old.)  Every few weeks, I do my hair and makeup and put on something a little slutty before my husband comes home, knowing I won’t be able to do it too much longer before the Bear catches on. I love the word “Man” as an expletive or generic addressee title, but because a lot of people don’t get that I’m being ironic with it, I give off an inappropriate sense of informality sometimes. I keep 3 blogs and 2 handwritten journals, all with varied levels of security and in specified genres. I love scrapbooking like a 40-year-old mom at home alone while her kids are off at soccer practice. I hate the Looney Tunes.

That’s all I got on that pass.

Ms. Prejean,

Stop. Stop talking. For just a few minutes. Seriously, I don’t know why nobody has told you this before now but all you’re doing is making it worse. I would say that your publicist should have the sense to tell you to can it but, truthfully, that guy’s pretty smart if he’s letting you ramble, make an ass of yourself, lie to the mass media and prolong this side show you seem oblivious to be emceeing.

Look, ordinarily, I really don’t care about beauty pageants. Frankly, I got over being judged in middle school so I don’t understand why people would volunteer to do it on the off chance they may win some cash and 12 months of recognition. (And, yes, I happen to be a decently attractive human being, so this isn’t just an angry ugly chick rambling at you here.) But, because you have made such grandeur public statements on behalf of “young Christian women”, you’re now suddenly dragging me and some of my good friends into the fray, which we really don’t appreciate.

Believe it or not, the rest of the world kind of doesn’t like Americans right now. (I know we’re big into screaming about how awesome we are all the time but, really, that just makes everyone like us even less.) They’re all pretty sure that we’re all a bunch of vapid, surgically-enhanced, superficial, Bible-beating hypocrites. And the real problem with that belief is that there are people like you WHO ARE LIKE THAT who are making international headlines and perpetuating these godawful stereotypes.

Since you seem a little clueless when it comes to abstract thought, I’ll make a list of grievances so you can clearly understand what I’m addressing here.

The Stereotypes You Are Perpetuating That We Wish You Wouldn’t Are:

1) All Americans Have a Victim Mentality, Especially the Young Ones.
No matter how much you publicly whine about somehow being “wronged”, it’s painfully obvious that you weren’t. And by continuing to whine about it, you’re just making yourself look like an idiot. Here’s what happened: You won Miss California. Good for you. The folks that run that particular organization forked out a lot of money to have your body surgically altered if you’d sign an agreement to jump through their hoops and live by their standards. And then you didn’t. And then you lied about it. And then you tried to sue them for holding you accountable for your actions. (Also another American trait that’s cringe-worthy.) Sure, the gays that chair Miss California Inc. were devastated at the ignorant, bigoted answer you gave but even if that wasn’t a factor, you were still flaking out on the boat shows where you were scheduled to appear and the Family Dollar grand openings where you were due to cut the ribbon. So say what you will about the Gay Mafia coming to get you because you “love Jesus” and are just trying to spread “His Word”, you were wrong. And, as an adult, people expect you to be accountable for your actions. Oh, and FYI: because you’re not, you’re just making yourself look even less credible.

2) Christians Hate Gay People and Jesus Did Too
I could literally spend all day rambling about how inaccurate this is but I’m sure that would be fruitless. However, let’s talk like two people who were raised in Sunday School. The cool thing about Jesus that made him so healing and appealing to everyone is that he loved and accepted everyone for what they were. In case you’ve forgotten, he hung out with drunks and murderers and hookers and all sorts of really gross people and he’d probably even hang out with you, too. His message was ENTIRELY about love. And he offered love and forgiveness for any type of sin, including lying or stealing or drinking to excess or adultery or murdering or - if you think love is somehow a sin - having sex with someone who has matching genitalia to yours.

So, running around telling everyone that Jesus has a problem with gay people and that you’re just this soldier standing up for your beliefs is not only incredibly hypocritical but just innacurate. You’re not a martyr for spreading hatred and intolerance. You’re not doing Jesus’s bidding by campaigning against people being in love. I mean, if we’re going to try to stop supposed “sinners” from getting married, are you going to try to stop drunks from getting married? How about non-Christians? I mean, technically, if you really believe this, you could spend the rest of your life limiting marriage to just Christian heteros.

