The Mysteries of the Universe

“You must never slacken in your efforts to build new lives for yourselves. Creativeness means pushing open the heavy door to life. This is not an easy struggle. Indeed, it may be the hardest task in the world. For opening the door to your own life is more difficult than opening the doors to the mysteries of the universe.” ~ Buddhism

As I sit here in the peaceful quiet of my home, I am aware of the constant shared by all of us: The universe is not stagnant. Things never stay the same. When everything in life is going well, tragedy strikes. When the tunnel seems the darkest and despair overwhelms, a cool breeze pushes us into the light and the warmth of the sun suddenly dries our tears. When nothing seems to make sense, the missing piece mysteriously falls into place.

For the last three years, I have posted little on social media. Having initially loved Facebook, I eventually found the medium stressful and, the act of scrolling, increasingly surreal and unproductive. I needed to step away and take a serious look at the life I was living, a life I’d not intentionally designed. It’s been a helluva journey.

While away, I learned I have loved much about my adult life. A long term, happy marriage. Raising children I love. Satisfying work. Above average income. Professional recognition. World travel. Lack of want. But somewhere along the way, the joy of life and love slipped through my fingers. My once vibrant marriage became devastatingly lonely and silent. My children were raised and no longer required my daily devotion. As a result of an ill chosen business alliance my long term career became less gratifying. I no longer felt I had anything to say or teach so I walked away. The financial stability I’d worked three decades to create, shifted dramatically. Though there seemed little to celebrate, I kept smiling while working hard to make the best of the choices I’d made.

I took a job at a world class company for a significant pay cut. The job, however, proved itself to be a wise move. It provided a fresh environment where I was surrounded by young people. I thrived, made friends, moved up. Shortly after being hired, I separated from my husband after 37 years of marriage. I have nothing unkind to say about him. He was a good man and he loved our children. Our marriage simply ran its course. I couldn’t bring myself to divorce him. He died peacefully a couple of years later. He was 82, I, 64. Our once thriving May-December romance had taken its toll. Through it all, we learned a lot. I will always be grateful for him.

When I moved out on my own, I was 62. Married at 20, I had never lived alone. It was definitely an unfamiliar environment for me. It took months to find my equilibrium. I settled into a 700 square foot, one bedroom apartment. I set up my own bank account. I took over the books destroyed by an avalanche of consumer debt and, now drained, investment accounts. As difficult as everything was, I knew not to whine, moan, or complain. My reversal of fortune wasn’t something I would ever think to lay on anyone else’s doorstep, especially the people I love, respect, and admire most. That said, my children stood by my side. My son refused to be locked out of my recovery and his belief in me and his unconditional support was priceless. My daughter’s wisdom and love warmed me. With them firmly in my corner, I strapped on my armor and went to work rebuilding my life.

The following March, our world turned upside down. Covid changed everything.

It’s during the pandemic I found social media had become intolerable. The horrible things people were saying to one another devastated my sense of happiness, tolerance, and civil decorum. I withdrew. Tended to my life. Sought counsel from close friends. Worked hard. Saved money. Stayed close to my children. Righted my ship.

In the end, what I did most, was write. Volume after volume. Hundreds of thousands of words. About life, love, work, passion, friendship. I worked through the residual traumas of my life. Sharpened my philosophies. Focused on creating personal peace and happiness. Determined I’m good at being single, but prefer being in love and in a relationship. A year ago, I began to travel the world again, the art of which brings a deeper sense of meaning.

I have spent the majority of the last five years alone. I don’t prefer it as a lifestyle. I’ve learned I thrive when surrounded by people and when putting my hand to something meaningful. Last April, I retired from my job while simultaneously reigniting my entrepreneurial bent. For the next eight months I worked feverishly to get every aspect of my personal and professional life in order. At the end of December, in my search for meaning, I determined it was time for me to push open yet another heavy door.

Next week I will celebrate my 67th time around the sun. Though my body tires more easily, my health and energy remains high. To that end, I’m wrapping myself in a transformational chrysalis in preparation for opening the last act of my life. In a few short weeks, I leave for a six month journey through Europe. I am hiking a portion, if not all, of the Camino de Santiago, a 500 mile pilgrimage trail which runs from the French border to the western coast of Spain. I’ll backpack through the Pyrenees and Alps. I’ll stand on the windswept dunes of the Sahara. I will go where my heart tells me to go. When I return, I have a clear, unbreakable vision for what I will do for the rest of my life. It has everything to do with what I love most. Helping people. Especially girls.

Life is hard. Sweet friends lost their son four days ago. Three soldiers showed up at their door to let them know their son was one of the five Marines who perished in the helicopter crash outside San Diego. He had just married the love of his life before his scheduled training mission. My friends are grief stricken and we, as a community, are all wiping our tears as we do all we can to help. Their son’s death serves as a reminder to take nothing for granted and to get up off the sofa and make something of what little time we’ve been given. We must find the strength and the gratitude to push open the heavy doors of our lives and create the best life possible through the hardest of circumstances. Along the way, if we are inclined to help others, we should do so to the best of our abilities.

Life is finite and not to be taken for granted. There is a beginning and an end. We are born and then we die. Until then, understand it’s never too late to do what fulfills your sense of duty and purpose and joy. Create the life you deserve. Be fearless in all endeavors. If falling in love is at the top of your list, do it with gusto and wild abandonment. Don’t be afraid to fail. If you find yourself in the midst of a massive failure, ask yourself one question, “Did I die?” And lastly, don’t be afraid of death. If we are afraid of dying, we are afraid of living.

If things are difficult for you now, know they could be worse. And by all means, don’t be the person who makes mountains out of molehills. Be grateful for each hardship and for each fall to earth. The earth beneath us is designed to be stable in order for us to be able to push ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and get moving. Don’t be afraid. But do get moving.

You are a singular occurrence in the universe. There is no one like you. There will never be another like you. Be open to what the mysteries of the universe have in store for you. Go out there and create all the joy and happiness your heart can handle. Start today.

