I have this old friend, Sean. I don't mean to imply that Sean is old. Since he's only about 6 months older than me, I don't think that would be a fair thing to say since I am most certainly not old! No, what I mean is that I've known him for, oh, say, 25 years or so. We worked together in high school, had many mutual friends, wreaked havoc on our community at large after work, that sort of thing. After high school, I went to Texas A&M and he went to that burnt orange place in our state's capital. (That would be the University of Texas for you non-Texans. Aggies don't like to talk about it much.) Then I moved back to Houston, got a job, got married, had kids, blah, blah. Sean moved to L.A. and worked in the movie industry, got married, had kids, blah, blah. We didn't keep in close touch, but we caught up from time to time, mostly at high school reunions and such. Over the last couple of years, through the magic of Facebook, we've been able to keep up a bit more. Last summer, when I visited my sister and her family in L.A., we tried to meet up, but his 14-hour workday schedule didn't allow it. No biggie.
Or so I thought until a few weeks ago, when I found out that my old young friend Sean had suffered a massive heart attack, which went unnoticed for approximately two weeks (yeah, he doesn't know how he's still alive, either), and now he sits in a hospital bed in UCLA Medical Center awaiting a heart transplant.
You know how they say your life can change in an instant? That was one of those instants for not only Sean, but for his entire family, and anyone who knows him or cares about him at all. Because even if you're 2000 miles away and haven't seen him in 3 years, it makes you stop and think.
Sean's wife, Judie, is the most amazing woman I've never met. Even with two very young boys, a full-time job, and a husband in long-term ICU care, she has managed to keep me, a total stranger, updated and even entertained. She updates both hers and Sean's Facebook pages nearly every day, but if you contact her personally, she will reply to you personally. Even if she doesn't know you from Eve. Every update is positive, whether it deserves to be or not (thankfully, most of them deserve to be as Sean is doing remarkably well, all things considered).
I have had my weekly bible study class praying for Sean since the moment I heard the news. Recently, I apologized for boring them with updates on someone they've never met and probably never will meet. My teacher' response: "It will never get boring praying for Sean. It is amazing how prayer connects you with someone you don't even know!" So true. Because I've never met Judie, and I feel connected to her and pray for her daily. I can't imagine what she must be going through herself.
Sean's health scare and Judie's updates have given me a lot to praise God for lately. Last weekend, it was the ability to brush my teeth. When was the last time you thanked God for the ability to brush your teeth? If you're like me, probably never. But last weekend, Judie's update included her excitement that Sean had gotten out of bed and gone to the bathroom to brush his own teeth that morning. And I got excited to hear that. Because if you've been stuck in bed for nearly a month, getting your teeth brushed--how? I don't even know. Do they even get brushed? Does someone do it for you? How does that work? I hope I never find out, honestly. But after that amount of time, getting up and doing that small task for yourself, a task you've done for yourself twice a day every day since you were probably 5 or 6, must feel truly wonderful. And so I took a moment to stop and thank God that I've never, ever had to think about that before.
Too small scale for you? While Sean was first laying in his hospital bed, before I knew of his plight, I walked 39 miles with nine friends over two days to fight breast cancer. Sure, I trained for it. But I never gave much thought as to whether or not I'd be able to do it. I knew I'd be tired. I knew I'd be sore. I knew I might even lose a toenail or two (the one is just barely hanging on at the moment!). But I also knew that I'd finish all 39.3 miles. Never crossed my mind that I wouldn't. The week before the walk, Sean probably would have told you he could do it, too (he might not have actually done it, but he could have if he'd wanted to). Today he posted that he's "just hanging out at the hospital trying to get stronger by walking just a little bit more each time out of the room." Have you ever thanked God that you could make it to the end of the hall and back? I have. Now.
Sometimes you don't know what you have to be truly thankful for until it's taken away from you and you have to work to get it back. Or until you have a glimpse into the life of someone who has. I'm thankful for the opportunity to witness it. And, if I'm going to be truly honest here, I'm thankful that I'm merely a witness and not a player. Because I don't know if I'm ready for the kind of strengthening God is putting Sean and his family through. But it's amazing to watch someone else be strengthened in that way. And it's amazing and utterly inspiring to watch them do it with both humor and love.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Friendship: A Love Story
When I was a high school freshman, I attended a church dance where I met Steve. To this day, I have no idea what Steve was doing at a dance at my church, but we danced there, and I developed a huge crush. At the end of the evening, we exchanged phone numbers, and he called me the next day. To my dismay, one of the first things I learned about Steve during that phone call was that he had a girlfriend. Steve was a year older than me and attended a rival high school, but his girlfriend, Charla, was in my grade at my school. I didn’t know her, but I instantly disliked her with an intensity only a 14-year-old girl can muster. Considering that Steve continued to call me daily, and we spent hours on the phone together, I don’t imagine Charla liked me much better.
Steve and I lasted many years longer than Steve and Charla. By the time they split up several months later, the bond between Steve and I was formed. There was no separating us. As friends. Never again did we visit the crush/dating issue. We dated pretty much the entire circle of each other’s friends, but never each other. This was the best possible outcome because Steve became the best friend I ever had. (OK, the best friend I ever had and didn’t marry.)
We did not have one thing in common. I was short, brainy, college-bound, grade-focused, and had no self confidence. He was tall, had no interest in school whatsoever, and was overflowing with self-confidence. I was overly contemplative; he was an absolute jokester. My parents had been married forever. His mom was single, and he refused to ever discuss his dad at all. I was nervous sneaking a sip of beer. He was perfectly comfortable with a bottle of Jack in one hand and a joint in the other.
Yet Steve treated me with absolute kindness and respect 100% of the time, and he insisted that others did, too. For my 17th birthday, I got chicken pox. Steve, who shared a car with his working mom, rode his bike more than 10 miles to my house (over road that was not particularly bike-friendly) with a single serving of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup in hand to bring me lunch on my birthday. Without calling to tell me he was coming first because he wanted to surprise me. This was totally normal for him, but it was the single kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. He knew everything there was to know about me and never once criticized or judged. Occasionally teased, but never judged.
There was not a single person in either of our circles who understood our friendship.
At some point, when I was about 16, I dated Steve’s best guy friend, Allen, for about five minutes. Allen had the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Once we started dating, I also realized he was one of the nicest guys I ever dated. This is probably why it only lasted five minutes—I would have eaten him alive if we’d gone out any longer. High school encompassed my self-destructive years. If I dated someone who was thoughtful and kind, I treated him like crap until he couldn’t stand me anymore. If I dated a guy who treated me like crap, I fell head-over-heels for him until he broke my heart. (Considering I have friends who continued this pattern well into their 20’s, I suppose I'm lucky that I got smart by the time I graduated from high school. Literally on the day I graduated, but that’s a story for another day…or not.) Considering Allen and I remained friends for several years after our dating experience, we either parted ways before I turned into the Witchy One, or he was truly the nicest guy I ever dated in high school. But even Allen never understood the bond of friendship between Steve and me.
