The Ugly Duckling and The Pink Swan

 It has come to my attention, that if one is inclined to name their blog "Nine Kids & Ink", there should be at some point an explanation of this title. I hope it's not as hard to explain it as it was to come up with it in the first place. Although it may seem obvious to those who know me, given the fact that I have nine children and the slightly more obvious fact that I have a rather large amount of skin art, it took me a while to pull these two facts about me together as the defining force of my blog. 


Having all those kids has been a catalyst for so many more life lessons than I could have ever imagined, in so many realms, and on so many different levels. While things that I write that pertain strictly to motherhood I have been and will continue to post in my other blog, "On Being a Mom", the things that I discover and get inspired about that I simply learn as a result of living with all these amazing people who are my children, well, they will get posted here. 


But while my maternal status is first on the inspiration list, I pondered at great length the other leading role in the drama of what makes me tick. My wheels are turning nonstop. I will never run out of things to think about, or write about. In fact, I am quite sure 99% of my thoughts will die with me. I simply can't type that fast, nor do I have adequate time. It's all I can do on any given day to just open the brain valve a bit and let it run down into my fingers and out into print. Whatever comes out, comes out.  And I'm given to analogies, and word pictures to get some points across in 3-D technicolor. But there are times when words utterly and completely fail me. Especially at times in my life where it was about all I could do to just scribble in a journal. Or draw a picture. Or paint a mural. However,  when life comes up with some sea-monster of a lesson, that lurches out of your calm seas with tentacles flailing and teeth snapping, leaving you gasping for air, in terror and swimming for all your worth toward anything that even looks like safety - well - there was nothing left to express that.
Until I rediscovered the tattoo....

April 28, 2009

The Pink Swan

I woke up today to a pink swan. I rolled over onto my right side, and my Swan reminded me or her presence.

Yes, my rather large Avatar I have placed on my right leg – my constant and permanent reminder of who and what I really am. And so, I wince, and sit up and regard her.

Just yesterday, I sat patient and still while my artist did his level best to color her white; to highlight her wings and graceful neck. I just watched while he colored with all the passion of a kid with a crayon – over and over with the needles, dipping them in the ink, coloring in little circles, accenting the edges. And after each square inch was colored, my skin threw up what seemed to be the red, serous flags of surrender. And when the liquids started to become a mixture of pink plasma, ink and blood, he’d stop briefly, and wash it off with a soothing soap and a soft paper towel….and then start the needles again.

What price, this vanity? What cost to this permanent portrait? What on earth for? I’m sure there are a host of people who understand this desire to stain the skin for a purpose that goes beyond just “Hey…cool!”  And while these marks can be insanely cool, that was not my intent.

I have lived a life that is the epitome of mistaken identity. I was born a part of a large brood, living life as a classic underachiever – but truly not for lack of trying! No…I signed up for it all! I wanted in! I wanted to be the one that went for it – maximized my potential. I had big dreams and aspirations. I wanted pitch baseball.  I wanted to be a rock star – for real!! I researched it! I honestly did the Bryan Adams thing and played my guitar until my fingers bled – I wanted it that bad. I played my piano clean through the healing time of a destroyed finger. I wanted to be a gymnast – and practiced every day twice a day for literally years, remembering the headaches from the diving forward rolls even as I type.  I wanted to be a model. I wanted to be an equestrian. I wanted to build parks and develop land (yes…at the tender age of 10). I wanted to be in politics – never made it past 7^th grade class treasurer.  I wanted to be in sales.  I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to be on Broadway! I wanted to be in and make films! I wanted to paint murals. I wanted to be a nurse. No, I really wanted to be a doctor – a surgeon! I wanted to be a midwife. I wanted to be a paramedic. I wanted to sign for the deaf.  I wanted to be a pilot. I wanted to travel. I wanted to teach. I wanted to be a farmer... the list goes on.

