If you type "adam" into your Google search, your first four choices are:
adam levine
adam lanza
adam sandler
adam lambert
Nearly everyone would know which titles match with which Adam--musician, comedian, television personality, movie star, murderer. I actually thought Lanza would be first on the list, considering the amount of media coverage surrounding the story and the Frontline that just aired. Levine being at the top of the list reminded me that middle school girls are still incredibly self-involved. But the second Adam, Adam Lanza, is the one I am thinking of today.
I'm not condoning his behaviors or making excuses. This was a horrible, tragic event. I don't know what can come from it. Other than the initial reaction of counting your blessings, it seems to have started a gun debate that, like almost everything political, has no right or wrong answers, and seemingly turns both sides into a bunch of cowards because everyone's made themselves so strident they've forgotten the concept of compromise can exist.
But it isn't the Facebook arguments or the memes that bother me the most, it's the need to assign blame. Blame the parents! Blame the sensory processing disorder! Blame the Asperger's! Blame the video games! Blame the schools for not getting him for help! Blame the shrinks! Blame the divorce! Blame! Blame! Blame! Well, the need to assign blame must be a by-product of our lawsuit happy society! Blame the lawyers! He wanted to top the death toll of that Norwegian guy who killed 77 people! Blame the media! Why are you reading about him? He's the bad guy! It's your fault!
Blame is an odd beast. It allows us to deflect our part in the humanity of others, to judge instead of attempt understand. We never have to consider our part in something when we shove the blame off on something else. The Newtown case is just a big, fat, glaring example of something we do everyday. Assigning responsibility for faults, no matter how large or minute, or judging and categorizing people are more the American pastime than baseball. This allows us to feel superior over others, but it really just makes us pawns in a game.
I'm trying to achieve a higher level of thinking when it comes to others, instead of blaming and judgment, I'm making an effort to experience the perceived fault as my own. Like it or not, many times the words or actions of others that we allow to affect us most negatively actually trip something about ourselves on which we need to work. Like I spoke about last time, this is all part of my journey of understanding.
And yes, I have blamed the dogs for farts. I'm a work in progress.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
When considering all the destruction in the world, there is none more tragic than the self-imposed. - Me
It is 3:30 in the morning and I am feeling guilty. I am warm, safe, and have a bitch on each hip. I had a good day at work. I made a pink and purple Barbie guitar cake for my buddy's daughter. I have a loving family and many friends who care for me. I have more blessings in this moment than I can share. But I am haunted.
I must talk of my blessings because that's the only way to really understand my story. I am a have. I have never had to go without. While I have been through some incredibly difficult times, I know that a big reason I no longer live as a victim is due to the support and stability of the circle around me. It's easy to act like I did it on my own, but that would just be an act. My longing to be authentic was greater than my act.
There is a streak of independence and individualism running through me. Some of it is innate and some has mellowed over the years.
My guilt?
My lack of understanding.
It's so conflicting, really. I believe wholeheartedly that we need to use positive thinking and visualization to create opportunities in our lives. I believe we get back what we put out. It's been said thousands of ways over the history of humanity, so it's not surprising that this concept is at belief status for me. And I have seen it work in my life--my Anne Frank quality. The ability to see the positive in a shitty situation. So I just assumed that anyone could put this to practice in his/her life.
My assumption failed because I forget that not everyone is blessed with a healthy mind. Maybe I am just getting to the age where The long-term mental health issues are really starring to ravage some of my friends. And I can instantly think of three friends with whom their mental health issues are also coupled with substance abuse issues. Thankfully, some of them are getting the help they need right now.
I remember the night I woke up in my bathtub, covered in puke and wishing I had choked on the vomit and died. I hadn't thought about that moment in a while. I was so sad and scared. But I like have said many times, any negative emotion is rooted in hurt. I was just a big pile of hurt, acting out self-destructively because I knew no other way. I asked the ceiling for some type of help and a wave of calm passed through me and said to just go to bed. When I woke a few hours later, I knew something had to change.