The Dubai Frame. May 2023. The Frame stands 493 feet tall. At the top lies a glass walkway. This piece of art separates the Old World of Dubai from the nearly unbelievable breath-taking vistas of Dubai’s Modern World. As I stood still high above the earth, I was struck by the beauty and mystery of life. While looking over my left shoulder I saw the remnants of my old life where nothing could be changed. As I slowly turned my head to look down, I experienced the dizzying earth of possibilities found in the present moment. As I looked over my right shoulder, I experienced the promise and wonders of all my tomorrows. For me, The Frame represented the magnificent promise contained in one short life.

We must never slacken in our efforts to build the best life possible. It’s easier than we think to discover the mysteries of the universe. But, first, we must do the hard work of pushing open the heavy door of life.

Get up! Let’s go!

Look for the Best in Others

More than anything in the world, I love people. In all shapes and sizes. From every walk of life. Affluent or barely getting by. Every color, every ethnic background, illiterate, or highly educated. Every gender, every sexual preference. And I couldn’t care less about their religious or political beliefs. I think it’s my imperfections that allow me to look past any differences of opinion. I would never end a relationship with someone based on who they voted for for president, who they chose to love, or which God they choose to worship. I purposefully look for the divinity in others. I see their strengths. What they’ve overcome. Who cares who they root for?! People are amazing. I can’t think of anything I love more.

I do realize there are some really evil people in the world, but I’ve also learned not to judge a book by it’s cover. I’m drawn to people because, in their eyes, and in their stories, there is healing, love, friendship, imagination, passion, wisdom, tenderness… the list is endless. Even in those who’ve made massive mistakes, there are important lessons to be learned. From Waffle House waitresses to little children to CEO’s of major organizations to someone with a great sense of humor and eight dollars to their name. People are simply the best.

Case in point. Last year I needed new tires and, being on a budget, I did my homework and shopped for the best deal. Read on-line reviews and went to four different providers before finding the shop I wanted to use. The man who earned my business did so by providing outstanding customer service. That said, if I hadn’t looked, I would have missed the best part of him.

His name was Will. Probably in his late 30’s, he looked older. He’s thin, bald headed, sports a long scraggly beard, has a passion for tattoos. His hands are rough, his clothes well worn. If you look at him from a distance you’d draw one conclusion… but, when you interact with him… you simply think, “Wow.”

When Will spoke he was incredibly polite, personable, had excellent manners, a totally stand up guy. Not fly by night either. He’s worked at this tire store long enough to be general manager for the last 10 years. He made it easy for me to want to do business with him. I knew instantly I’d recommend him to everyone and that he’d forever be My Tire Guy.

So… the rest of the story.

Recently my son gifted me a car (for real!). A late model beauty. Dependable, sporty, in perfect mechanical order. Only needed a couple things like tags and, HOORAY! NEW TIRES!! (Can you imagine being so happy to get to buy new tires?!). This time around, not a minute of thought required.

I drove straight to Will.

And much to my amazement he was more magical than the first time. He remembered me, even remembering the make and model of my other car. This time I had to tell him, “There’s no one in this town I’d rather do business with than you! You’re amazing! Fantastic customer service, best prices, a willingness to serve. You make buying tires a treat! Why are you so good at what you do?”

His response was touching.

Will looked up at me and without skipping a beat said, “I’m a grandma’s boy. She made me who I am. She’d take a switch to my backside if I ever thought to be anything but hardworking, respectful, and good to others.” His eyes beamed. You could tell just mentioning her to me filled his heart with joy. And in that moment, I loved his grandmother, too. I couldn’t help but thank God for the difference she’d made in his life. And, in mine.

I learned a lot from Will that day. With tatted arms, he handed me pearls of wisdom in the form of great service to others. And, no matter where his grandmother might be, there’s no doubt he makes her proud.

Everyone has their own story, their own burdens, but no matter how difficult our journey, we must look for the best in people. Why? Because in doing so, it’s easier to find the best in ourselves. We speed up the healing process by seeking out our exceptionalism rather than our flaws. The upside? Our hearts heal faster.

I know you’ve suffered greatly. I understand how we can choose to hate, to judge, to be suspicious, to wall off our feelings. Abuse has a way of distorting our perception of people. I encourage you not to compare every person to the people or person who hurt you. And please don’t believe main stream media. Regardless of what dystopian version of life they’re peddling there’s far more good in the world than evil. Don’t judge too quickly. The most valuable asset you’ll have will be the lessons you learn from loving and appreciating as many people as you can. Like Will, their stories will bring out the best of our humanity.

UnbreakableGirls always look for the best in others. And get the best deals on tires.

(I didn’t get a picture of Will because I had no idea I’d be writing about him today. I wish I had especially when I asked him, “Do I REALLY need new tires?” and he tilted his bald head towards me, and pointing at it said, “Yes, they’re balder than me!” I couldn’t help but laugh…)

Make Good Choices

Though I imagine a world where no child is harmed, human nature is such that innocence, trust, and an inability to protect oneself, is often violated. For a child, there’s no fighting back, there’s only acceptance. Especially when the abuse stems from authority figures like one’s parents. At no time does the abuse ever feel welcomed. It can only be endured.

As a young adult, in my late teens, and on my way to healing myself, once my father went to prison, the memories of abuse would often put me in a fetal position where all I could do was cry myself to sleep. But one can’t sleep forever. In order to avoid the pain, I became an overachiever, a perfectionist, a workaholic. There are advantages to such behavior, but avoidance is still avoidance. Eventually the train reaches the station and one must get off and deal with the baggage they’ve brought.

My story is my story. I’ve no other story to tell. As I work on the development of UnbreakableGirls, you’ll hear about many of the things I’ve done that made me the woman I am today. Good and bad. The good, to encourage and strengthen you. The bad, to keep me from blowing my own horn. I’ve too many things I’ve done wrong to pat myself on the back. Plus, I long ago learned that, other than the ease and enjoyment, the accolades and applause, there’s not much to learn from being successful. Success has a way of making one rest on their laurels, or worse, believe their own press. Yes, I made millions in my career, but who cares? especially when I had to start over at 62? It’s not success that defines or builds our character. It’s how we handle adversity that reveals our true worth.