But for every childhood and quasi-adult goal…I fell woefully short. I ran up against road blocks, barriers, pot holes, box canyons, and sometimes, just came face to face with the facts that I did not have the “right stuff” for some of the goals I set for myself. Sometimes, it was simply because I did not have a set of clearly defined goals. But I think most of all, I never felt that I had the backing. I never had a cheerleader in my corner. I never had that person or people that believe in you, even when you doubt yourself. When I bumped into self-doubt in the mirror, there was no one to change the reflection and tell me, “Yes…you CAN!”  No…there I was, contemplating the one who was better, faster, stronger, more talented….and the reflection said, “Yeah….you’re right. You might as while quit while you’re ahead. Bit of an ugly ducklin’, aren’t ya?”

So with reactions ranging from copious tears, to a mere shrug of the shoulders, to profound relief for being able to spit out the bite that seemed much too much to chew, I left each and every dream behind. Each one I held in my hand, turned over and over, admired – but in the end, when I questioned myself – I found that the world agreed – “Silly Rabbit… Trix are for [other] kids,” – and I dutifully set it down and walked away.  There you have ME – the poster child for what I cannot have. Hmm.

And thus, 44 years have come and gone, and I have survived them in somewhat of a bewildered daze of children and people and alone and depressed, and relationships that did not pan out, and a few that did but fell woefully short of any grand expectations I had about them.

And then one day…I sort of woke up.

I’m not sure what precipitated the awakening, but perhaps it was realizing that all the pillars in my life were made of either salt or sand. That my Twin Towers were just as vulnerable as any ever made, and they came crashing down around my life.  The debris was something else, and I will forever remember the dual earth shakes that came with their fall, the mental and emotional collisions, explosions and fires; the betrayed feelings, the bitter disappointment and the heart break.

And I realized that I am, indeed alone in this life. But it was not such a bad thing – even Christ said, “You shall love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I suppose I had primarily missed the “as you love yourself” part. Without a love of self – a realization of who you really are and what you are truly worth, your love towards others is anemic at best and rather codependent at worst.  A lack of self-love in my life merely fostered a reliance on others to define me – and of course that changed with the mood, circumstance, the person, the day, and the hormones!  

But no more. Opinions of others no longer mean anything to me. My first obligation is to know me, to love me, and to define myself by myself. Only when this is accomplished can I proceed forward, to love others, to be who I was meant to be.

To know joy in life, George Bernard Shaw said, "This is the true joy in life: The being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.”

And so, I marched myself into the tattoo parlor, and laid my vision on the artist there. I needed a reminder. I needed a visual validation for my new-found self. And I learned more about how to function as me in the process. I learned about trust, and how to selectively place it in the hands of others. In time past, I had placed my self-worth, my self-perception and my heart in the hands of others. What followed has been a life time of awkward maneuvering in a pond too small, with birds too little, and birds too competitive; a self that could not properly identify the beauty in me, and a heart neglected and shattered, resigned to living out my life feeling hopeless, helpless and trapped in a world not designed for me. But in the wake of the crash of my Towers, I reclaimed my life. I picked through the ashes, and found as many pieces of me that I could, and finally knowing the truth about me, I put them in a basket and brought them to the artist and asked if perhaps he could reconstruct this picture for me. I explained to this stranger what it was supposed to look like, and he was able to reconstruct it for me, and the picture not only exceeded my expectations, it has validated the fact that yes – I was right. Not knowing any of my life before, he was able from my description (the pieces of the wreckage of my life), to reproduce the portrait of who I really am.