After I graduated from high school, I went off to college while Steve stayed home, worked some, and partied a lot. Now our worlds were really different, and it became harder to maintain our friendship. We tried, but by two years later, when I was 20 and he was 21, he was married with a baby and I was about to head into my junior year at Texas A&M with a serious boyfriend (now my husband of 18 years) and a dying father. Steve’s wife was not too keen on the whole girl-guy best friends thing. Actually, she wasn’t having it, and that was that. Thomas didn’t begrudge my friendship with Steve, but he, like everyone else, didn’t get it and had no interest in helping me maintain it by, say, double-dating with Steve, his jealous wife, and their baby daughter. And our grown-up problems didn’t allow us much energy to fight for our friendship. So we went our separate ways. Technically, it was by choice, and we made a conscious decision to break off our friendship. We didn’t just drift apart. But it wasn’t something that made either of us happy.
Would we have stayed friends for all these years if we hadn’t been coerced into parting ways? Who knows? Probably not. You tend to be friends with people who share your interests, your background, your values. Steve and I shared none of those. But then, we never did, and we were still the closest of friends.
Lately I’ve been thinking of my old pal. Not constantly, but he pops into my head every few months, and I don’t know why. I searched for him on Facebook, but he’s not there. His mother, sister, and one of his brothers are there and would likely remember me. I could contact them. His daughter and what must be his son are there, too, although they, of course, wouldn’t have a clue who I am. I would certainly not contact them. I also found his young wife, who is clearly no longer his wife. But there is no sign of Steve. Now, Thomas has no interest whatsoever in Facebook, and so none of his long-lost friends will ever find him there, either. But one glance at my Facebook page shows our lives clearly intertwined, and more than one of his old friends has found him through me. There is no sign or mention of Steve anywhere on what I can see of these Facebook pages. (Yes, I realize I am outing myself as a Facebook stalker here. I swear I’ve never stalked anyone else on Facebook!)
Today I found Allen. That would certainly be the easiest route to finding out what has happened in Steve’s life over the last 20+ years. But, alas, Allen is not accepting Facebook friend requests, so I can’t contact him, either.
There is something holding me back from contacting Steve’s mom, sister, or brother, and I don’t know what. I think it’s the fear of what might have become of Steve. I pray he’s happily married and living an amazing life. Maybe he, like me, has found faith, happiness, and the American dream.
But what if he didn’t? What if he continued down the destructive path he was starting on when we parted ways? What if his life is bleak and miserable? What if he’s in jail? What if he isn’t interested in knowing about me at this stage of his life? What if…what if he’s dead? I once literally stumbled onto the grave of an acquaintance from junior high. He happens to be buried less than 100 feet from my father. He had been gone for more than 10 years when I found his gravesite, and it had been more than 25 years since I’d last seen him, but the discovery of his tombstone brought me to my knees. And that was just a person I kind of knew when I was 12. I think the loss of Steve, even years after he really was lost, would tear me apart. Without knowing, I can still imagine he’s happily living life out there somewhere and someday we might bump into each other.
Yet every time I put his memories away and go on about my life, he returns to my subconscious a few months later, more insistently each time. Am I supposed to go in search of him? Or am I supposed to let go of a fond friendship from the past and just enjoy memories I am intensely thankful for?
I wish I had a clue.
Steve and I lasted many years longer than Steve and Charla. By the time they split up several months later, the bond between Steve and I was formed. There was no separating us. As friends. Never again did we visit the crush/dating issue. We dated pretty much the entire circle of each other’s friends, but never each other. This was the best possible outcome because Steve became the best friend I ever had. (OK, the best friend I ever had and didn’t marry.)
We did not have one thing in common. I was short, brainy, college-bound, grade-focused, and had no self confidence. He was tall, had no interest in school whatsoever, and was overflowing with self-confidence. I was overly contemplative; he was an absolute jokester. My parents had been married forever. His mom was single, and he refused to ever discuss his dad at all. I was nervous sneaking a sip of beer. He was perfectly comfortable with a bottle of Jack in one hand and a joint in the other.
Yet Steve treated me with absolute kindness and respect 100% of the time, and he insisted that others did, too. For my 17th birthday, I got chicken pox. Steve, who shared a car with his working mom, rode his bike more than 10 miles to my house (over road that was not particularly bike-friendly) with a single serving of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup in hand to bring me lunch on my birthday. Without calling to tell me he was coming first because he wanted to surprise me. This was totally normal for him, but it was the single kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. He knew everything there was to know about me and never once criticized or judged. Occasionally teased, but never judged.
There was not a single person in either of our circles who understood our friendship.
At some point, when I was about 16, I dated Steve’s best guy friend, Allen, for about five minutes. Allen had the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Once we started dating, I also realized he was one of the nicest guys I ever dated. This is probably why it only lasted five minutes—I would have eaten him alive if we’d gone out any longer. High school encompassed my self-destructive years. If I dated someone who was thoughtful and kind, I treated him like crap until he couldn’t stand me anymore. If I dated a guy who treated me like crap, I fell head-over-heels for him until he broke my heart. (Considering I have friends who continued this pattern well into their 20’s, I suppose I'm lucky that I got smart by the time I graduated from high school. Literally on the day I graduated, but that’s a story for another day…or not.) Considering Allen and I remained friends for several years after our dating experience, we either parted ways before I turned into the Witchy One, or he was truly the nicest guy I ever dated in high school. But even Allen never understood the bond of friendship between Steve and me.
After I graduated from high school, I went off to college while Steve stayed home, worked some, and partied a lot. Now our worlds were really different, and it became harder to maintain our friendship. We tried, but by two years later, when I was 20 and he was 21, he was married with a baby and I was about to head into my junior year at Texas A&M with a serious boyfriend (now my husband of 18 years) and a dying father. Steve’s wife was not too keen on the whole girl-guy best friends thing. Actually, she wasn’t having it, and that was that. Thomas didn’t begrudge my friendship with Steve, but he, like everyone else, didn’t get it and had no interest in helping me maintain it by, say, double-dating with Steve, his jealous wife, and their baby daughter. And our grown-up problems didn’t allow us much energy to fight for our friendship. So we went our separate ways. Technically, it was by choice, and we made a conscious decision to break off our friendship. We didn’t just drift apart. But it wasn’t something that made either of us happy.
Would we have stayed friends for all these years if we hadn’t been coerced into parting ways? Who knows? Probably not. You tend to be friends with people who share your interests, your background, your values. Steve and I shared none of those. But then, we never did, and we were still the closest of friends.