The hard work of healing and self-discovery also means being present. In the moment. Not dwelling in the abuse. Not reliving it over and over. The internal work is blistering, difficult, and oftentimes traumatic, but the abuse must be addressed, and reconciled, in order to create the healing and balance needed for a happy, healthy, and productive life.

Though many of my mistakes were enormous, I made some incredibly good decisions as well. In today’s blog, it’s those choices I wish to share for the sake of anyone who might be living through the abuse as we speak. The first decision, monumental.

In the middle of a life or death beating, where both eyes were blackened, hair pulled out in handfuls, lips bloodied, body bruised, my world went quiet. At that point the beating was experienced in slow motion and I no longer felt angry fists making contact. All I knew was a stillness accompanied by a calm internal voice:

“If I can make it out of this house alive, I will never allow myself to be battered and abused. I will only love men who cherish me.”

It was 1973. I was barely 16. Pretty young to make such a decision. But from that moment, I held firmly to my vow. As an adult, I’ve never associated with anyone who, under any circumstance, would think to raise a hand to me. My tolerance level is zero. The other decision, equally important, was also brought on by a horrendous episode.

My father, in one of his insane moments, tried to kill me by forcing me, at gun point, to overdose on pharmaceutical drugs. Phenobarbital and Dilantin. I would have died had my mother not come home from work to find me comatose. They didn’t take me to the hospital, instead pouring a bottle of hydrogen peroxide down my throat to induce vomiting. The aftermath being my sleeping an unconscious sleep for nearly a week. I was 15. Though helpless, and nearly broken, here’s the decision that came out of that event:

“I can’t under any circumstance, drink or do drugs. I have to stay in my right mind in order to stay alive.”

As a young girl, I was necessarily, and by conscious choice, a straight arrow. My closest high school friends, girls who will forever be part of my life, will tell you I never made an exception to this rule. I was always the designated driver. Never intoxicated. Never used recreational drugs or self-medicated. I’d convinced myself doing so would be the death of me. It’s a decision that has defined my entire life. Even today, I drink very little alcohol, and, if you open my medicine cabinet, you’ll be greeted by one bottle of aspirin. I still believe using drugs would kill me.

I share these two stories with you for a reason.

First, I want you to know you are not alone. This isn’t 1973. We live in a whole new world. Where I would go to school wearing sunglasses during class, with my face bruised, and obviously traumatized, the nuns and teachers in my all girls high school would simply look the other way. I’m not angry or resentful. It was a day and age when people didn’t know what to do. As for extended family, if I was in particularly bad shape, my parents simply didn’t take me anywhere. It was our family secret. That’s no longer the case. If you are being abused in any myriad of ways, there are now legions of people who will come to your aid. If you’re young, they will advocate for you. I promise you, if you tell someone, you’ll soon be on your way to ending the madness.

Second, you must learn to make good decisions. Because you’re being beaten doesn’t mean you deserve to be beaten for the rest of your life. Abuse can end with you. You can’t change your past, but you can decide “unhappy childhood, happy adulthood.” You also can’t self-medicate. You can’t allow the abuse you’re experiencing (or have experienced in the past) to be your crutch, your excuse, for becoming addicted to drugs and alcohol. Period.

My love for you is great. I’ve one desire. I want you to know no matter how horrible the abuse you’ve endured, you are designed to contribute something of significant value to our world. You are a singular occurrence in the universe. A miracle. No matter how hard someone has tried to break your spirit, you have the ability to become indomitable. Failure is not an option. It’s mandatory for you to step into your greatness.

Important choices are inevitable.

Make Good Choices.

You are Unbreakable

It’s a long road to healing, but we’ve got you.

There’s a book in here somewhere…

I’ve been told countless times, “Write your book!” So, I’m marking today, my 64th birthday, as my reason to blog every day this year. This commitment to post daily, is my litmus test to determine if what I write is publish worthy. If I can consistently create something of value over the course of a year, I promise to put together that first book! What I already know is I actually write best when writing to a friend and with that in mind, today’s message was created especially for you.

When I first started writing consistently, 1988, it was about business. Newsletters, updates, and such. In the late ’90’s, and only after 15 years of being a professional networker, I started writing volumes of material about how to build a team. My writing style was such that the bulk of my content wasn’t the technical stuff of what it takes to succeed, it was about people, our stories, and our need to connect.

It’s always been people who inspire me and who’ve made me whole. Not animals, not Big Pharma. People. I’m a storyteller who learns best through my own experience or through the experience of others. Those are the stories I write. I also lack the ability to write a piece of fiction. People who write novels amaze me. Such fertile imaginations. There’s no novel in me. Only real life stories will do.

As a realist, I’m only able to write about what I know, what I see, what I can touch. I have to “feel” the material before I can sit down and create something. I write everyday because I’m constantly looking for meaning, wisdom, and understanding. I also feel there has to be a lesson in what I create. No wandering generalities, no pointless missives, just solid insights tied up with pretty bows. For me, it’s heart-to-heart connection that matters most. And, if this worldwide pandemic has proven anything, no man is an island. It’s tough sledding when there’s no one beside you. We need each other. Now more than ever. Which is why I’m being pushed from the inside out to reach you.

I don’t plan to drag up the mud of my past, but serious abuse as an adolescent defined much of my life. I’ve learned I can’t be an effective communicator if I’m not vulnerable. To that end, there will be difficult days where what I have to say might hurt like hell. But I’ve learned it’s the difficult subjects, met head on, that must be addressed in order to keep putting one step in front of the other. Had I not, there were periods of times in my life when I believed it would have been easier to drive my car off the overpass just to put an end to the suffering. Yes, I just said that.