I initially told him that there should be an arrow in the wing of the Swan – representative of the wounds and scars that would presumably show up on the portrait. But that never materialized. It came up in conversation – he forgot to add the arrow. But I realized at that moment, that no…there was no arrow. It’s not in the reconstruction, because it was never there to begin with. Nothing can hurt or maim this being – she is impenetrable. But by the same token, she will never be completely white either. We will continue to try to lighten her up – but she will forever be the Pink Swan – a reflection of the flesh that she is and the blood that runs in her veins. A reminder that she had to stop fighting and come to a peace within to finally fly away from who she is not. A reminder that she is alive, and seeking her nobler purpose – becoming, as quoted above – a Force of Nature, and not a victim of it. And like the Velveteen Rabbit, my quest to become real has involved having my “white” rubbed off, a loss of innocence in the quest, the stain of living hard. 

Let Us Give Thanks and Praise...?

"Eye of the Creator" by Mark Feifarek

I dwell in a world of diverse religions, beliefs and spiritual theories. I have chosen to adopt primarily those that are of universal truth and have experiential components. There is a phrase that has come to my attention of late, however, that has me rethinking my entire belief about it.

“Let us give thanks and praise.”

Now don’t tell me that does not reek of religious connotation; of course it does. Pretty much standard in liturgical churches, it has the Pentecostal and free-worshiping Christians dancing in the aisles, and singing songs to God, under the assumption that such activities greatly please Him. And why wouldn’t they? It’s a happy expression of all the good thoughts and feelings and experiences that we celebrate – feeling free enough to dance, even in this self-conscious age. A wonderful thing. For religions heavy on ritual and ceremony, liturgy and history, this is a mandatory time of reflection on the goodness that has been bestowed upon us, honored with silence, or chants of thanks, and recitations of blessings received.

But what about a person given more to the “natural” religions: Native Americanism, or the Eastern religions? To them, this is a quiet, contemplative or ritualistic time with the elements. A walk in the woods. Meditation in a field. Yoga on a rooftop.  A time to appreciate all that we are surrounded with, the beauty, bounty and blessing of it all. Again – a happy contemplation of all things good.

But to me the other day, it took on quite a different meaning and context. I had the distinct displeasure of having to visit with a social worker regarding energy assistance and some other issues that concerned Phil. At 8:45 in the morning, no less.

So, it was up and at ‘em and off to see the Wizard. I had never met my social worker face to face, but he was a small man of Asian descent. Very recent descent, judging by his accent, which at times was hard to understand. But he had a wonderful smile as he greeted me and we walked to his cubicle. He pulled my chair out for me. We proceeded through some rather depressing financial issues, and filled out screen upon screen of personal information. Talk during the computer phase of the appointment was small, but pleasant. During the initial interview, as I outlined a grim situation, I felt understood, and empathized with. He offered comfort in the form of, “I am sorry for that,” without making me feel like “poor you”. Rather, he conveyed that he was genuinely sorry that my family was enduing this current hardship. An hour and 15 minutes later, I left the building ready to start my day with a spring in my step. Not because everything went my way in there. In fact, I have a ream of documentation to collect, from all corners of the globe it seems, to get faxed in by the end of the week. But I am smiling. Why?

Because I just spent an hour and 15 minutes with a perfectly wonderful person. He radiated good vibes, if you will. His presence was a relaxing one, not one that had me on the edge of my chair. Regardless of the reason for me having to have been there in the first place, the meeting was altogether pleasant. We connected on a human level, and even though he sat in a position of authority, he saw me as equal – his fellow man – and that just because he was on that side of the desk and I was over here, I was never made to feel (as I so often have been) like you are somehow inferior to them. He was a friend, ready to help a person in need.

When I got home, I had eBay business to tend to. Seems my printer had printed the same label twice, so one customer got something she ordered AND something that was meant for someone else. The woman contacted me, and rather than send a rather bulky item back to me and then on to its proper destination, I asked if she would send it on for me if I e-mailed her a label. She said yes. However, I was not able to forward a label for some reason unknown to me, so she offered to send it on for me, and I could reimburse her via PayPal. Now, that’s a nice thing to do! I’m sure she is a busy woman with many things to do, and one of them is not to have to fix up my mistake! I thanked her, and asked her to invoice me for the postage.