Several tries later, something started to stick. Maybe mostly because I wanted it to and my stubborn ass didn't want to be a slave to anything anymore.
It's a humbling process. It's a work in progress. And that's okay. A few years ago, I asked the Universe to teach me patience. I still regret that one sometimes, but I also feel like it's starting to stick.
My next lesson is to ask for understanding. And I think my three friends were the messengers sent to plant that request. I'm learning that recognizing and stopping self-destruction is far more difficult for someone who struggles with a mental illness. Acknowledging this is helping ease my mind.
It's late. I have stopped making sense and Alli wants to cuddle.
It is 3:30 in the morning and I am feeling guilty. I am warm, safe, and have a bitch on each hip. I had a good day at work. I made a pink and purple Barbie guitar cake for my buddy's daughter. I have a loving family and many friends who care for me. I have more blessings in this moment than I can share. But I am haunted.
I must talk of my blessings because that's the only way to really understand my story. I am a have. I have never had to go without. While I have been through some incredibly difficult times, I know that a big reason I no longer live as a victim is due to the support and stability of the circle around me. It's easy to act like I did it on my own, but that would just be an act. My longing to be authentic was greater than my act.
There is a streak of independence and individualism running through me. Some of it is innate and some has mellowed over the years.
My guilt?
My lack of understanding.
It's so conflicting, really. I believe wholeheartedly that we need to use positive thinking and visualization to create opportunities in our lives. I believe we get back what we put out. It's been said thousands of ways over the history of humanity, so it's not surprising that this concept is at belief status for me. And I have seen it work in my life--my Anne Frank quality. The ability to see the positive in a shitty situation. So I just assumed that anyone could put this to practice in his/her life.
My assumption failed because I forget that not everyone is blessed with a healthy mind. Maybe I am just getting to the age where The long-term mental health issues are really starring to ravage some of my friends. And I can instantly think of three friends with whom their mental health issues are also coupled with substance abuse issues. Thankfully, some of them are getting the help they need right now.
I remember the night I woke up in my bathtub, covered in puke and wishing I had choked on the vomit and died. I hadn't thought about that moment in a while. I was so sad and scared. But I like have said many times, any negative emotion is rooted in hurt. I was just a big pile of hurt, acting out self-destructively because I knew no other way. I asked the ceiling for some type of help and a wave of calm passed through me and said to just go to bed. When I woke a few hours later, I knew something had to change.
Several tries later, something started to stick. Maybe mostly because I wanted it to and my stubborn ass didn't want to be a slave to anything anymore.
It's a humbling process. It's a work in progress. And that's okay. A few years ago, I asked the Universe to teach me patience. I still regret that one sometimes, but I also feel like it's starting to stick.
My next lesson is to ask for understanding. And I think my three friends were the messengers sent to plant that request. I'm learning that recognizing and stopping self-destruction is far more difficult for someone who struggles with a mental illness. Acknowledging this is helping ease my mind.
It's late. I have stopped making sense and Alli wants to cuddle.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Homo Says What...
I ran in one of those really fun small town road races last weekend. I grew up in a small town and spent a lot of time wanting to be anywhere else. That was probably just a symptom of youth since the city in which I currently live isn't huge, but that's beyond the point. The point here was the race. It was a hoot. There was even a chili feed at the golf course afterwards.
I hadn't even heard about this race until a couple of weeks ago, when my friend, Formerly Known by Three Initials (FKTI), was in for lunch and mentioned she was running it with my friend, Currently Known by Three Initials (CKTI). Both of these ladies are serious runners. They talk about things like speed work. I admire that, really, I do. I think I should learn to be more like them, so I would get better times. But if I'm being honest with myself, I must admit that I have way more fun with the bitches, dodging geese and carrying bags of dog shit.
So anyway, I was intrigued enough by the thought of the Initial Girls and road race in February to sign up. The day I signed up was one of those weirdo gloriously warm days in which the sun shines and ice melts. Then the Alberta Clippers moved through and we went into a sub-zero deep freeze the week of the race. Schools were called off due to wind chill temps over -30 and below.