Lately I’ve been thinking of my old pal. Not constantly, but he pops into my head every few months, and I don’t know why. I searched for him on Facebook, but he’s not there. His mother, sister, and one of his brothers are there and would likely remember me. I could contact them. His daughter and what must be his son are there, too, although they, of course, wouldn’t have a clue who I am. I would certainly not contact them. I also found his young wife, who is clearly no longer his wife. But there is no sign of Steve. Now, Thomas has no interest whatsoever in Facebook, and so none of his long-lost friends will ever find him there, either. But one glance at my Facebook page shows our lives clearly intertwined, and more than one of his old friends has found him through me. There is no sign or mention of Steve anywhere on what I can see of these Facebook pages. (Yes, I realize I am outing myself as a Facebook stalker here. I swear I’ve never stalked anyone else on Facebook!)
Today I found Allen. That would certainly be the easiest route to finding out what has happened in Steve’s life over the last 20+ years. But, alas, Allen is not accepting Facebook friend requests, so I can’t contact him, either.
There is something holding me back from contacting Steve’s mom, sister, or brother, and I don’t know what. I think it’s the fear of what might have become of Steve. I pray he’s happily married and living an amazing life. Maybe he, like me, has found faith, happiness, and the American dream.
But what if he didn’t? What if he continued down the destructive path he was starting on when we parted ways? What if his life is bleak and miserable? What if he’s in jail? What if he isn’t interested in knowing about me at this stage of his life? What if…what if he’s dead? I once literally stumbled onto the grave of an acquaintance from junior high. He happens to be buried less than 100 feet from my father. He had been gone for more than 10 years when I found his gravesite, and it had been more than 25 years since I’d last seen him, but the discovery of his tombstone brought me to my knees. And that was just a person I kind of knew when I was 12. I think the loss of Steve, even years after he really was lost, would tear me apart. Without knowing, I can still imagine he’s happily living life out there somewhere and someday we might bump into each other.
Yet every time I put his memories away and go on about my life, he returns to my subconscious a few months later, more insistently each time. Am I supposed to go in search of him? Or am I supposed to let go of a fond friendship from the past and just enjoy memories I am intensely thankful for?
I wish I had a clue.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Meal Planning Magic
My friend Brenda has a blog. Now, I have lots of friends with blogs, as you can see for yourself if you check out the "Blogs I Follow" page. But Brenda's blog isn't just chatty and interesting (as I hope mine is). Hers is actually useful. If you're a busy mom, you should be following it. Like it on Facebook, and you can be notified whenever she makes a new post. Subscribe via email. Trust me, you'll be glad you did!
Brenda's blog is called "Meal Planning Magic," and it's all about planning healthy meals in advance to save time on busy nights (as opposed to running in the door after work or school or taxiing and going, "Now what the hell am I going to make for dinner?"). She also often adds tips for staying green in the kitchen, a topic that's near and dear to my own heart (and one of the reasons Brenda and I are such good friends, being two of the 25 or so Texans who are actually concerned about the environment!).
If you're a busy mom (that's pretty much all moms, right?) or dad who happens to cook, you really should check it out. Interesting AND useful all rolled into one blog. What a concept! To sweeten the pot, she's offering a back-to-school lunch kit giveaway right now. Read all about it at www.mealplanningmagic.com. For the giveaway, check out the August 17 post.
Brenda's blog is called "Meal Planning Magic," and it's all about planning healthy meals in advance to save time on busy nights (as opposed to running in the door after work or school or taxiing and going, "Now what the hell am I going to make for dinner?"). She also often adds tips for staying green in the kitchen, a topic that's near and dear to my own heart (and one of the reasons Brenda and I are such good friends, being two of the 25 or so Texans who are actually concerned about the environment!).
If you're a busy mom (that's pretty much all moms, right?) or dad who happens to cook, you really should check it out. Interesting AND useful all rolled into one blog. What a concept! To sweeten the pot, she's offering a back-to-school lunch kit giveaway right now. Read all about it at www.mealplanningmagic.com. For the giveaway, check out the August 17 post.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Receiving Grace Under Pressure
My thyroid is acting up again. No, I don't have the labs to back this information up (my endocrinologist recently left her practice, and I've yet to find a new one--again). But I know. I always know.
I have hyperthyroidism. When I tell people this, they get this kind of excited look in their eyes, and go, "Oh, that's the good kind, right?" Umm, no. It gives me headaches that can't be relieved. It makes me feel wired, like I've had 12 cups of coffee, even though I don't drink coffee or pretty much anything else with caffeine in it. It makes me irritable (OK, bitchy). I have trouble sleeping. I'm hungry all the time. And I cannot (possibly ever) get rid of the last 20 pounds, even though I work out and eat healthy pretty much all the time, because my body, in its infinite wisdom, recognizes that it's getting too much thyroid hormone and slows down my metabolism to compensate. This somewhat lessens my risk for a stroke or a heart attack (two risks with my disease), but it makes it difficult to look in the mirror on a daily basis.
But the reason I know it's acting up right now is the anxiety. It's a gut-wrenching, soul-grabbing, gripping anxiety that weighs me down and prevents me from focusing on anything that's actually important because I'm bogged down in worrying. Endlessly. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the absolute worst time, and makes my insides churn. I shake and sweat, toss and turn, and I can't think one rational thought. I want to cry, but I can't. I don't tell anyone about the anxiety, not even my husband. The things I worry over are too petty. I fear that I'll seem like a silly little woman, blubbering over my tiny issues when there are real problems in the world. Hell, there are real problems in my own life.
So I pray. I pray for God to take this anxiety from me. And He responds. He says, "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more that He'll take it. And He responds again. "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more for Him to take it. And He responds once again: "Carey, give it to me. I've got it covered. You just have to let it go. I can't take it from you if you won't give it to me." But I can't. I simply don't know how to. It's not that I don't trust Him. I really do. I know He's got it covered. There are much greater things in my life that I could worry about, but I don't because I know God's got them covered, and it will all work out, and it will all be good. So when I start waking up in the middle of the night riddled with nonsensical worry, I know it's my thyroid pumping entirely too much of nearly every hormone into my system. And it sucks.
For whatever reason, my body grows nodules on my thyroid. So far, they've always been non-cancerous. But they are "hot," meaning they produce thyroid hormone over and above what my thyroid itself is producing. At this time, the amount is minimal. Eventually, I will probably have to have my thyroid removed either through surgery or radiation (probably radiation). My first endocrinologist wanted to do this the week she reached a diagnosis. I am not OK with this. In my opinion, it is simply trading one set of problems for another. Once my thyroid is removed, I will for the rest of my life have to artificially supply my body with thyroid hormone in order to function. And as changes occur in my life, everything from weight gains and losses to life events to menopause, we'll have to start over again figuring out the correct dosage to keep me functioning properly. And as anyone who has ever struggled with hypothyroidism knows, that is an ongoing challenge. One I will probably have to face one day, but I don't see any reason to face it just yet.