When I arrive at my computer then, I see an e-mail from this woman. Expecting an invoice for the postage, I instead read a note that says, “Hi, Sally, I sent the package yesterday via Priority Mail.
This is a chance for me to pay it forward — so don't worry about reimbursing me. Have a great day!”  Somewhat surprised by the emotion this brought out in me, I started to tear up. This was such a kindness to me, with so much on my plate right now, to no longer have to worry about this. I was at a loss for words as to how to respond to that e-mail.

And then I had this epiphany. “Let us give thanks, and praise!”

The last time I heard this was in a Catholic church, and it made little sense to my current thinking.

Then I remembered a dream that I had a few nights prior. It was one of those dreams that was so real you woke up wondering if it really happened. It sounds frivolous, but I dreamed that we won the lottery. Eight million to be exact. Before taxes. Suddenly, my world changed. I was not expecting it. But it happened. My thoughts were no longer the kind we talk about around the campfire while chatting about what we would do if we won the lottery. No…this was far different. The magnitude of it was sobering. My first thoughts were profound relief, as the realization that I would never have to stress money again. I would never be having to sign forms for the electric company stating that my son is handicapped and cannot go without electricity, just to get at 21 day extension before disconnect. I would never have to explain why the mortgage is late again. Creditor calls would be a thing of the past. And I wept at the thought.

But then, the reality begins to sink in. I literally do not know what to do with all that money. I know what I have SAID I would do – we all say something like, “Yeah, I could just live off the interest.” Yes – you can – but how is that literally accomplished? What do you invest in? I am not ignorant of the stock market, but having never had money to invest in anything but basic survival, this is foreign territory to me!

And then people began to find out about it. Not many – I did not even tell all of my children. But the few that knew suddenly had a different look in their eyes when they looked at me. People who looked down to me before, now were not only looking me in the eye, but a slight looking UP at me. Expectant, like a dog waiting for a treat. A look of genuine friendliness. But again – not that they liked ME suddenly…they were looking past me to the money. Money was their friend – not me; and I suddenly had money in my home. “Can we come over and play?” was the look. They weren’t faking it, either. They really thought I was someone now to be looked up to – but there was only one difference between yesterday and today, as it were, and that was the infusion of money into my life.

And suddenly, I wanted no one to know. Just a very select few. No – do not change the way you view me because I am suddenly of financial worth. And suddenly, all the benevolent things that I had promised to do with this windfall should it have occurred, I am rethinking. Oh, the desire is still there to act upon. But now I understood the virtue of anonymity or at the very least a quiet gifting. No plaque on the wall, no diamond status in the club, no brick in the pavement commemorating my generosity. No thank you. Just let me do a good deed here and there, and pretend I am still the welfare mother on the corner whom you know and despise.

And I realized what a heady thing is was for me now, too. I FELT the danger of much money, and what it can do to your thinking – and feeling. I suddenly realized that if got bad service in a restaurant, knowing that I could buy and sell the place would cause me to require good service. I would not be found enduring a poor quality meal – no…I would request, not beg, that it be replaced. If I wanted to shop for a car, while I would still probably purchase a used one, I would not be put off by a car salesman steering me away from the brand new corvette I wanted to look at, by assuming it’s nothing I could afford. It would be the Pretty Woman scenario for me, baby! Payback for all the times someone refused me service, or made me beg for something, and treated me like a less-than because I had no money. I would never be rude, or arrogant, mind you – but I would be standing tall. I would be confident. I would not tolerate financial discrimination anymore. Because I suddenly KNEW what it was like to live on the other side of the fence in a way that only a dream can impact you with.

I began to think my generosity through to its logical conclusion: How many people I desire to help would really be helped in the long run? How many infusions of cash would be like cracking the eggshell before the chick hatched? Does that charity really handle their cash well? Will that person appreciate, say, the new car they had not earned themselves? Or would it be the first one in the junkyard, because, after all – they didn’t pay for it. Suddenly, I am the one to decide who will benefit and who will not. And it becomes a serious matter – not the lighthearted act of handing dollars out in the subway. Again, I am struck with the sobriety of it all.