I was scarrrred.
I knew I would show up and suffer through it no matter what. I also know that wool socks and tights only do so much.
Thankfully, it was 16 degrees when I pulled into town the morning of the race and the wind wasn't too bad at all. I pounded a Red Bull on my way down and was jamming out to some Otis Redding, so I drove a bit faster than I should have and had plenty of time to spare before the race. This also gave me plenty of time to observe one of my favorite aspects of small town life, the Less Than A Degree of Separation aspect. Everybody knows everybody knows everybody. It's a comforting thing, really. Lots of hi and how are you-types of greetings. Talk about the last basketball game. It's pretty superficial. Nothing controversial, after all, this was a fundraiser for the school's booster club.
It was a four mile race, so we loaded up onto school buses to be driven out of town--no quitting if you gotta run back to town. So the Initial Girls and I piled on to the first bus. People were scattered all over, with an open seat here and there. We just went straight to the back of the bus and I plopped down in the single seat by the emergency door while they sat kitty corner from me.
Suddenly, a pack of dudes in matching red t-shirts were marching down the isle towards us. The stance and attire of the group screamed of a frat stereotype, but I try to be open-minded. I try.
They get to the back of the bus and the nice guy in the seat across from me scooted towards the window and said, "You can sit here, man."
He replied, "I'm WAY too homophobic for that," with a machine gun laugh.
"I'm not, so if any ladies wanna sit on my lap, get here," was out of my mouth, loudly, before I even realized what I said.
Sometimes, I'm okay with my lack of censor.
I hadn't even heard about this race until a couple of weeks ago, when my friend, Formerly Known by Three Initials (FKTI), was in for lunch and mentioned she was running it with my friend, Currently Known by Three Initials (CKTI). Both of these ladies are serious runners. They talk about things like speed work. I admire that, really, I do. I think I should learn to be more like them, so I would get better times. But if I'm being honest with myself, I must admit that I have way more fun with the bitches, dodging geese and carrying bags of dog shit.
So anyway, I was intrigued enough by the thought of the Initial Girls and road race in February to sign up. The day I signed up was one of those weirdo gloriously warm days in which the sun shines and ice melts. Then the Alberta Clippers moved through and we went into a sub-zero deep freeze the week of the race. Schools were called off due to wind chill temps over -30 and below.
I was scarrrred.
I knew I would show up and suffer through it no matter what. I also know that wool socks and tights only do so much.
Thankfully, it was 16 degrees when I pulled into town the morning of the race and the wind wasn't too bad at all. I pounded a Red Bull on my way down and was jamming out to some Otis Redding, so I drove a bit faster than I should have and had plenty of time to spare before the race. This also gave me plenty of time to observe one of my favorite aspects of small town life, the Less Than A Degree of Separation aspect. Everybody knows everybody knows everybody. It's a comforting thing, really. Lots of hi and how are you-types of greetings. Talk about the last basketball game. It's pretty superficial. Nothing controversial, after all, this was a fundraiser for the school's booster club.
It was a four mile race, so we loaded up onto school buses to be driven out of town--no quitting if you gotta run back to town. So the Initial Girls and I piled on to the first bus. People were scattered all over, with an open seat here and there. We just went straight to the back of the bus and I plopped down in the single seat by the emergency door while they sat kitty corner from me.
Suddenly, a pack of dudes in matching red t-shirts were marching down the isle towards us. The stance and attire of the group screamed of a frat stereotype, but I try to be open-minded. I try.
They get to the back of the bus and the nice guy in the seat across from me scooted towards the window and said, "You can sit here, man."
He replied, "I'm WAY too homophobic for that," with a machine gun laugh.
"I'm not, so if any ladies wanna sit on my lap, get here," was out of my mouth, loudly, before I even realized what I said.
Sometimes, I'm okay with my lack of censor.
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