I’m not so much a “Christian” as I am someone who recognizes God in all forms and respects the teachings of the people who spoke of Love (like Christ.) And, unfortunately, when you misrepresent someone who represents and initiated ideas that I believe in, you offend me personally, because I really don’t appreciate looking like a moron along with you.

3) Beauty Pageant Contestants Are Just a Bunch of Mindless Whores

I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure there are a couple thousand beauty queens who want to punch your face in. (And, no, not because they’re totally jealous of your rockin’ bod.) Some of these girls are actually intelligent, with ambition and talent and would kill for a media platform in which to share their beliefs and spread awareness about noble causes. There are girls who could actually be talented actors/singers/models or who want to make extra money for grad school or who want to do something important with their lives other than be a beauty queen for a year if they could just get that big break. But, instead, we have you, yet another oversexed, greedy twentysomething hottie, wildly flailing around, contradicting yourself by yelling about morals and then having nude photos and a sex tape (God, how cliche can we be, here?) magically leak and then going out and writing a book about how all of this that has made you famous has destroyed you as a person.

AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN WIN THE DAMNED THING.

::Sigh::

You see where this is going? Even the poor girl who spent just as much time as you in the gym and rehearsed her interview questions just as hard as you did and invested just as much time and money into the Miss USA pageant as you did and actually won the “coveted” title isn’t getting as much press as you. What was her name again? And her mission was what? I’m pretty sure she’s talked to a couple hitmen.

Meanwhile, you’re showing the world that yes! You proudly let an organization purchase breasts for you! And yes! You have the obligatory spray tan and bleached hair and overwhitened teeth! And yes! You believe in Jesus but have no idea what he was actually about! And yes! You proudly argue like a 7th grade girl who’s being made fun of for being flat-chested! And yes! You do all this loudly and publicly with no idea how stupid this is making you look and no desire to step back and try to salvage some dignity or self-respect! Hooray for America!

I’m surprised your co-contestants haven’t tried to kill you already.

So, let’s recap: You’re making a lying, idiotic fool of yourself and your parents and your friends, of course. And you’re doing the same for those people who share a religious title with you. And you’re doing the same for beauty pageant contestants. And you’re doing all this in epic, international proportions, completely oblivious to the fact that in a couple years nobody’s going to care what you have to say and honestly don’t care now but we can’t peel ourselves away because we haven’t seen such a personal Hindenberg incident since Britney shaved her head and beat up a car.

Stop trying to be heard; you’ve made your statements, backed them up with your contradicting actions and the damage is done. Stop trying to make money. Stop trying to stay relevant. Stop telling everyone that you’re some sort of hero. Stop letting your publicist sell you out while you’re making money and getting attention for him. Stop lying to everyone about everything because we know and you’re just making it worse. Stop talking on behalf of people who are absolutely nothing like you. If not for us, then do it for yourself. Have a little dignity and just go away.

Because the blatant truth is that you’re not the Victim here; you’re the Lost, Self-Destructing, Dollfaced Moron. And haven’t we seen enough of that in pop culture?