So – back on point – what did all of this have to do with thanks, and praise? Well, the fact that I woke up and checked and we actually did NOT win the lottery brought me back to my current reality of having nothing. But over my morning coffee, I had yet another realization – another microcosmic epiphany, when I got phone call from a daughter for advice – for help – for wisdom – for affirmation. I sit, and chat, and smoke my cigarette and sip my coffee – and dispense from my mental font liberally. Casually. At length at time, brief snippets others. And at the end of it all I hear, “Thank you so much, Mom! I really needed to hear that!”

Bells, whistles and sirens all silently go off in my head. The same bells that would go off if I cut a check to someone to pay their mortgage. Just like they would if I wrote a check to a struggling business. Just like they would if I played Santa to a family in which there is none. Just like they would have if I purchased a handicap van for Phil’s sweetheart.

These things I cannot do. My bank account is empty. What then DO I have to give? I have lived on this planet for 46 years. I have taken some absurd risks. I have had some excellent adventures. I have raised nine children. I have loved good men. I have had my heart ripped out my ass by the horror film of fate, and lived to tell about it. I have visited 5-star hotels. I have camped in my car. I have done without plumbing and electricity. I have raised my own food. I have been on welfare. I have had a great job and a great education. I have learned much along the way…and each and every tear and laugh and smile and frown has been faithfully deposited in my LIFE account. I make deposits daily into THAT account. Why, if I look over that ledger, I have a wealth that no one can take away from me, I can never lose, and that is gaining interest exponentially. And to make a withdrawal, all I have to do is open my mouth, or uncap my pen.

And the feeling suddenly was much the same as having money on my side. If I want to know the price of that in-ground pool, I don’t want you steering me toward the used hot tubs, thinking that’s all I can afford. No – do not try to suggest to me that what I have to share with you is useless. Believe me, if Silent Sally is taking the time to tell you anything at all, I know what  I am talking about. I am not guessing, or writing you a rubber check of information. What you get from me you are free to accept or reject. Its funny how if you offer someone money they are all over it – but when you offer them the wisdom from a lifetime, they blow it off as if you just fell off the turnip truck.

But then there is the good stuff…the stuff that I have treasured most when making deposits in my LIFE account.

“Thank you.”

 “I love you.”

 “You’re beautiful.”

 “You did a great job!”

 “I really appreciate that.”

“I saw that. You worked hard on it and it shows.”

 “You matter to me.”

 “I like you.”

“I’m sorry.”

 “Let me do that for you.”

 “I understand.”

 “It’s not your fault.” 

An open door.

A hug.

An embrace.

A smile.

 A chuckle.

A nod.

Just a look across the room.

These things and others carry inestimable value; who is qualified to place a value on any of them? The only place they tally that stuff up is in the LIFE bank, where they keep your account private. No one can really know how much you have stored up there. But there is always enough. And there is more than enough to share.

But peruse the list again. How do we categorize these phrases? These blessings?  These invaluable deposits? They are just what people claim the Lord God himself is after: Thanks and Praise. Every one of the items on that list conveys thanks or praise. A pat on the back, and a statement of value. A confirmation of your worth. An extension of gratitude to you for something you have contributed. An affirmation. An atta-girl.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. It is not the third party abstract that either needs or wants thanks or praise. The creator has no need of it. The need for thanks or praise emanates from just that -  a point of need: the need to be validated. The need to be acknowledged. The need to be understood.  To know our life, our deeds, our actions are witnessed, and ratified. To complete the circle of giving. And the creator as I understand it (for lack of an appropriate pronoun), has none of these needs. These are a uniquely human characteristics. Even in the Christian Bible, the creator declares himself to be the I AM. All in all. Complete. Total. The Omni. In need of nothing. We, on the other hand, as creation – have an infinite list of needs.