Suicide. What kept me from putting an end to it all? The suicide of a best friend in 1982 taught me suicide is not painless. It leaves nothing but devastation in its wake. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem. And though the depth of my pain saw suicide as an option when I was 19, 29, and 33, I never entertained killing myself for long. The last two times I wrestled with the idea, I deliberately chose life because I had young children. Those angels, my son and daughter, became my reason to get well. But there was still no escaping the overwhelming pain of the abuse.

My specific trauma was caused by a mentally ill parent. I suffered as a result of verbal abuse, beatings, rape and incest, and a high profile murder. All bad, but in my personal experience, incest is by far the worst possible thing a girl child can endure. It has a horrible way of messing with our minds. I don’t know that we ever fully recover, but I have learned we must forgive ourselves for the things we’ve done in order to survive. Read that again. Forgiving ourselves is tantamount to getting well.

Not one word of what I write will ever be created as a way to sensationalize, titillate, or elicit pity. The majority of my healing occurred during intensive counseling from 1990 – 1992. This means I’ve been well for nearly half of my life and with each passing day, I continue to experience incremental healing for the residual which remains. Also, I’ll never minimize the pain any woman feels. Even being leered at by a lech, or being on the receiving end of a lewd comment is a subtle form of abuse. I’ve zero tolerance for such behavior and will offer solutions on how to bring the abuse to a grinding halt.

My Promise to You:

What I write is meant to educate and aid in the healing process. My work is primarily designed for girls with the full understanding that boys are victims, too. Though I can emphasize, I can’t fully relate or offer the help a boy/man requires. I encourage my male counterparts to never feel ashamed to seek counseling. It takes courage to ask, and it’s never too late. If you know of a boy child being abused, at all cost be their advocate! That said, I do know there are an awful lot of men out there who love a woman who’s been abused. Reading my work may help you help her — those mothers, daughters, sisters, girlfriends and wives who’ve suffered as a result of what they’ve experienced. Please feel free to share this blog with them.

In conclusion, not only will I be telling my story, I’m called to bring hope and encouragement from other survivors as well. With their permission, I’ll be sharing their stories with you, too. I promise you, we’re in for an incredible journey. Thanks for staying tuned as we work on this book together.

UnbreakableGirls Rule. UnbreakableGirls Read.

Books changed my life. I learned the book we don’t read can’t help us. I hope to be able to add one of value.

Hello It’s Me.

It’s been forever since I’ve written a new blog.

I stopped writing for a reason.

My life changed.

I lost my passion for my work and career. My decades long marriage ended. I suffered a reversal of fortunes on all fronts. Spiritual. Mental. Physical. Financial. The wheels on my bus started to come off around 2016. An overwhelming sense of, “Is this all there is?” set in. Major changes had to happen but I kept ignoring the signals… until they couldn’t be ignored any longer. Karma, if stubbornly ignored, has a way of taking care of itself.

In January of 2019, I found myself living alone for the first time in my life. Tucked away in a tiny corner of the universe, I’ve had time to truly think about the things which matter most to me. And though the trip hasn’t been easy, it’s been an amazing two years. One that, despite the setbacks, has filled my heart with love, a sense of wonder, and hope.

During my few years away, I never stopped writing. I just stopped sharing. But the reality is, my strong suit is the written word. The ability to convey ideas well… with a decided bent to make our lives better. And even if I can only make the difference in one person’s life, it will have made my life worth living.

My background has provided a wellspring of experiences and lessons I feel may help. I spent 35 years of my life teaching and coaching. Primarily network marketing. The skill sets required to make a great living and create an exciting and rewarding life. Ultimately, I ended up leaning my ladder against the wrong wall. That was one hard pill to swallow. It took me years to sort through the mess I’d made. But that was then.

In my time away, I stood face-to-face with a group of people who demanded I find my purpose. It was the winter of 2018. I couldn’t leave the room until I came up with my plan. More on that transformational experience another day, but not today.

What came out of my mouth, after years of brooding on the subject, changed every single molecule in my body:

My life work has everything to do with helping battered, abused, molested girls become capable, competent, strong women.

In that moment of revelation, the next journey of my life began to roll out in front of me. The name of my mission came as an overwhelming sense of duty, magnified by love:

UnbreakableGirls.

I’ve since registered the name and am working to establish UnbreakableGirls as a 501c3. An entity devoted to making our world better by helping girls know their lives will get better.

I won’t belabor this point today but in my late 20’s I felt I needed to do something to help girls like me who, as a child, suffered all the attendant shame that comes from being molested. But, I definitely wasn’t equipped to help back then. I would have only enabled others to remain victims. I needed a whole lot more healing.

In my 30’s, I was too busy working hard to get well, mentally, and emotionally, well. It took years.

In my 40’s, I was too busy leading a productive and happy life as a married woman raising two children I loved and building a career I believed was my greatest professional accomplishment. No regrets.

In my 50’s, I came face to face with the struggles of being an empty nester who wasn’t prepared for the change. And finding my work was no longer fulfilling. Hard reality.

In my 60’s, I had to face the fact my marriage to a man I’d adored and loved madly, had been over for a decade. Pure heartbreak.

It’s been one helluva ride. But it’s far from over.

Today marks the end of my 64th time around the sun. I’m grateful for all the experiences that got me here. My birthday present to myself is re-launching my blog. I can tell you it feels unfamiliar but it also beckons and feels strangely comfortable. The ennui has lifted. I’m experiencing a sense of purpose and peace as I set out to do what I’m certain I was designed to do:

Write. Something I should have been doing as my vocation for the last twenty years.

I am a writer, a teacher, a coach, a woman who loves people and thrives on being kind. No longer as a business coach, but as a woman, girlfriend, mother-figure, mentor, confidante. A touchstone for young women who have been broken by a society who has done more harm to them than they’ve ever done to others.