But other than removing my thryoid, there is no treatment for hyperthyroidism. However, I've found that I can keep my levels just above "normal" (rather than way above "normal") with a healthy diet and lots of exercise. There is no scientific proof of this. My endocrinologist simply smiles and gives me a look that says, "Whatever you say" whenever I mention it. But if I'm eating right and exercising, I can keep that anxiety at bay, and the lab work always shows I'm right (if I have labs drawn while I'm experiencing that gut-gripping anxiety, they show highly elevated thyroid levels every time).
I have been eating fairly well, but I've been up against insane work deadlines and haven't made it to the gym in two weeks. And it shows.
Yesterday God gave me the most incredible gift of grace. I woke up early, gripped with anxiety. I got up and got ready for church, still with the dreaded fist of fear churning in my stomach. During church, I barely heard the message, obsessed as I was with my petty problems. But I prayed for the problem to go away. I had been obsessing for several days over one thing, something not even significant enough to discuss here. But in an anxiety-induced state, even the most minor of issues seem enormous. This anxiety brings new meaning to the phrase, "making mountains out of molehills."
In church, I prayed for resolution to the minor issue so that my anxiety would go away, since I seem unable to hand it over. As I walked out of church, before I even stepped into the parking lot, I was literally handed the resolution to my problem. The anxiety left immediately and has not returned.
This morning, I still have the crazy work deadlines hanging over my head. But I went to the gym anyway. It's my way of thanking God for His gift of grace and promising Him to do everything I can to not allow the gripping fear to return. My body will not control me. I have been given the power to control it, and today I am thankful for that power.
I have hyperthyroidism. When I tell people this, they get this kind of excited look in their eyes, and go, "Oh, that's the good kind, right?" Umm, no. It gives me headaches that can't be relieved. It makes me feel wired, like I've had 12 cups of coffee, even though I don't drink coffee or pretty much anything else with caffeine in it. It makes me irritable (OK, bitchy). I have trouble sleeping. I'm hungry all the time. And I cannot (possibly ever) get rid of the last 20 pounds, even though I work out and eat healthy pretty much all the time, because my body, in its infinite wisdom, recognizes that it's getting too much thyroid hormone and slows down my metabolism to compensate. This somewhat lessens my risk for a stroke or a heart attack (two risks with my disease), but it makes it difficult to look in the mirror on a daily basis.
But the reason I know it's acting up right now is the anxiety. It's a gut-wrenching, soul-grabbing, gripping anxiety that weighs me down and prevents me from focusing on anything that's actually important because I'm bogged down in worrying. Endlessly. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the absolute worst time, and makes my insides churn. I shake and sweat, toss and turn, and I can't think one rational thought. I want to cry, but I can't. I don't tell anyone about the anxiety, not even my husband. The things I worry over are too petty. I fear that I'll seem like a silly little woman, blubbering over my tiny issues when there are real problems in the world. Hell, there are real problems in my own life.
So I pray. I pray for God to take this anxiety from me. And He responds. He says, "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more that He'll take it. And He responds again. "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more for Him to take it. And He responds once again: "Carey, give it to me. I've got it covered. You just have to let it go. I can't take it from you if you won't give it to me." But I can't. I simply don't know how to. It's not that I don't trust Him. I really do. I know He's got it covered. There are much greater things in my life that I could worry about, but I don't because I know God's got them covered, and it will all work out, and it will all be good. So when I start waking up in the middle of the night riddled with nonsensical worry, I know it's my thyroid pumping entirely too much of nearly every hormone into my system. And it sucks.
For whatever reason, my body grows nodules on my thyroid. So far, they've always been non-cancerous. But they are "hot," meaning they produce thyroid hormone over and above what my thyroid itself is producing. At this time, the amount is minimal. Eventually, I will probably have to have my thyroid removed either through surgery or radiation (probably radiation). My first endocrinologist wanted to do this the week she reached a diagnosis. I am not OK with this. In my opinion, it is simply trading one set of problems for another. Once my thyroid is removed, I will for the rest of my life have to artificially supply my body with thyroid hormone in order to function. And as changes occur in my life, everything from weight gains and losses to life events to menopause, we'll have to start over again figuring out the correct dosage to keep me functioning properly. And as anyone who has ever struggled with hypothyroidism knows, that is an ongoing challenge. One I will probably have to face one day, but I don't see any reason to face it just yet.
But other than removing my thryoid, there is no treatment for hyperthyroidism. However, I've found that I can keep my levels just above "normal" (rather than way above "normal") with a healthy diet and lots of exercise. There is no scientific proof of this. My endocrinologist simply smiles and gives me a look that says, "Whatever you say" whenever I mention it. But if I'm eating right and exercising, I can keep that anxiety at bay, and the lab work always shows I'm right (if I have labs drawn while I'm experiencing that gut-gripping anxiety, they show highly elevated thyroid levels every time).
I have been eating fairly well, but I've been up against insane work deadlines and haven't made it to the gym in two weeks. And it shows.
Yesterday God gave me the most incredible gift of grace. I woke up early, gripped with anxiety. I got up and got ready for church, still with the dreaded fist of fear churning in my stomach. During church, I barely heard the message, obsessed as I was with my petty problems. But I prayed for the problem to go away. I had been obsessing for several days over one thing, something not even significant enough to discuss here. But in an anxiety-induced state, even the most minor of issues seem enormous. This anxiety brings new meaning to the phrase, "making mountains out of molehills."
In church, I prayed for resolution to the minor issue so that my anxiety would go away, since I seem unable to hand it over. As I walked out of church, before I even stepped into the parking lot, I was literally handed the resolution to my problem. The anxiety left immediately and has not returned.
This morning, I still have the crazy work deadlines hanging over my head. But I went to the gym anyway. It's my way of thanking God for His gift of grace and promising Him to do everything I can to not allow the gripping fear to return. My body will not control me. I have been given the power to control it, and today I am thankful for that power.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I Am Free to Write
So it's 11:00 on a Thursday evening. Thomas has been called to Lafayette on business at the last minute, and we're leaving for vacation in less than 36 hours. Packing and preparation is all on me. The kids are asleep, and I'm facing a mountain of laundry, a pile of dishes, a list of things to gather and pack a mile long, an 8-hour work day tomorrow, and a writing "assignment" for tonight. I have agreed to be a prayer partner for a member of our church attending Big House (a youth mission trip) next week. Ashley and the rest of the youth and chaperones will leave the day after we return from our vacation next week. So I have to get my "assignment"—four cards of encouragement—completed tonight. And I have drawn the Assistant Youth Director as my prayer partner—a young man who appears to be about 10 times more God-inspired than I can ever hope to be! So I'm just at a loss as to what to write, and I've therefore been putting it off. I mean what could I possibly say to him that won't sound completely, well, stupid?