Most sincerely,

Liz Pardue-Schultz

I give a physical, facial reaction to everything, including thoughts/memories and television programs.   I paint my nails only once or twice a year. I remember obscure things for so long that other people involved usually suspect I’m obsessive. I love writing and receiving letters and have had at least two penpals at any given time since I was 6. I only like about three physical attributes of myself. I still play “dress up” and “pretend”, although having a daughter makes it more justifiable. I listen to CDs of stand-up comedians I love on Repeat, even when I can recite the entire monologue by heart with all the right inflections. I talk incessantly because I’m afraid I’m a forgettable person - I can’t stop myself. I can remember how much I weighed every single year since I was 11. I have a giant, furry trapper hat with huge earflaps that I like to sit around the house in. I become physically ill when presented with images of certain people, some I know and some I don’t. I like to smoke cloves and read Walt Whitman and imagine myself worthy of his company and conversation. I can’t listen to some of my favorite musicians anymore because of the memories associated with them, but I still keep their records on hand just in case. I love my handwriting. I am sure that the dreams I have for myself are far larger than my purpose; I fear an overblown, delusional sense of self-importance more than anything. I get nervous around beautiful people, but not those plastic, LA “Beautiful People”-types.  I have to work really really hard not to correct every author of a misspelling I encounter daily. I involuntarily discount a person’s intelligence if I spot a misspelling in their writing; this goes double if they misspell things on purpose (i.e. Netspeak, etc.). I don’t believe humans have any Answers, but I still enjoy asking everyone for them anyway. I’ve always wanted dreadlocks but I love my hair too much to sacrifice it. I want to found a national holiday. I’ve always wanted a trampoline; it’s been on my Christmas list since I was 8. I finish about 1/3 of the harebrained projects I start. I pay extra for de-boned, pre-skinned chicken because the few times I’ve done it myself I’ve literally passed out. I realized recently I have an extensively long history of sabotaging myself from success because I’m alllll about the self-fulfilling prophecy (this is something I’m working valiantly to change.) I am overenthusiastic about reconnecting with old friends and acquaintances; I’m slowly backing away. I miss the purple streak I had in my hair. I’d love to pose for Playboy, but I’d much rather write for them. I never ever ever want to be famous, but I’m anticipating a couple of my friends becoming wildly famous because they’re truly genius and I’m excited about possibly getting to meet the cool literary celebs they’ll rub elbows with.  I really hope my one-line life synopsis hasn’t been written yet. I whittled my FB friends list from 900+ people to 350-ish in the last year and am much much happier with that level of “intimacy”. I want to be eccentric and creative without feeling like I’m putting on a show for the white-breaders around me. I don’t actually think I’m that eccentric and creative. I visit websites like ItMadeMyDay.com, PeopleOfWalmart.com, and Regretsy.com every day because the giggle value keeps me sane. I’ll wake my husband out of a dead sleep at 2 a.m. if I realize we’ve forgotten the Goodnight Kiss. I haven’t made any adjustments to my car’s musical rotation since my daughter was born - I don’t plan to. I’ll refuse to go on the news in a bizarre story because I do not want a spot on “Good Morning America” to constitute as my 15 Minutes. I like saying “Hollaaaa!” because, coming from a white girl, it just sounds ridiculous. I’ve sent 7 postcards to PostSecret and none of them have made me feel better. I have no idea how I’d blurb myself. About once or twice a year, I secretly perform a premeditated random act that could very easily classify me as insane. (Don’t worry; nobody’s getting hurt.) I used to have to argue with ignorant douchenozzles all the time but, as I have grown older, I really just enjoy sitting back and letting them make asses of themselves in the realization that they inevitably live in their own hell. I delete/destroy at least 99% of photos taken of me, even if they’re on a friend’s camera. I’m so exhausted listening to people whine about being offended; doesn’t anybody “get” that whining all the time just makes one look weak, dependent and obsessed with what others think? I miss drinking when I’m scared or insecure the most - not when I’m depressed. I was recently liberated earlier this week when I realized that, for the first time in a very very long time, I don’t owe any single human being anything anymore. I’d love it if God just loaned me the Script for a couple days.

I’m exhausted with self-exploration… altogether.

Dear Birthday/Christmas Fairy:

I know I’m writing a bit early this year but it’s necessary for my request. I have to be honest; I feel sort of greedy asking for something else given the amazing Birthday Wishes you granted last year. (Seriously, Obama in the White House, Snow, AND a ton of unexpected presents made last birthday spectacular. You really outdid yourself.)

Anyway, this year my Christmas/Birthday List is really boring. I’m asking for subscriptions to magazines and a new office chair. What a snooze, right? But I know funds are tight for everyone and I know that after a while people aren’t going to keep showering me with mindless stuffs, especially when I have a pretty little girl everyone seems to like winning smiles from. So the following request is something I know I probably won’t get. In fact, I’m only going to mention it to one family member and drop it because I understand the practicality of it all is just ridiculous. It’s not as great as a trip to Australia (something that’s always on my Wish List) or a new kayak-and-roof-rack-and-paddle-and-accoutrement-etc. (also always on there) but it’s something I’d love nonetheless.

I really really want to see Lady Gaga perform on her first headlining tour, preferably on January 20 (my birthday) at Radio City Music Hall. (I’d offer to go to the ATL show on Dec. 29, but that’s the day before the Bear’s birthday and I don’t want to miss any of it. Plus, I never know when my family is going to be available and I wouldn’t want to bail on them for something so trivial.) I can drive myself; I’ve driven through/around the Apple enough to know where I’m going as long as I’m on the Island, so airfare isn’t necessary. I have five separate friends who have continuously offered accommodations for me whenever I want, so I don’t need a place to crash (although if you wanted to throw in a ticket for said friend, I’m sure nobody would balk at it. Hell, one of my NYC buddies went to see a Federline concert just to have something to laugh at.) I’d just like a ticket. Preferably an orchestra seat, but lower mezz is cool, too. (I’ve been to Radio City a handful of times and only sat on the floor twice, both for Spring or Christmas Spectacular matinees, so nothing exciting.)