We are all intimately connected to each other. No islands among us. Created to co-exist with others of the same basic genetic structure. Created with a need for our fellow man. Perhaps not all at once on a rubber-meets-the-road kind of day; but there is validity to the six degrees of separation theory, and it points to our connectedness.

And this…I do have to give. I can say thank you to the woman who paid my postage. I can send a letter of acknowledgment to my social worker for a job well done. A smile for the check-out girl. Letting the man at the supermarket with three things ahead of me and my cart loaded down with a months worth of sundries. A hug for the little kid in the wheelchair, whom no one wants to touch. All these things can be liberally given – and in a grand display of the law of reciprocity, they only add to your LIFE account, never subtract from it. 

This is a no-lose proposition. There is no down side to human generosity, or the “fruits of the spirit” – Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, self-control. Indeed, “against such there is no law!” Then they can be practiced without prejudice, without respect to any other idea or attitude. Without regard to time, place or person. They will never be the wrong thing to do. They have the same logical conclusion each time - and it’s good! “When I was a child, I thought and reasoned like a child…now that I am an adult – I will put away the childish things. All in pursuit of LOVE – against which there is no law!” There it is again! No restrictions – and no downside, and no loser! Win – win –win! You win: LIFE in your account. The recipient wins: They are affirmed, and made richer also. And the creator, however you view it, be it an anthropomorphized deity or a third party abstract, is fulfilled in having the intent and purpose of its creation performing in a way that furthers the growth and evolution of our spiritual species.  

I am thinking of times when I spent prolonged amounts of time and energy, trying to “thank” and “praise” a deity whom I thought was pleased by my efforts. I now picture this deity smiling at me like a mother being offered a freshly baked cookie from her child. A cookie she baked. He offers it to her in thanks for the whole batch of cookies. And while she may think the sentiment sweet, she gently suggests to the child that he take the cookie and give it to a sibling, or to a neighborhood kid who doesn’t perhaps get cookies very often. She has no need of a cookie – she can bake as many cookies as she wants. They were not made for her. They were made for the children to enjoy – and the children to share. Kind of like our planet – our lives. They were not made for “GOD” – they were made as an expression of god, for us to enjoy and share. We demonstrate our gladness and gratitude by thanking and praising each other – something that we all so desperately need. And something we are all capable of giving. 

Starting today, then…I will begin to offer thanks and praise on a daily basis, and reprogram into my thinking the ritualistic phrase I knew as a child, to be brought up often:

Let us give thanks and praise!

Reflections of 2010

Reflections of 2010

January 1, 2011. Just a date on the calendar. Just like December 25, or July 4^th, or the third Thursday in November. For all the caregivers and farmers and law enforcement folks it looks pretty much like any other day on the calendar, but there too, everyone seems to take it just a little easier on those days. And it’s a good thing. In our society that is racing so fast, we don’t have enough things to mark time by. We have no coming of age rituals anymore. A few, perhaps, scattered here and there by certain religious organizations, but nothing that makes us stop, reflect, and put a date on the calendar that says, “Today is a new day. New things have begun. Old things are behind us. From this day forward, things will be different.”

Think about that for a moment. In more primitive societies, the first successful hunt brings a boy into manhood. The onset of menses made a girl into a woman. From that day forward, the participant in these ceremonial passages was expected to live differently. And by and large, the kids would live up to those expectations. It was a status change – a coming of age – a stepping up to life’s plate – a realization that “playtime” was over, and now the responsibilities of life were theirs. Today it seems all we have left of that are the birthday celebrations at 18 and 21, which enable a kid to make a few of their own decisions, legally vote and the ability to drink. But the lines are fuzzy, and for the most part, nothing changes. We are so busy going nowhere, really, that we don’t take the time to honor some of life’s bigger achievements to the point where they take on life-changing significance.