So I'm flipping through the mail I tossed on the counter when I came home two hours ago, and there in the pile is the Women of Faith CD I requested last week. I must admit my first, highly un-Christian thought was, "Great. Another unpaid writing assignment." And one that I asked for, no less! Last week they were looking for 50 bloggers to receive their CD for free in exchange for writing a 200+ word review on my blog plus a review on iTunes. I requested the assignment because I liked the idea of trying out a new type of writing. I received the assignment, apparently, because God decided it was time to hit me from a new angle.
Now, I have to tell you that I am a rocker chick at heart. Completely and unabashedly. If it's loud, fast, and has big hair, I probably have the CD. I love the worship music at church every Sunday, and I get fully into it. But when I walk out the door, while I don't leave my faith behind as some people do, I do seem to leave my love of worship music behind. I've tried, but I can't pull away from my rock 'n' roll! But I loved the music at the Women of Faith conference (if you haven't been to one, find one near you and GO! http://www.womenoffaith.com/), I liked the idea of writing a music review, and I knew it wouldn't hurt me one bit to give listening to worship music another try. Perhaps, like new foods, new types of music must be tried repeatedly for them to grow on you.
So I popped the CD into my kitchen player while I sorted laundry and washed dishes. I'm only previously familiar with the second track on the CD, "I Am Free." It's one of my absolute faves, so this is a good start. Before long, I've forgotten my grumpy and un-Christian thinking, and I'm singing along as I do up the dishes, finish sorting the mail, and find myself inspired to knock out those four letters of encouragement. And I have my review. The CD rocks in a gospel-y, worship-y kind of a way. I am humming track 6, "Indescribable," as I write. It might not replace Van Halen or Guns N Roses in my elliptical playlist...well, then again, it might. The songs are all fast enough to exercise to (with only the last three slowing down enough for a cooldown), and they are certainly more inspirational and less angry than GNR to keep me going when I get tired!
If you find yourself in need of new inspiration—or encouraging words to write to someone else—try downloading Worship by the Women of Faith Worship Team from iTunes. My favorite is still "I Am Free": "Who the Son sets free is free indeed!" Now that is freedom!!
So I'm flipping through the mail I tossed on the counter when I came home two hours ago, and there in the pile is the Women of Faith CD I requested last week. I must admit my first, highly un-Christian thought was, "Great. Another unpaid writing assignment." And one that I asked for, no less! Last week they were looking for 50 bloggers to receive their CD for free in exchange for writing a 200+ word review on my blog plus a review on iTunes. I requested the assignment because I liked the idea of trying out a new type of writing. I received the assignment, apparently, because God decided it was time to hit me from a new angle.
Now, I have to tell you that I am a rocker chick at heart. Completely and unabashedly. If it's loud, fast, and has big hair, I probably have the CD. I love the worship music at church every Sunday, and I get fully into it. But when I walk out the door, while I don't leave my faith behind as some people do, I do seem to leave my love of worship music behind. I've tried, but I can't pull away from my rock 'n' roll! But I loved the music at the Women of Faith conference (if you haven't been to one, find one near you and GO! http://www.womenoffaith.com/), I liked the idea of writing a music review, and I knew it wouldn't hurt me one bit to give listening to worship music another try. Perhaps, like new foods, new types of music must be tried repeatedly for them to grow on you.
So I popped the CD into my kitchen player while I sorted laundry and washed dishes. I'm only previously familiar with the second track on the CD, "I Am Free." It's one of my absolute faves, so this is a good start. Before long, I've forgotten my grumpy and un-Christian thinking, and I'm singing along as I do up the dishes, finish sorting the mail, and find myself inspired to knock out those four letters of encouragement. And I have my review. The CD rocks in a gospel-y, worship-y kind of a way. I am humming track 6, "Indescribable," as I write. It might not replace Van Halen or Guns N Roses in my elliptical playlist...well, then again, it might. The songs are all fast enough to exercise to (with only the last three slowing down enough for a cooldown), and they are certainly more inspirational and less angry than GNR to keep me going when I get tired!
If you find yourself in need of new inspiration—or encouraging words to write to someone else—try downloading Worship by the Women of Faith Worship Team from iTunes. My favorite is still "I Am Free": "Who the Son sets free is free indeed!" Now that is freedom!!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Feeding vs. Nourishing: An Observation
For several years now, I've been on a long, slow journey to get my body back in shape. Or maybe just "in shape" to begin with. I never worked out or was athletic in even the remotest sense of the word before. I was just naturally thin my whole life. Until I started having kids. And then I just kept losing most of the baby weight, but never all. After my last baby was born at the age of 35, I had to look in the mirror and wonder what the heck happened?
I have had a lot of stops and starts on my road to a body I can be happy with. Injuries, thyroid issues, and my own brain have been big factors in the effort to slow me down. Loved ones think they're helping, but they're really sabotaging. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to food. And my body itself is in an all-out war for control, from my thyroid at the top all the way to a 2-year-old foot injury at the bottom that refuses to fully heal and go away for good.
Having been naturally thin my whole life, I've never dieted before. I tried a few. Yeah, that will not work. I have no idea how people starve themselves to lose weight. It's impossible for me. If I feel hungry, I'm going to eat, and it's going to be the first crappy thing I can grab and shove in my face! So I did what I do when I have a problem in most other areas of my life--I grabbed a book and started educating myself. I read, and I read, and I read some more. I read about fitness, exercise, nutrition, physiology, metabolism, you name it. If it deals with how all the parts of the body function together as a whole, I've probably read it. It's possible I've earned a degree in exercise physiology and nutrition by now, but I never did any of my reading in affiliation with any university, so the world will never know. My body might not reflect it (yet), but I know what I'm doing in both the gym and the kitchen just as well as any personal trainer or chef.
What I've learned is that getting your body back has a lot more to do with what you eat than how much you exercise. Yes, you must exercise—this keeps all the parts working together properly, stokes your metabolism, and—for me at least—keeps me happy and sane. Some of it is genetics, and there's not one damn thing I can do about that but learn to love the body the good Lord gave me. But that doesn't mean I don't have to take care of it, too. The Lord gave me my children, and I love them with no effort whatsoever, but I also must take care of them. Just like Mom always said--when someone gives you a gift, it's your responsibility to take care of it. Regardless of what that gift is or who gave it to you. And a relatively healthy, functioning body that does everything from digest food properly to walk me from point A to point B (even if there are 10 miles between points A and B), and even creates human life in just 9 short months is certainly a gift that deserves to be well taken care of.