With no desire to preach or unnecessarily coddle, I want to hold up a mirror to girls and women everywhere. I want them to see their beauty, innate wisdom, and true value despite finding themselves in a world where they’ve been beaten down, tormented, sexualized, and discarded. To let them know, as difficult as it is to be young and victimized, we can, with guidance and mentoring, encouragement and role models, live happy, productive, outrageously fulfilling, Unbreakable Lives.

So… for all of you who’ve spent many years encouraging me to write, this first blog is for you. I’ll do my best to continually strive to have something to say and that my words can bring healing and happiness to you and the women you love.

Thank you for your love. You helped me give birth to UnbreakableGirls.

Tender to the Touch.

In the last few weeks, close friends have suffered serious losses.  An aged parent’s death.  A best friend dying of cancer.  The last stages of personal  financial ruin.  All heavy.

From Puerto Rico to Las Vegas to our own backyard, seems no matter where we look, there’s more than enough suffering going around.   As I sit here, I am contemplating how I can help.  The stark reality is it’s pretty much the nature and cycle of life.  Not much I can say but, “Acknowledge the pain.  Apply proper pressure to the wound.  Move forward.”

Throughout history, there has never been a time where miseries and heartache didn’t exist.  We all have our good days and our bad – and the bad days are always the worst.  The reason they hurt more these days?  Social media and 24 hour Talking Heads.  The mediums have done a number on us by forcing us into a continuous negative loop.  We’re completely inundated with bad news, and we can only take so much stress before feeling a sense of hopelessness and despair.  This fixation with current events, has left many of us exceedingly tender to the touch.  Here’s guidance to help assuage the pain.

My mother recently moved in with me.  I love her dearly and couldn’t be happier.  Now 88 years beautiful, she has earned all my tenderness.  I bring her hot tea and a tiny bite of breakfast each morning.  When I walk into her room, she’s always praying  (Hmm.  Eighty-eight years averaging a thousand rosaries per year, makes for some serious devotion.  Hard to think its had nothing but a positive impact on our family.)   While I stand there making room on her night table, she always smiles up at me and acts as if I’ve brought her the best possible present and,  like clockwork, I hear, “Oh, Cindy, you don’t need to do this!  You are so good to me!  You are a good daughter!”  My answer is always the same, “No, Mom, I DO need to do this.  You are the best mom and you deserve all the love I can give.”

And, I mean every word.

My Mom.

Born the year of The Great Depression, she lived through WWII.  She was 12 when the Japanese arrived in the Philippines in 1941.  In great fear of her life, she spent her early teens hiding in the rice paddies with her parents and siblings.  Her father endured a brutal beating during the occupation, one which would ultimately be the death of him.   Memories of her father?  Far, too tender to the touch.

She witnessed the Bataan Death March as it passed by the front gates of Clark Air Force Base.  Eighty-thousand Filipino and American soldiers of which there were “5,000 to 18,000 Filipino deaths and 500 to 650 American deaths during the march. The march, characterized by severe physical abuse and wanton killings, was later judged by an Allied military commission to be a Japanese war crime.”  It’s unfathomable that any child could endure such an experience.  But my then 12 year old mother lived it, in real-time.  The memory of which remains tender to the touch.

In the early 1950’s, she had a baby out-of-wedlock.  For heart-breaking reasons, she gave him away to extended family.  She spoke of him, not at all, for many decades.  That decision has hurt her heart every day of her life.  A tender spot she couldn’t, until recently, bear to acknowledge let alone touch.

She went on to marry an American G.I.  My dad.  Immigrated to the United States where they raised five children.  In my early teens, he simply began to lose his mind.  Three years later, .357 in hand, in a psychopathic state, he devastated countless lives by killing a man and wounding eight others.  Twenty-seven years later, he died in prison.  Her tragic experiences with my father have remained so, so tender to the touch.

She ended up being both mother and father to us.  She did the best she could.  She never complained.  She never sacrificed her children for the attentions of another man.  She never even considered dating, let alone wanting or needing a relationship.  She said we were the only loves of her life.  Her heart was full.  She never wanted or needed more.  We found her love for us extraordinary.  She told us if we did drugs, or got in trouble with the law,  or caused her any undue suffering or further shame, it would be the death of her.  Five kids, and we never crossed her.  How could we?  We knew enough to know her life was already too tender to the touch.

She worked on an assembly line for 23 years to keep us fed and clothed.  In 1994, just after she retired, she lost her youngest child to cancer.  Especially heart-breaking because he was the best of all of us.  She tried so hard not to let us know he was her favorite, but the truth is, he was everyone’s favorite.  As I look back on that tragedy, all I can see is her intense grief as she stood by his graveside.  So seriously stricken, she needed to be carried back to the car and compassionately sedated.  That ‘to the bone’ wound, still too tender to the touch.

With each day, I thank God for Mom.  Despite all she has witnessed and endured, her eyes are clear, her smile, bright, her laugh, infectious, her skin, flawless, her heart, generous.  But above all, despite her many tragedies, her touch remains as tender as tender can be.

Mom serves as a constant reminder that life is filled with tragedy.  It is the nature of being human.  No generation escapes the vicissitudes.  As can easily be seen, we are all dealt bad cards.  This month, fifty-eight people lost their lives, and 500 were wounded, at the hands of an American terrorist.  Their loved ones are enduring true suffering of the most intense kind.  All around the world, there are fires blazing.  People, maybe even us, are losing their homes, their jobs, contemplating suicide.  Many are dying from drug overdoses.  Last week, four young soldiers came home with flags draped across their coffins.  We weep.  The Death March continues.  It’s no wonder we are all infinitely tender to the touch.

I’ve shared this litany of tragedies as a reminder of the importance of keeping perspective.  None of us want war, or famine, or natural disasters.  We don’t want to be betrayed by those closet to us nor do we seek the shame of financial ruin.  None of us ask to experience the unbearable pain of losing a child .  But these conditions, have always existed and will continue to occur, I guess, up to, and until, the Second Coming.  Maybe longer.