Oh, we’ve clung to a few of these important rituals. We still celebrate marriage as the day that two people start the journey of life together – officially. They may have been betrothed, or “dating” for years, but we pick one day which we can write in red letters which becomes an anniversary of this occasion. But this, too,  is becoming less and less of a moment, with people all but betting on how long the commitment will hold out. It’s still something you can back out of – sort of. I’ve said it before – in our current society, it is bemoaned by some that it’s too easy to get divorced; but I maintain with all the passion I possess that it’s too easy to get married!! Divorce is very, very difficult. It’s hard, and painful, and tearful, and gut-wrenching. Marriage on the other hand is fun, and joyful, and accompanied by feasting and gifts! With a wedding, we get an anniversary to celebrate! With a divorce, most of us in that camp can’t even tell you the date it was official. It was just a cold, lonely, depressing stand in front of a judge who bangs the gavel and says, “Next case”.

And no wonder more people choose marriage than divorce – it’s just that they make a commitment in the context of a society in which commitments of all kinds are totally retractable; why not marriage? We commit to all kinds of stuff with the best of intentions, and when we decide that something no longer suits us, we un-commit. We back out. We drop out. We run away. We walk away. We quit. And I am of the persuasion that the primary reason we do this is because we had no idea what we were getting into when we made our commitment to whatever it is we are talking about: A job, a marriage, an education, rehab, children, a club…we just don’t really know what we are getting into.

Now, please don’t think that this is a sermon or some pontification about the evils of our society, or the sanctity of marriage or some judgmental piece on how everything SHOULD be, as if I – (or anyone else for that matter) – actually know! The fact is, we don’t – and that is pretty much my point, and why I think we really NEED days of reflection and contemplation; days on the calendar where a whole big hunk of society stops working, sits down, eats good food, drinks good beverages, and reflects on what it means to be alive. To spend time regarding the things and the people and the experiences that brought us to where we are – and where we are potentially going. And I use the word “potentially”, because that is all any of our plans are – potential energy - that may or may not get us to the desired result. In fact, in reflecting on my own life and the lives of those closest to me, our plans were only a skeleton of a concept.

I married young, with vague plans of happily-ever-after and rock-and-roll. Nowhere in my wildest imagination was there room for nine kids and a divorce. If you would have told me then that in 30 years the only singing I would be doing was in the shower I would have vehemently denied the possibility. A life that started out in strict, well defined areas of black and white has slowly  made the transition to a million shades of gray that have ultimately made my life rich and filled with gradients and depth. And with the acceptance of more than the rigidity of black and white, I have had the added benefit of color! (Welcome to Pleasantville!) The willingness to change my point of reference, and accept that on the see-saw of life, the fulcrum keeps changing, and take whatever steps are required to try and maintain the balance, has lead me to this day of mental celebration – for all the joy and all the pain and all the experiences in life that have lead me here.

There have been many missteps – but no mistakes. My plans have been dashed more than once by my own hand, but I see no failures. I have been bound up in locks and chains of my own design, but I realize that I have the key and a hack saw on standby in case I lose it. It’s all in how I choose to view it. It’s all about choices – and if we have nothing else, we ALWAYS have a choice.

This did not always seem to be the case with me. In fact, early on I would often lament the fact that I did not seem to have a choice in a matter! Who wanted to miscarry a child? What choice did I have? Who chose to have a child with a horrific birth defect, or a child with a terminal illness straight out of the womb? Who chooses years of clinical depression? Who chooses to lose a job and the financial hardship that comes with it? Who chooses for their business to collapse?

But about 12 years ago, I found the keys to my life. I hopped in the drivers seat, started the engine, and with the power of choice, started off on a grand journey, that has not been unlike the game of Monopoly that I enjoyed this New Years Eve. Yep – we played to the very end! (Have you noticed, most of the time people quit without finishing that game?)