So rather than feeding my body a bunch of diet foods, I've been nourishing it with proper foods. I've started and stopped this a few times over the last two years or so (there is truly an addiction factor to overcome after years of putting processed garbage into your system), but since January of this year, I've gotten very serious about it. After all that reading, I knew what I needed to do. It was simply a matter of putting it into practice. If it has an ingredient list more than 5 or 6 items long, or if there was anything in the ingredient list I can't easily pronounce, it doesn't go into my body. I've worked hard to remove the idea that I should eat for pleasure from my brain (not that eating is no longer pleasurable; I just try not to think of it as a primary source of pleasure anymore) and replace it with the idea of eating for nourishment and fuel. I chart my macros and work toward about 40-50% of calories from protein on any given day, with another 30-40% of my calories coming from complex carbohydrates, and 20% from fats. (Disclaimer: don't try to just adopt this breakdown for yourself. This works for me because my goals are to burn fat and build muscle, and I workout very hard, lifting a lot of heavy weight at the gym, at least five days per week. If you're not doing the same, those ratios will not work for you!).
Anyway, eating this way is not nearly as complicated as it sounds. It basically means eating 3-4 oz. of lean protein (such as egg whites, chicken, or shrimp), plus a small handful of complex carbs (e.g., brown rice, whole wheat pasta or bread, and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables), and a bit of healthy fat (such as avocado or olive oil) 5-6 times each day. Most of the time, it's actually easier than cooking a fancy meal. I've lost about 15 lbs. and 4% body fat so far this year. Not as much as I'd like, but I'm stronger, faster, and I have lower cholesterol and blood pressure than I did at the beginning of the year. And I've gotten my thyroid issues under control without the surgery my endocrinologist was certain I'd require this time last year. So it's well worth it.
Until this past weekend. I knew this would be a bad weekend, food- and exercise-wise. Friday was my birthday (I did start the day at the gym!), Saturday was Jason's 9th birthday party, and Sunday was Jason's actual birthday plus our church family cookout. I figured, "It's one weekend. How bad could it be?" And a look on the scale this morning reveals that it really wasn't terrible from that perspective. I ate healthy for the first 4 meals of the day on Friday, and then had pizza and margaritas for my birthday dinner (while cleaning the kitchen for the next day's party!). Saturday was party food for a late lunch/early dinner (read: one enormous mid-afternoon meal rather than 3 small meals during the same hours like I usually do). This includes cake, puffy orange Cheetos, and several beers. Sunday morning I fed the overnighters Shipley's donuts. As it's been over a year since I've eaten a donut, I convinced myself that I "deserved" one. By midway through church, I couldn't stop yawning, although I felt mildly wired. This was the first sign of trouble. Today, I had to force myself to eat my usual oatmeal and protein powder combination for breakfast (I really wanted a pancake with butter and syrup with my kids), and I was glad I had my daughter's school awards assembly because I didn't feel I could drag myself to the gym (those who know me and my gym schedule understand how shocking that is!).
Today I sit here alone in my house, working, with a big slab of leftover birthday cake calling to me from the kitchen every few minutes. I'm exhausted, unmotivated, and, well, really, really grouchy. Everything and everyone is pissing me off today. Yesterday was similar. I blamed it on being tired from having 9-year-old boys spend the night Saturday night, but the fact is, I got 6 hours of sleep Saturday night (as much as I get on many school nights), and I got a full 7.5 hours last night. Lack of sleep is not causing me to be tired. Or grouchy. Or unmotivated. Poor nutrition is. Yes, only 48 short hours of it!
I used to feel tired, grouchy, and unmotivated most of the time. I thought I was changing, growing up, becoming a better person, and that's why I felt and acted better. In fact, I was just nourishing my body rather than merely feeding it!! The sad part is, just three days of feeding myself garbage has been enough to make a portion of my brain want to just throw in the towel and go back to eating whatever I want—and skipping my beloved workouts! It's a pretty loud voice in there telling me that, too! The Sugar Monster has returned. I thought I had banished it for good, and I am shocked to find just how easily I slid right back into its grip! Now I must start the process of detoxing the garbage from my body again so that I will not be tempted anymore. During all the months I ate healthfully, I never once cared about cake, cookies, donuts, chips, or any of the other garbage I formerly ate with abandon. Three days, just four short meals, and all that hard work is out the window.
Back to the drawing board...and time to learn the lesson for good!
I have had a lot of stops and starts on my road to a body I can be happy with. Injuries, thyroid issues, and my own brain have been big factors in the effort to slow me down. Loved ones think they're helping, but they're really sabotaging. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to food. And my body itself is in an all-out war for control, from my thyroid at the top all the way to a 2-year-old foot injury at the bottom that refuses to fully heal and go away for good.
Having been naturally thin my whole life, I've never dieted before. I tried a few. Yeah, that will not work. I have no idea how people starve themselves to lose weight. It's impossible for me. If I feel hungry, I'm going to eat, and it's going to be the first crappy thing I can grab and shove in my face! So I did what I do when I have a problem in most other areas of my life--I grabbed a book and started educating myself. I read, and I read, and I read some more. I read about fitness, exercise, nutrition, physiology, metabolism, you name it. If it deals with how all the parts of the body function together as a whole, I've probably read it. It's possible I've earned a degree in exercise physiology and nutrition by now, but I never did any of my reading in affiliation with any university, so the world will never know. My body might not reflect it (yet), but I know what I'm doing in both the gym and the kitchen just as well as any personal trainer or chef.
What I've learned is that getting your body back has a lot more to do with what you eat than how much you exercise. Yes, you must exercise—this keeps all the parts working together properly, stokes your metabolism, and—for me at least—keeps me happy and sane. Some of it is genetics, and there's not one damn thing I can do about that but learn to love the body the good Lord gave me. But that doesn't mean I don't have to take care of it, too. The Lord gave me my children, and I love them with no effort whatsoever, but I also must take care of them. Just like Mom always said--when someone gives you a gift, it's your responsibility to take care of it. Regardless of what that gift is or who gave it to you. And a relatively healthy, functioning body that does everything from digest food properly to walk me from point A to point B (even if there are 10 miles between points A and B), and even creates human life in just 9 short months is certainly a gift that deserves to be well taken care of.