There is nothing new under the sun.  Everyone suffers.  Everyone dies.  What’s important to understand is our life is not about the injustices we’ve endured as we march towards death.  It’s about how we conduct our lives and how we live.  How we show up.  How we contribute.  How we touch others.

We can choose to be tender to the touch because of all the pain and suffering we’ve endured.  We can cry, wail, bemoan our circumstances.  We can be mired in drama and the unfairness of life.  We can make everyone around us miserable.  Or we can choose, like my mom, despite the rawness of all the suffering she has endured, to move forward and to, daily, tenderly touch those in our keeping.  To smile in gratitude for any kindness shown.  To love deeply.  To show reverence to the sanctity of the life we’ve been given.  To help others heal through the tenderness of touch.  To tenderly and gratefully, love.  To default, always, to tenderness.

In conclusion, we can either remain neurotically tender to the touch, where every single unfortunate circumstance, every painful memory, forces us to recoil with pain … or … we can choose to let those heartaches, those great losses, create a philosophy of unwavering tenderness towards others.  In honor of my mom,  I will always choose the latter.  I hope you do, too.

Hands to tenderly touch.
Honoring the woman who gave me life.
I love you, Mom.

(Please come back to visit me again.  New blogs will be posted every Tuesday at 4 PM Pacific.  If this message has touched you, please share it with others.  Tenderly.  Me.)

Life After Facebook.

I have been a champion of social media since opening my Facebook account in February 2009.  I was fascinated by its ability to bring old friends together, allowing us to never feel out of touch.  As a network marketer, I loved how it literally brought thousands of new people into my life, allowing the platform to build powerful friendships and meaningful alliances.

But something in me has shifted.  I am no longer able to bear the myopic, extreme, and often vicious geo-political world opinions held by even the most sophisticated of people.  Once strongly conservative in my thinking, it is now my experience that the right is as virulent, if not more so, than the left.  Both sides are deeply mired in the politics of personal destruction, the hypocrisy of which finally did me in.  For all the goodness I found on Facebook, the bad instantly weighed heavy.

Social media has transformed into a world of hatred.  Bigotry.  An unwillingness to listen, let alone think to make inquiry of someone as to why they feel as they do.  The lack of civility became such that I found myself often sick to my stomach.

I am simply finished.  Despite the beautiful pictures of family, friends, graduations, weddings, births, life events and deaths of loved ones, the price paid to stay in that social media orbit, has become too staggeringly high.

One week ago today, without fanfare and for the first time, I deactivated my account.  Nearly a sixth of my life closed and indefinitely shelved.  I actually thought I’d go through withdrawals.  Most likely come crawling back after a few hours of my nausea having subsided.  I certainly didn’t expect what actually happened.

Instead of missing that virtual world, I woke up in Mayberry.

I woke up feeling it was 1987.  Pre-smart phones, social media, 9/11, and vicious politicians.  Pre-terrorism, pre-Grand Theft Auto, pre-violent and explicit music lyrics.  Pre-men hating women and women hating men.  Pre-Ferguson.  Pre-24 hour cable news.  Pre-narcissistic-selfie-taking world.

No endless “scrolling”.  No in my face “trending” news about the vile things sick men do to their newborn children.  No mothers setting their five year olds on fire.  No warnings of nuclear holocaust.  No radical biases either for or against our current sitting president.  No conspiracy theories over 550 people being attacked in absolute cold blood.  No fear based opinion pieces.

Just calm.  A sense of relief.  A day with hours of time in which I’m able to get things done without a need to check Facebook.  My personal heaven, or, at the very least, haven.

No need to be in the center of everything.  No posting what I’m doing.  No not being “present”.  Instead, I’m spending zero time “talking” about getting together with friends, but actually picking up the phone and calling them to meet for breakfast, lunch, dinner, a walk in the park.  I’m no longer tethered to my electronic devices, both phone and laptop are out of my hands for hours on end.  (Another unexpected benefit to going without Facebook was the steering clear of mindlessly bingeing on Netflix.  Such a waste watching actors living out their lives doing the work they’ve been called to do while ignoring the life I’m responsible for creating – mine.)

I’ve returned to the world of the living.

In the last week I’ve checked off countless chores.  Spent hours visiting with loved ones.  Drove 100 miles just to have a thoroughly delightful lunch with one of my best friends.  Worked hard to put out fires caused through no fault of my own.  Attended the funeral for the mother of one of my best childhood friends.  Devoted time, daily, to spiritual enlightenment.

I’ve started a half-a-dozen new books.  I’ve been rapidly writing.  I’ve been working on building a non-network marketing business that makes me feel happy, vibrant and alive (did my first full-blown presentation for my new business and I loved it!).  I’ve had the time and energy to start culling through mountains of material I’ve written through the years.  Enough to create several books without the need to do much more than edit the original body of work.

I’ve created a huge block of time to think about so many things, things that have everything to do with doing what I do best – effectively writing and sharing many of the endless, and most significant thoughts that roll around my head every single day.

Here’s something I wrote this morning that has to do with thinking on what it means to be a woman in a world where powerful men in entertainment are predators:

Regarding the sexually graphic music found in our current youth culture, let’s say I don’t understand the type of music that denigrates women and the art of falling in love.

I am currently reading, “A Youthful Diary”,  the diary of a Japanese man, age 21, which he started in May 1949.  Here, inside a few passages, his thoughts on women:

“Rainy season.  Walked to Umeyashiki Station.  The passers-by all got drenched in the summer rain.  Rain makes the female students’ white dresses stand out even more brightly.  Young girls, in your future … you may have nothing special in mind, yet you feed others’ imaginations.  You have all the elements of great art.  Perhaps you are art personified.  Without your fresh presence, this town, society, the world itself – how cold and forbidding they would be!  Like a house without flowers, or the night sky without the twinkling stars.  May your futures be blessed.”

How did we fall so far?  I find nothing at all appealing about music which assaults the beauty and femininity of womanhood.  I don’t understand how lyrics that create violent images against women wouldn’t create generations of wounded and violated women.