Many lessons can be learned from Monopoly, but yesterday’s lesson to me was that you just never know. Ahead of the game might not be as far ahead as you think. One random roll and you’re bankrupt. Pennies left to your name, one random chance, and you end up wealthy. So bringing it around, where does that leave CHOICE? In the matters of life in which we seemingly have no voice, how is it that we have a choice?

Our choice comes not so much from our voice  as from our vision: It’s how we CHOOSE to see things. And no, this is not some sort of mysterious thing, here. It can be hard to do, but the whole point of it is that it’s all we CAN do. It’s not that it’s easy, but it is simple. And at our most vulnerable points as humans, it becomes our greatest strength. The ability to see beyond the fire, pit, rut, darkness or cage you may feel yourself in at the time. It doesn’t mean that we can’t feel the pain, or that we can even stop the pain. What it means is that we turn our focus to the end result of the pain – and that is healing, and the good that will come out of any tragedy.

It’s the same thing that got women through childbirth without epidurals - the promise that the pain would bring a child. It’s the same thing that keeps you in the tattooist’s chair – the work of art that your skin is becoming. This is LIFE!!  Oh, I still felt every contraction, and every push, but my focus was on the fact of my baby. I still wince when I hear the buzz of the tattoo gun, but my skin art means so much to me – I go into my mind to the finished piece, and relax as best I can knowing this, too, shall pass.

And there are times in life when we have absolutely no clue. Random events. Random people. Random circumstances. Big things like a senseless criminal tragedy and death, to little things like a wallet you find in the parking lot. We don’t plan these. They just happen. Is there any reason for it all? 

This is where you find the ultimate ecumenical statement of faith:  “Everything happens for a reason.”

I’ve spent this day pondering my life, and thinking about why we all seem to agree with that statement, even if we bitterly question the “reason” part.  What reason could there possibly be for a shortened life or tragic death? However, I  put the statement on trial in my life, and I have to agree that the evidence stands firmly in the favor of “Everything happens for a reason” being a true statement. I look at the pieces of my life from early on, and see how a love for writing was there at an early age when my grandmother gave me an old typewriter. How medical became my field of interest simply because as a 16-year-old I refused to work in a restaurant and took the first job that would hire me. How my skills as a CNA would serve me after 30 years in caring for my own son. How having your kids crash and burn in your arms can rip your heart out  - but replace it with a much softer version, and take away all those stark lines between black and white – smudging your world with soft, subtle grays.

But here is where I find my faith. Every day, it seems, I get some new epiphany about why something in my past has deep and significant relevance to my today. If I had not done “X”, then I would not be experiencing “Y”. It’s not thunder and lightening. It’s in the smallest things at times. A commercial on TV. A song on the radio. A sign on a building. A déjà vu. A smell. A memory. A word. A touch. A noise.  And since this is the case, does it not stand to reason that although I do now know why something may be happening at this time, that I will, at some future point, understand? Yes…in this I can believe, and have faith.

Can’t explain shit to you today. But I can say that one day I will be able to, and it won’t be shit – it will be a flower. THAT, my friends, is my belief, my faith, and my religion, and the very reason that I am standing on the edge of 2010, happy to be who I am, and living the life I am. That’s how I see it. And it is my choice to see things this way.

I looked last night at the newborn year, and small and crinkly; just a small version of what it will grow to be. Just 1/1/11. We’ve got 365 more days added to our collection, and 2011 promises 365 more. If we should be here that long. No guarantees. Not for anyone. But since I’m still sitting here typing, I guess I’ve still got today, huh? And I’ll start planning for tomorrow, and wonder each day as I roll the dice where I’ll land on my trip around the board. I will try to remind myself daily that no matter what happens, someday I’ll totally get it, even if it’s not today. I’ll try and concern myself with today’s dividends coming together in light of yesterday’s investments. 

This time of reflection and contemplation was brought to you courtesy of a great world tradition – the celebration of what will be for those who choose it, a Very Happy New Year!