Yes, I know, I’m not a pop music fan AT ALL. But I think she’s divine and I want to design and wear something completely insane and see her wrap up her first tour in her hometown and meet crazy new people and party all night and then return for more domestic wifery/motherhood.

And it’s not like I get out to concerts a lot, especially compared to how many I’d hit annually before I was a mom. Seriously, the last concert I went to was A YEAR AGO when I saw NIN in Greenville (quite spectacular.) And I can make it on one show a year. It’s tough, but I don’t mind. It’s not terrible. But this one would be a great one to help me tough out the next year. And I’d sincerely appreciate it. And I’d ask for nothing else for either holiday. Promise. ‘Cept maybe gas money. But even that’s not necessary!

So anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up so you can get tickets on the cheap as they’re only on StubHub or eBay at this point. For the love of God, please don’t pay more than $250 for a ticket to this; it’s Lady Gaga, not The Original Who. I hope your holidays are going well and you’re not too overwhelmed. Look forward to seeing you, regardless of your allotted giftload.

Much love and light,
Castallare

This morning I had a lot to do. After escaping out of town to wish my dad a “Happy Birthday!” and then spending a couple days writhing around in more inexplicable gastrointenstinal pain [still not going away, but is on-and-off enough to not warrant us going into debt going to a specialist] I had a monstrous all-day pile of laundry and dishes to tackle while the hubs did a three-day overhaul on the house.

I pull a load of laundry from the dryer, wrangle it into the living room, plop it on the couch and begin to fold. I’m only sort of paying attention as I’m folding and watching “Secret Celebrity” (it’s actually really cute for a fluff, no-brainer, background-noise show) in which Kim Kardashian plays a giant nerd to see if her fans would sell her out behind her back. As I’m nearing the end of the load, I look down and see that Chloe has meticulously taken every piece of folded laundry and moved it onto the pile of “To Irons” on one of the wing-back chairs in the corner. She is helping. I giggle and say, “No, silly! We have to keep it all over here!” and I start to move it all back, but she shoves me aside and insists, “Me do it!” She then proceeds to move everything back into the pile on the couch, taking each piece one-by-one. When she is finished moving the pile, she points at it while looking at me for approval. When I applaud and give her gracious compliments, she excitedly begins the cycle all over again, in hopes to earn even more approval and praise. From me.

I have a lot to do. I’ve got to get all this done and the house straightened and myself showered in time for my old-GS-friend reunion this evening and it is already 11 a.m. Instead, I am sitting on the floor, watching my child gleefully destroy everything I’ve been hurriedly trying to fix in order to create some sort of competent public appearance and realizing that she’s giving me a lesson on how none of it effing matters, like some miniature sage, stuffed to the brim with giggling wisdom.

God, I love being a mom.

Last year, one of my friends told me: “All your fears are lies.” This is something I’ve believed for a while now but I’d never really thought of it in such a stripped-down, obvious concept: Yes! Those restraints holding me back in the form of tangible fear are fortress walls that simply do not exist. Not only do they not exist to anyone else, but they don’t exist to me, either. This is one of those things I repeat to myself daily.

However, there was a second level to the principle that my self-provided lies held me captive, that I recently discovered has been an even bigger contributor to/foundation of my general mentality and motivations for a couple decades now. And I don’t know if it necessarily applies to everyone, so I can’t make a grandeur universal statement about it like the one my friend brought to me. So instead I’ll just try to explain.

For no discernable reason whatsoever, I’ve always had this inexplicable habit of subconsciously assigning everyone I meet with a level of “Importance.” This doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re good people, it doesn’t mean that they’re intelligent people, hell, it doesn’t even mean that I like them. But, for whatever reason, in my mind, every person I come across gets placed on a scale of “Importance” and, from then on, I keep this status of them in my mind from then until forever, allowing them the appropriate level of respect or clout.