What is it in me, that once 16 year old girl, who in the midst of the worst beating of her life, would determine, “Never.  If I can make it out of this house alive.  Never.”?

As a woman I do feel there is great beauty to be found in the feminine.  Mother Nature.  Life-giving.  Nurturing.  I think we women have the capacity to breathe life into everything we touch.  To take a black and white world and turn it into full, vibrant, living color.

Violence begets violence.  Tenderness, and a reverence towards women, fosters deep respect and abiding love.  It’s only behind closed doors, between couples deeply in love, that I think highly sexualized language, is electrifying, sexy, and apropos.  But outside that door, anything else feels dirty.  

So, my favorite genre of music, is anything that speaks to that source.  From the romanticism of the Great American Song Book to the unexpected, non-violent, old-style romantic, “Love Letters”, released by artist, R. Kelly (a man otherwise known for his crass and misogynistic lyrics).  Music and art filled with strength, beauty, earth shaking words and images.  These are the type of music genres that work for me.

My keen love for human interests stories, stimulated by the type of thinking and writing found above, is what I was called to do.  With countless lotus petals for me to contemplate, this is merely the beginning of my journey.  I’m going to do my part to do what I do best – encourage people to get back to the work of real living verses the emptiness of virtual living.

It appears life without Facebook will be among the happiest days of my life.

 

Christmas Wish List.

If life is a box of Cracker Jacks (are they even around anymore?!), the prize at the bottom of the box, is the gift of time. Knowing there are only 168 hours in the week. Accepting that if we live to age 85, that’s only 4420 Saturdays. The understanding that even if we have 100 times around the sun, it’s not enough.

Here, in the glowing embers of my personal autumn, I’m thinking about this coming Christmas. My 60th of the 85 I hope to experience. It’s a sobering thought knowing I may only have 25 left (maybe less) … but exciting, and adrenaline filled, too, in its own way. As I look back across my life, I’ve no regrets. I made sure to do as much as I possibly could these first 60 years.

I grew up … fast. Fell in love. Raised my family. Worked really, really hard. Traveled a lot, a lot. Experienced as much as I possibly could. Lived through the death grips of excruciating pain, of which broken legs and childbirth, were nothing compared to the darkest nights of my emotional sorrows. I was forged in fire.

Having grown up with so little in the way of material things, I wanted everything life had to offer. I trained myself to think everyday was Christmas. Sadly, there were years when I thought Christmas had everything to do with what I could buy. That said, I can no longer relate.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate beautiful and valuable things, it’s that my concept of beautiful and valuable has changed. I’ve finally learned what it is I really want from, and for, my life.

I don’t want to be judged on physical beauty. We have nothing to say about our genetics. It’s why I’m so comfortable with growing older. There’s no stopping the aging of our bodies. But, God, I love how time burnished and polished the chasms of my mind.

I want the warmth of my personality to shine through each encounter. The tenderness in my voice. The gentleness of my touch. The genuine love I have for people, in general, and children, specifically.

I want to be thought of as wise and filled with understanding based on intellectual and experiential knowledge. I want to be loved for the quality of my thinking. I’m most honored when people come to me for guidance, and better yet, hold me as their most treasured teacher.  Funny how these things never stop being my favorite gifts, ever.

I’ve a never-ending quest to learn. The more I learn, the more I realize the infinite possibilities of heaven, the more excited I become at the thought I’ll soon enough be on the other side of the bridge.  The bridge between life and that long good night. Until then, all I want for Christmas, from now until my last breath, is to keep becoming the woman I’ve fallen in love with becoming.

In closing, I’m sharing something I originally wrote in the margins of one of my most important books. A prayer I wrote in 1991, the year after the darkest year of my life.  A prayer, I’ve uttered countless times and one which often comes uninvited to all the joys, as well as through all the vicissitudes of my life:

Teach me the wisdom

that lies within.

Direct me to that

which I most need to know

in order that I may

serve humanity.

Teach me what to do

and what not to do.

Keep me humble.

Increase my capacity to love

all that comes into my life.

Create perfect health

and increase my strength

for the tremendous work

that lies before me.

Lead me always towards

the Light.

Now, in the autumn of my life, little did I know, all those many years ago, I was writing the Christmas wish list for the rest of my life.

What do you want for Christmas?

“Lead me always toward the Light.”

The Last Third of My Life. Or, What I Really Want.

Experientially speaking, it’s been a well lived life.

Lots of love and loss.  Joy and sorrow.  Wonderful friends. Powerful enemies.  All of which have served me well.

I’ve found the most trying and difficult circumstances always provided the most personal growth and character development.

I’ve loved deeply and been truly loved in return.

I found motherhood suited me and children bring me the greatest sense of joy and accomplishment. I know my job is to preserve their innocence while instilling the skills necessary to navigate adulthood with grace and wisdom.

I became a better friend because of terrible mistakes I’d made. As to those friends who failed me, their actions became my constant reminder to be vigilant when it comes to important relationships.

I’ve learned all criticism can be delivered constructively. It’s not my job to be brutally honest. It’s my duty to be kind.

I’ve learned being poor in spirit is much worse than being broke.

I’ve learned much good can come from prosperity. And, that owning “stuff” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Life is about powerful learning experiences and contribution, not trinkets and leisure.  That said, I appreciate having money not for what it can buy … but what it can do.

I’m not one for small talk. It makes me uncomfortable because it feels disingenuous. I want to talk about things that matter. Life, love, marriage, children, ideas, politics.  I want to do it without rancor and without compromising my integrity. I think dialogue is more important than partisanship.

I share the above because it allows me to answer an important question recently asked of me by a trusted and dearly loved friend:  “What do you really want, Cindy.  Don’t be trite.  I want the truth.”

I share because I take full responsibility for what I’ve created in the first two-thirds of my life (every minute wasted as well as everything produced).

I share, because like many, I’m looking at the last third of my life knowing full well it’s unchartered territory.  I find the prospect exhilarating … and equally terrifying.  I’m thinking you might feel the same way, too.