So rather than feeding my body a bunch of diet foods, I've been nourishing it with proper foods. I've started and stopped this a few times over the last two years or so (there is truly an addiction factor to overcome after years of putting processed garbage into your system), but since January of this year, I've gotten very serious about it. After all that reading, I knew what I needed to do. It was simply a matter of putting it into practice. If it has an ingredient list more than 5 or 6 items long, or if there was anything in the ingredient list I can't easily pronounce, it doesn't go into my body. I've worked hard to remove the idea that I should eat for pleasure from my brain (not that eating is no longer pleasurable; I just try not to think of it as a primary source of pleasure anymore) and replace it with the idea of eating for nourishment and fuel. I chart my macros and work toward about 40-50% of calories from protein on any given day, with another 30-40% of my calories coming from complex carbohydrates, and 20% from fats. (Disclaimer: don't try to just adopt this breakdown for yourself. This works for me because my goals are to burn fat and build muscle, and I workout very hard, lifting a lot of heavy weight at the gym, at least five days per week. If you're not doing the same, those ratios will not work for you!).
Anyway, eating this way is not nearly as complicated as it sounds. It basically means eating 3-4 oz. of lean protein (such as egg whites, chicken, or shrimp), plus a small handful of complex carbs (e.g., brown rice, whole wheat pasta or bread, and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables), and a bit of healthy fat (such as avocado or olive oil) 5-6 times each day. Most of the time, it's actually easier than cooking a fancy meal. I've lost about 15 lbs. and 4% body fat so far this year. Not as much as I'd like, but I'm stronger, faster, and I have lower cholesterol and blood pressure than I did at the beginning of the year. And I've gotten my thyroid issues under control without the surgery my endocrinologist was certain I'd require this time last year. So it's well worth it.
Until this past weekend. I knew this would be a bad weekend, food- and exercise-wise. Friday was my birthday (I did start the day at the gym!), Saturday was Jason's 9th birthday party, and Sunday was Jason's actual birthday plus our church family cookout. I figured, "It's one weekend. How bad could it be?" And a look on the scale this morning reveals that it really wasn't terrible from that perspective. I ate healthy for the first 4 meals of the day on Friday, and then had pizza and margaritas for my birthday dinner (while cleaning the kitchen for the next day's party!). Saturday was party food for a late lunch/early dinner (read: one enormous mid-afternoon meal rather than 3 small meals during the same hours like I usually do). This includes cake, puffy orange Cheetos, and several beers. Sunday morning I fed the overnighters Shipley's donuts. As it's been over a year since I've eaten a donut, I convinced myself that I "deserved" one. By midway through church, I couldn't stop yawning, although I felt mildly wired. This was the first sign of trouble. Today, I had to force myself to eat my usual oatmeal and protein powder combination for breakfast (I really wanted a pancake with butter and syrup with my kids), and I was glad I had my daughter's school awards assembly because I didn't feel I could drag myself to the gym (those who know me and my gym schedule understand how shocking that is!).
Today I sit here alone in my house, working, with a big slab of leftover birthday cake calling to me from the kitchen every few minutes. I'm exhausted, unmotivated, and, well, really, really grouchy. Everything and everyone is pissing me off today. Yesterday was similar. I blamed it on being tired from having 9-year-old boys spend the night Saturday night, but the fact is, I got 6 hours of sleep Saturday night (as much as I get on many school nights), and I got a full 7.5 hours last night. Lack of sleep is not causing me to be tired. Or grouchy. Or unmotivated. Poor nutrition is. Yes, only 48 short hours of it!
I used to feel tired, grouchy, and unmotivated most of the time. I thought I was changing, growing up, becoming a better person, and that's why I felt and acted better. In fact, I was just nourishing my body rather than merely feeding it!! The sad part is, just three days of feeding myself garbage has been enough to make a portion of my brain want to just throw in the towel and go back to eating whatever I want—and skipping my beloved workouts! It's a pretty loud voice in there telling me that, too! The Sugar Monster has returned. I thought I had banished it for good, and I am shocked to find just how easily I slid right back into its grip! Now I must start the process of detoxing the garbage from my body again so that I will not be tempted anymore. During all the months I ate healthfully, I never once cared about cake, cookies, donuts, chips, or any of the other garbage I formerly ate with abandon. Three days, just four short meals, and all that hard work is out the window.
Back to the drawing board...and time to learn the lesson for good!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Standing in the Crossfire
One of the things I've always been most thankful for is my freedom of speech. As a writer, how could I not be? That doesn't always mean that I choose to exercise it, though. Just because one is free to do something does not always mean that one should do it. When it comes to politics, I generally choose to hold my tongue.
There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is that I live in an extremely politically conservative part of the country, and I am most definitely not politically conservative. This will come as a shock to many of my readers because I don't advertise this fact. Neither am I a liberal, however, and one of the reasons I don't flaunt my politics is because many of my politically conservative friends and relatives find the idea that someone not politically conservative might not be exactly liberal either utterly ridiculous. In fact, I stand somewhere squarely in the middle, one foot firmly on conservative ground with the other planted solidly in the middle of liberal views. Directly in the line of crossfire.
Little wonder I am loathe to exercise one of my most precious freedoms when it comes to politics, no?
Another reason I choose not to discuss politics frequently is that those who do know my standing feel that this gives them freedom to try to sway me to their "side." Endlessly. As if I am not intelligent enough to figure it out for myself. Let me assure everyone now that I am of high intelligence, and the reason I stand so firmly in the middle is that I study nearly every issue and decide on an issue-by-issue basis where I stand on it. And on some issues (for example, health care), I'm pretty conservative. On others (for example, the environment), I'm quite liberal. This means I do not vote along party lines. I've voted for many Republicans. I've voted for many Democrats. In the same election. But I always vote. Even in the "small" elections. And I always know what I'm voting for and about. I just choose not to discuss it ad nauseum with everyone I meet in the checkout line at the grocery store. And I choose to assume that if you are voting differently, it is because you have done your own research and believe the way you are voting is the right way for you and your family. And that is your right. Just as it is my right to vote differently from you and still be treated as an intelligent human being.
I do not, and never will, understand people who vote strictly along party lines. Because of where I live, I am surrounded by many people who believe that if the Republicans say something is true, that's the same as the Word of God. And often they're getting they're information on what the Republicans say is true from Fox News. The worst news information source since CNN. Can someone please tell me what happened to "unbiased media"? It was still being preached during my journalism courses when I was in college a mere 20 years ago. So why is it that in this day and age, when we can get our information any time of day or night, anywhere, anyhow, it is OK for a major news source to be unabashedly biased in everything it reports on? These agencies don't even try to hide their obvious slant; in fact, they apparently embrace it. And otherwise intelligent people eat it up!
I absolutely do not understand this at all. To my stubborn little brain, it is like having them whisper in my ear, over and over again, "We think you're too stupid to figure out your own opinion on this issue, so we'll just go ahead and tell you what you should be thinking." Can someone please just report the facts to me and give me some credit for being able to figure out how I feel about it for myself? And why am I apparently one of only about 3 Americans who feels this way about it? What am I missing here?