Okay, let me stop right now and explain profusely that I honestly don’t know where in hell this came from, why in the hell I do it, when exactly I started doing it, and what in the hell it all means. It could be a product of that inevitable/imperative time in adolescence when some alpha-dog bully wrangled power away from me and controlled my emotions, it could be based in some bizarre biological recognition of societal survivalism principles, or it could just mean that I’m a hypercognitive wackadoo. But, whatever the case, I’ve aaalways been one of those people who allotted a hierarchy to everyone in my immediate surroundings and adhered to these completely fabricated rulings as if everyone I knew was aware of and participating in this specific political structure as well.

[Though, to be observational for a second, I believe a lot of this exists/begins in superficial social situations like high school or Hollywood. For example, a bunch of people think So-And-So is pretty so everyone else goes along with that inherent belief even if they don't necessarily agree and she ends up winning Homecoming Queen every year or being invited to parties by people who don't even really enjoy her company, etc. (This isn't something I'm proud to say I relate to by any means, but I think it's about as close of a parallel as I can draw to what I'm talking about.)

But, outside of the aforementioned superficially-based environs, the best example of people having assigned others around them to a personal level of "Importance" to which they adhere is found in abusive relationships. Any man or woman who would abuse their partner is disgusting to begin with but there are so many times where a victim tolerates the abuse of someone who is nothing short of repulsive (in intelligence, appearance, competence, motivation, etc.) because they believe that person is "Important" or, at least, moreso than themselves. (I'm speaking in generalities here, although I have had enough friends prostrate themselves and take entirely too much abuse from hideous, uneducated, self-centered morons who would be attractive to nobody with objective taste for me to believe that this is more than a coincedence. But then, attractive, well-educated, self-aware men/women don't hate themselves enough to be abusive, so it's all cyclical, I guess... ANYWAY.)]

In hopes to find a remedy, I sat down a while ago and made a list of all the people who I’d subconsciously deemed as “Important” at any time in my life and noted how that invisible caste system had effected how I reacted to events in my relationships with them, how I thought about myself, how I made my decisions, etc. And once I’d gotten the obvious people out of the way, I started assessing every single person that I’d ever been in some personal relationship with (friends, family members, co-workers, professors, etc.) and was shocked when I realized just how screwed up my mentality had been for forever, it seemed. There were people who had the ability to make me feel unimportant or full of self-doubt who contained every single horrible trait that I loathed, and yet, they had remained on my subconscious “Important” list and I’d never stopped to think that maybe they didn’t belong there. Meanwhile, there were people who have never been anything but amazing to me and who go out of their way to love me and never say otherwise whose combined gestures of kindness couldn’t cancel out one gesture of one of the crappy people on the “Important” list in my fucked-up mindset. What the hell?!

Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. Especially because none of this was really news to me but, because I’d never looked at all of it objectively and admitted “I give people I don’t even like more sway on my emotions than people who actually respect me.”, I was willing to dive into drama with people I genuinely thought were gross wastes of time instead of doing anything else - including being with people who were awesome to be around… or just doing nothing by myself… again. Anything. Anything else. - just because I’d at some point deemed these people “Important”. For no valid reason. I was willing to shrug off my morals and dignity and time on people who just didn’t matter at all. And I’m not even talking about the Big false-”Important” people, but also about the more minor players of that category, like distant family members who made me feel insecure for the half hour I saw them annually or asshole former acquaintences who were mutual friends with one of my Facebook friends and would attempt to pick fights with me via “Status” commentary. The whole thing was just so stunted and backward, I felt like a naive 3rd grader who just realized that all adults don’t know everything.

So, in order to rewire my brain and reverse the current, I started over by making two new Lists. I know. I know it seems ridiculous and even more juvenile than the first subconscious “assignment system” but I figured I had to undo the procedure in an equally effective method. I literally spent a few hours going through every person I’d been in some form of contact with in the last 10-ish years and put them on a list of “Important to Me” and “Not Important to Me”. (The “to Me” part was included because I’m sure everyone is important to someone else. Just not to me. I can’t be a judge of their overall importance, you know?) I was pleased to find that the “Important to Me” list far outweighed the “Not Important to Me” list, but the few of those who were in the grey area received the benefit of the doubt and were put on the former of the lists. (Everyone’s “Important” until they prove otherwise to me. Everyone.)