As I stand here, I’m closing the book on six decades of life.  For all its bumps and bruises, triumphs and epic fails, up to this point, I think I’ve lived a reflective and meaningful life and, I think I’ve done it to the best of my ability.  All that being said, I know I can do better.

As I face the future … and the last third of my life… here’s what I want:

• I want to lift the consciousness of others. I do this best by nurturing others with abundant love, tender kindness, comforting firmness, and resolute bravery.

• I want to teach the disciplines required to reach inner peace. People at peace with themselves make for a peaceful world.

• I want to continue building a life based on substance. To “take from the day” through thoughtful, deliberate, action. Living life as a “wandering generality” leaves me cold.

• I want to do work that ignites the imagination and encourages people to become a force for good.  I want to produce until my dying day.

• I want to inspire men, women, and especially children, by living honorably and remaining true to becoming the best version of myself.

I want to do these things because, despite all my painful detours, it’s what I’ve always aspired to have … to do … to be.

Here’s my final reason for sharing this:  What do you really want in life?

If you’re like me, and found yourself a little lost (for whatever reason), maybe it’s time to sit down and look at things closely.  Don’t rush … but do have a sense of urgency (it took me a full 10 days to be able to put what I wanted in to words).  It’s later than we think.  Thirty years goes by in a flash.  Best we get started straight away.

(So, here’s to you, my Priceless Friend.  Thanks for pointing me in the right direction and giving me a much needed kick in the behind.  Your question gave me the catalyst to get clear on what I want most in life (I hope you can see I did my best to not be trite).  I now realize my most important work lies before me.  And, I give you my word, I will work diligently towards that end.)

No Ugly Crying.

Years ago I found myself in a life-threatening situation.

I was scuba-diving in the British Virgin Islands and was overjoyed to find myself flying effortlessly along the bottom of the sea.  What I didn’t realize was I’d unknowingly dropped myself in a rip current and was rapidly being sent out to open water.  When it dawned on me what I’d done, I was immediately terrified.  I turned around and found the only way I could get out was to pull myself hand-over-hand along the rocky bottom. Not only was I frightened, but I also thrust myself into a terribly ugly cry.  The kind where you’re sobbing so hard you can’t catch your breath.  Not a good plan when you’re 60 feet under water.

When I finally made it out of the current and to the surface, I felt relief and gratitude.  I also felt a bit ashamed that I’d been so scared. In retrospect, the experience served as a lesson to handle difficult circumstances with more dignity.  To that end, I hope what I’m about to tell you will help.

For the last several months I’ve been working hard to get my head around a handful of serious issues:

One, the memory loss my beloved spouse is starting to experience. Our May-December romance has provided so much love, but nothing can adequately prepare us for watching our spouse’s journey towards that good night.

Two, the impending full-time care of my cherished mother and my determination to never send her to an assisted living facility. I know the road won’t be easy. I also know I’ll need a source of strength I’ve never tapped before.

Three, the challenges of building my business and insuring the financial security of my old age. One where I will not be a burden to my children.  One where I leave a valuable legacy for my grandchildren.  One where important decisions and disciplines are required of me, today.

No minor concerns.  These are serious issues not low on the list of life stressors.

For months, I found myself more worried than I’ve ever been; a bit depressed (situational); and oftentimes, totally drained. It didn’t help that I started stress-eating and gained 15 pounds in a relatively short period of time.  In light of the circumstances, I was tempted to spend my days crying my heart out.  But, being a person who looks for life lessons in all things, I compared where I was to where I’ve been.  I remembered other serious rip currents.  I decided an ugly cry would serve no one.  I knew I could concentrate on being pulled out to sea, or, I could pull myself together.  I decided on the latter.

Rather than drown, I prayed for strength.

I purposefully chose to say nothing because I didn’t want to burden others with my problems.  Instead, I filled my days with love and family.  Business and personal commitments. Positive messages and images.  Nothing dark. Nothing that would push me into that abyss.  Even then, my choices only got me so far.

Though I did my best to handle everything on my own … the best thing I did was to share my life issues with my one of my dearest and trusted friends, my beloved daughter-in-law. Never underestimate the power of love, especially from those who love you completely and without conditions.  We are meant to live in community and fellowship on purpose and by design.  Many hands do lighten the load and I’ve since found the courage and wisdom to open up to other trusted friends and, in doing so, found safe harbor in tumultuous seas. (True friendship is built on gratitude.  I am ever so grateful to my friends who threw me a lifeline.  You know who you are.)

I shared this glimpse of my life with you because gaining more insight into the life lessons of others is never a disadvantage.  Though often criticized, I love social media because, if used properly, it shows us the happy moments in people’s lives.  As long as I concentrate on its positive force, and steer clear of the rip currents, FaceBook lifts my spirits and gives me hope and courage.  Over the past few months, many of your posts, served as a stable rock I used to pull myself to safety, so thank you.  That said, all of us deal with serious issues most of the time.  It is the nature of life.  What we must understand is that we must guard our minds … or suffer the consequences. Especially in this day and age of 24 hour news and social media.  If we let it, the darkness and the current focus on vicious, salacious news, can easily sweep us into a sea of despair.  Don’t go there.

We must, and we can, fight with all our strength to see the gift of life.  We can choose to let our friends help us navigate difficult shores.  We must understand that the worst that could happen is that we die today … and it’s important to note there’s a 99 percent chance we won’t.  

Though each of our challenges may remain (and mine most certainly do), we have a choice:  No ugly crying.

Best to stay calm.  Take deep breaths.  Protect ourselves from dark images (they only feed our demons).   Best to set our eyes on the people we  love and on those who matter.  Our loved ones deserve to see us live our life to the best of our abilities and to move forward with grace and dignity.  It gives them the ability to be proud of us and to be grateful we didn’t give up.

No matter how difficult, no matter how life-threatening, we must pull ourselves to safety.

We will be the stronger and the wiser.

And, quite frankly, we’re worth it.