In my humble opinion, this is a big part of what is wrong with America today. No one wants to take responsibility for anything. If someone else tells them what to think, then they can blame that source if yet another person disagrees with them. If they don't like what the President is doing, they can simply claim that they voted for the other party. If greedy big business drags the entire country into bankruptcy, we can blame the government, and then (again) claim that we voted for the other party. "Don't blame me," that's our motto. It's not our fault!
I get daily email forwards blaming President Obama for everything bad that is happening in this country now, while giving no credit for any of the good. Never mind that many of these problems existed two years ago, too. And guess what? Two years ago, I was getting similar emails about President Bush. Make up your mind, folks.
And you know what? It really is our own fault. We sit back and allow this to happen by not using our own brains and our own voices and our own rights to free speech and voting. In my opinion, what needs to happen to government in this country is that we just kick them all out on their asses and start over again. If you've held a major political office in the past, you're not eligible anymore. Too bad, so sad, you're morally corrupt, and we're sick of that crap. Then when we've wiped that corrupt slate clean, we can kick out every greedy CEO and CFO in corporate America who is more concerned with this year's bonus check than with what doing what is right and replace them all, too.
Technically, we can't do it that easily. But if all of us "small" people would stop being so lazy and take some responsibility for thinking for ourselves and speaking up about it, we could absolutely make some change happen. It will take some time, and it will be hard work. And everyone will have to pull his or her own weight. No more blaming everything and everyone else. If you don't have an answer yourself, come up with one or back a different one that's already out there. Don't just stand there and complain about the answer that's in front of you. If you don't like it, use your freedom of speech and own up to a better idea!
Put up or shut up, America. And check your sources. If it's an email forwarded from someone your brother's friend's half-sister's daughter "knows and trusts," it's probably not a great source. I'm just saying. And if it's a biased media outlet that freely mixes fact with opinion, you'll have to sort it out yourself. The facts are most likely good facts, but the opinions are still just opinions, even if they're stated as fact. So exercise your God-given freedom to think for yourself. You were given a brain by a greater power than even the President of the United States of America. So use it already!
There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is that I live in an extremely politically conservative part of the country, and I am most definitely not politically conservative. This will come as a shock to many of my readers because I don't advertise this fact. Neither am I a liberal, however, and one of the reasons I don't flaunt my politics is because many of my politically conservative friends and relatives find the idea that someone not politically conservative might not be exactly liberal either utterly ridiculous. In fact, I stand somewhere squarely in the middle, one foot firmly on conservative ground with the other planted solidly in the middle of liberal views. Directly in the line of crossfire.
Little wonder I am loathe to exercise one of my most precious freedoms when it comes to politics, no?
Another reason I choose not to discuss politics frequently is that those who do know my standing feel that this gives them freedom to try to sway me to their "side." Endlessly. As if I am not intelligent enough to figure it out for myself. Let me assure everyone now that I am of high intelligence, and the reason I stand so firmly in the middle is that I study nearly every issue and decide on an issue-by-issue basis where I stand on it. And on some issues (for example, health care), I'm pretty conservative. On others (for example, the environment), I'm quite liberal. This means I do not vote along party lines. I've voted for many Republicans. I've voted for many Democrats. In the same election. But I always vote. Even in the "small" elections. And I always know what I'm voting for and about. I just choose not to discuss it ad nauseum with everyone I meet in the checkout line at the grocery store. And I choose to assume that if you are voting differently, it is because you have done your own research and believe the way you are voting is the right way for you and your family. And that is your right. Just as it is my right to vote differently from you and still be treated as an intelligent human being.
I do not, and never will, understand people who vote strictly along party lines. Because of where I live, I am surrounded by many people who believe that if the Republicans say something is true, that's the same as the Word of God. And often they're getting they're information on what the Republicans say is true from Fox News. The worst news information source since CNN. Can someone please tell me what happened to "unbiased media"? It was still being preached during my journalism courses when I was in college a mere 20 years ago. So why is it that in this day and age, when we can get our information any time of day or night, anywhere, anyhow, it is OK for a major news source to be unabashedly biased in everything it reports on? These agencies don't even try to hide their obvious slant; in fact, they apparently embrace it. And otherwise intelligent people eat it up!
I absolutely do not understand this at all. To my stubborn little brain, it is like having them whisper in my ear, over and over again, "We think you're too stupid to figure out your own opinion on this issue, so we'll just go ahead and tell you what you should be thinking." Can someone please just report the facts to me and give me some credit for being able to figure out how I feel about it for myself? And why am I apparently one of only about 3 Americans who feels this way about it? What am I missing here?
In my humble opinion, this is a big part of what is wrong with America today. No one wants to take responsibility for anything. If someone else tells them what to think, then they can blame that source if yet another person disagrees with them. If they don't like what the President is doing, they can simply claim that they voted for the other party. If greedy big business drags the entire country into bankruptcy, we can blame the government, and then (again) claim that we voted for the other party. "Don't blame me," that's our motto. It's not our fault!
I get daily email forwards blaming President Obama for everything bad that is happening in this country now, while giving no credit for any of the good. Never mind that many of these problems existed two years ago, too. And guess what? Two years ago, I was getting similar emails about President Bush. Make up your mind, folks.
And you know what? It really is our own fault. We sit back and allow this to happen by not using our own brains and our own voices and our own rights to free speech and voting. In my opinion, what needs to happen to government in this country is that we just kick them all out on their asses and start over again. If you've held a major political office in the past, you're not eligible anymore. Too bad, so sad, you're morally corrupt, and we're sick of that crap. Then when we've wiped that corrupt slate clean, we can kick out every greedy CEO and CFO in corporate America who is more concerned with this year's bonus check than with what doing what is right and replace them all, too.
Technically, we can't do it that easily. But if all of us "small" people would stop being so lazy and take some responsibility for thinking for ourselves and speaking up about it, we could absolutely make some change happen. It will take some time, and it will be hard work. And everyone will have to pull his or her own weight. No more blaming everything and everyone else. If you don't have an answer yourself, come up with one or back a different one that's already out there. Don't just stand there and complain about the answer that's in front of you. If you don't like it, use your freedom of speech and own up to a better idea!
Put up or shut up, America. And check your sources. If it's an email forwarded from someone your brother's friend's half-sister's daughter "knows and trusts," it's probably not a great source. I'm just saying. And if it's a biased media outlet that freely mixes fact with opinion, you'll have to sort it out yourself. The facts are most likely good facts, but the opinions are still just opinions, even if they're stated as fact. So exercise your God-given freedom to think for yourself. You were given a brain by a greater power than even the President of the United States of America. So use it already!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)