I started to wonder if this categorization method, too, was unhealthy but then I realized that everyone has people who are more important to them than others. This doesn’t mean that everyone walks around and judges everyone else’s Importance (and it definitely doesn’t mean that everyone has a list sitting around of who’s “In” and who’s “Out”), just that everyone values each other differently. And I needed to work out my own personal economics for once without getting involved in everyone else’s exchange rates…

The funny thing is that when I sat and looked at the “Not Important to Me” list, I was shocked at how many of these people had not one appealing trait. Most of the people on the list sucked very very badly, but had at least one or two decent qualities to make me doubt their “Not Importance” from time to time. However, the handful of those who didn’t were just another glaring reiteration of the power of my personal agreements, especially evidenced in the way my mind automatically flipped completely over to “Yuck!” mode once I physically moved those names onto a “Not Important” list. Seriously, it was kind of bizarre. I’ve had this thing for a while that, when I find someone both annoying, intolerable and physically unappealing, I cannot make eye contact with them anymore. (I know. That is just an awful thing to say out loud. When I get to hell, I’ll get Kathy Griffin’s autograph for you.) I’ve done this my whole life, actually and it’s just something I can’t fix [or don't want to yet.] I can watch any sort of sick video you can whip out (I literally just watched a video of a girl having sex with a giant teddy bear before murdering it with a knife. Not kidding. -Thanks, Brody!) but put me in a room with someone I think thoroughly sucks and I’ll involuntarily cringe and look away the whole time. So, within a matter of a few hours, people I’d always deemed to be somehow worthy of persuasive powers and general attention became mentally unbearable once looked at objectionably. So it actually worked.

God, this whole thing reads as kind of nuts, but personally I wouldn’t have done it any other way as it’s seemed to work. And in the many months following this, I’ve made assessing the value of the people I choose to keep around me a regular practice, as I’ve chosen not to waste any more of my time on people who aren’t important to me. (Obviously, this doesn’t mean I’m not ever going to make any friends or give to charity ever again; again, I think everyone is “Important” until they prove otherwise. Isn’t that kind of a given, though?) And I am pleasantly surprised at how much better I feel in my daily life and in my relationships… although I’m still pretty embarrassed it took me this long to get to this step.

When am I going to start “getting” things when everyone else does? Why are common realizations so easy for other people but it takes me months of overzealous deliberation to understand the most basic social concepts or implement the most obvious habits? Is every Great Life Realization going to take this kind of mental defragging procedure for the rest of my life…

::shrug::

Schmeh. Better late than never.

I’m sure this is going to be one of those entries that just seems redundant and formulaically identical to dozens of others I’ve written. That’s fine. I’m going to write it anyway because it’s important to me, but I thought I’d give a “heads up” in case you wanted to check out early.

Anyway, I’m sure that if I wasn’t in perpetual recovery from The Crazy and The Drinky, I’d get pretty annoyed hearing about someone else’s gratitude all the time. The thing is, it’s an imperative part of maintaining sanity and serenity and, just like taking self inventory, it’s something I have to do daily, probably until my heart stops permanently. And, even though it gets really old sometimes and there are days where I’m convinced that there’s nothing worth being happy about and I’m just so annoyed at the whole glassy-eyed optimist mentality and just decide to take a hiatus and be whiny and cynical, (I feel that when these breaks are deliberate and limited, they’re actually pretty healthy) I do understand the necessity of reminding myself what’s good in my life on a regular basis. (Oh, but then I have guilt issues and the “I’m not worthies” but I’m working on finding a balance. One day at a time, here.) And it’s no secret that I’ve been really happy in the last couple years. Happier than I believe I’ve ever been.

A couple months ago, I hit a really rough patch within my personal family affairs and I got really scared that my whole life was going to make a drastic change and I’d be making [yet another] unplanned detour. (I won’t go into specifics publicly, but it’s still in the process of working itself out, although there is a huge shift in the tone and I’m feeling very optimistic and refreshed about it. So things have changed, but not as terribly as they could have.) In that time, I really began to feel like an idiot, like maybe I’d been deluding myself with all the great things that have been going on for almost 3 years and ignoring things that made my life decidedly not so great. I began to feel really foolish and naive with the idea that “Reality” had blindsided me again and here I was, facing “The Truth” that I probably should’ve noticed before it all came to a head. I genuinely began to believe that this whole “Attitude of Gratitude” mantra I’d been taught was, in actuality, just some brainwashing technique used by psychologists and AA members to gloss over the crappiness of life and help keep us moving forward. And, as someone who made an 11-year career of constant, clinical negativity and hopelessness, it was easy for my mind to gang up on me and start convincing myself of all of that again. This was only exacerbated by an exterior sense of helplessness as the few friends I confided in didn’t know what to say except that they were there to listen (which is appreciated, of course) and the one who decided not to acknowledge it at all (not appreciated) and my withholding information from those family members who weren’t involved [as that only plants seeds of doubt and side-choosing and other drama I don't need/want.] It got to be a lot, especially as it seemed like a culmination of months and months of self-delusion coming to attack me again. And the very last thing I wanted to do was perpetuate that by going back to thinking about things that I was grateful for.

(Okay, and, yes, I realize that keeping the “Attitude of Gratitude” doesn’t mean ignoring problems and it just means that keeping it will help me avoid a world-weary cynicism that will drive me to drink to excess and I need to address problems in an objective fashion. I know this. I do this. I was just having a tough time at that point.)

But the really amazing part of that situation is that I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to sit down and angrily scribble out things that I’m grateful for when I really didn’t feel like it. Not to sound like a nutjob, but within a few weeks the clouds had parted, the sun was shining and I felt my heart flooded with gratitude for every single thing going on in my life right now again, without me having to work at the optimism. It was almost like the Rulers of My New Post-Pregnancy Happy Life decided to show me that they were going to keep making things awesome regardless of whether or not I was trying to convince myself that they were. Like, “Hey, look. Even when you believe that your delusions are the only thing keeping things Good and it’s really not, we’re here to actively prove you wrong! You’re welcome!”

Cooooool!

And I know that there are always going to be crappy, awful, life-altering things that come along but there’s an element of security in the idea that the Universe has my back and honestly wants me to keep moving forward and being blissful.

Today’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to get things done so I’m kinda on a roll but, while Chloe’s hanging out for a sec, I thought I’d update. Just because.

~ NaNoWriMo started today and at the last minute I decided I’m going to write a first draft of a novel idea Greg had a while ago. It’s a little bit sci-fi which isn’t really my style, but I really want to make the story focus more on the human aspects of it than the sci-fi surrealism of it all. I’ve gotta get started, though, or I’ll procrastinate and then it’ll be a week in and I’ll say “Oh, I’m way too behind. Screw it. I’ll do it next year. ” Which is what I’ve done for like, 4 years now. The thing is, I’m not really a Novel Writer but I didn’t want to “cheat” and write my memoir or a collection of essays because I wanted to push myself. But now I’m starting to think that this isn’t the time of year to make big leaps in character. I dunno. I’m gonna try not to psyche myself out before I even get started.

~ Whoever said that Michael Jackson was the Great Uniter of Races was sorely mistaken; that title goes to Stevie Wonder, I believe. (And, no, I have no interest whatsoever in paying to watch him march to his death on the big screen. Or the little screen for that matter. The movie really sounds like a snore.)

~ I’m scrambling to fill up my calendar with Passion Parties so I can blow into the holiday season strong. So far, I only have 3 definites and 3 possibles in the next two months. I’ve got to amp that up. So, this week’s Naptime Hours will be spent making calls, making marketing displays, and getting packets together to send out. I really want to launch this with a strong holiday start, but I also don’t want to nag my friends about it, ESPECIALLY those friends that I’m just meeting here in town. But, being that I don’t know anyone here, I’m limited to just putting out catalogs and flyers in hair salons, advertising on Craigslist (gross) and sending packets to local sororities. Hmm. All this being said, I have a good friend back in Myrtle who owns a restaurant that she’s shutting down for an evening to host one in a few weeks and I am STOKED. She also runs a catering business and knows just about everyone in town so I’m hoping it’ll turn into a really big affair with a few dozen patrons. (Plus, I’ll do anything to get out to a posh party with other adults.)

~ After taking October off, I’m jumping back on the Weight Watchers Wagon, too, and have made it a goal to lose this last 20 lbs. by Christmas. (I gained about 6 of it back from Tootsie Rolls en masse this week.)

So yeah, I’m doing Passion Parties, Weight Watchers AND NaNoWriMo. I think that’s enough for this month.