When we went around the table at Thanksgiving, I was thankful for my arm. With the elbow injury curtailing 14 months of my life, I learned to appreciate every single little movement. Every day I made the best of it but could never fully participate in most of my daily activities. When the cast was on I couldn’t even type. I could only fight with three limbs in kickboxing. I couldn’t do most yoga poses. Every grocery bag, book, pot, and door required me to pause. My arm held me back so I had to push a little harder no matter what I was doing.
Lately I found myself trying to think of all the new activities and goals I could add to my life to make it better. Usually we think of new things when we want to improve our lives. If only I did this or that, things would be better.
One afternoon as I sat around trying to figure out what to do with my life, I thought through all my options, gifts, and skills. With great awareness and happiness, it occurred to me that I already had all the most wonderful possibilities in my life. I really wasn’t appreciating most of them, just as I didn’t appreciate the use of my arm until it was gone.
Later on the same day, this Frederick Koenig quote flitted through one of my many online feeds:
We tend to forget that happiness doesn’t come as a result of getting something we don’t have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.
I couldn’t express it better myself. My happiness will grow by appreciating the reach I already have. Now I take the time each day to make sure I do.
When I was a little girl of about 5 years old, my Aunt Dorothy would stand me up on tables to sing the latest pop songs to her friends at parties. Since I knew every word, I was their entertainment. I remember their delight as they told me I would be a singer.
Later on many of these same people thought I would sing in the church choir but my deep voice was never welcomed during recitals as a child or the choir as an adult. One time when a group was supposed to sing a modern pop song during church, the rest barely sung and I carried the tune. Afterwards someone commented that it was unfortunate that I was the only one who really wanted to sing since everyone else’s higher voices would have been better.
Throughout the years I always backed down when it came to singing. I’d say ”I have a deep voice.” or “I can’t sing.” My innocent happiness when singing had been whittled away by others.
Out of the clear blue someone recently told me that more than a couple of women with my voice would ruin a choir. Since I wasn’t even saying I wanted to be in the choir, I didn’t know why this had to be emphasized to me.
Despite all the negativity about my deep voice throughout the years, I sing every day. A teacher’s aide recently noted that I must talk with a bluetooth because she sees me moving my lips in the car and she didn’t think I was singing. I let her believe it was a bluetooth. Since I had my first child 13 years ago, I’ve sung every night at bedtime. There’s always a song in the car, in the shower, in my heart.
But can I sing? Recently I found my maracas in the back of the closet and decided to turn on the video camera and record myself. My head was cut off so I raised the lens and did it again. Here’s my quick rendition of Linkin Park’s “The Little Things Give You Away”:
When my youngest son came home, I made him watch it in order to tell me if I should be embarrassed and take it down from YouTube. He thought it was not embarrassing and also thought I was really sad during the sad parts. My older son also said it was great and he didn’t know I could sing so well. As a third check, my husband blurted out “And you told me you couldn’t sing when we first dated.” He thought it was good even though he didn’t understand what it was doing on YouTube.
As their three opinions are the only ones that truly matter to me, I finally think I might not sound too bad. Today I heard my oldest son telling a complete stranger in a waiting room that I was a singer. Of all the things I do, this is how he decided to describe me but he undoubtedly has heard me more than anyone in the world.
Of course we can all sing. But whether we think it is good or not is truly in the ear of the beholder. Making this video has restored some of my childhood love of singing which had been beaten down over the years and sent into hiding.
Remember what made you happy as a child. If something brings you joy, it is joy. Don’t listen to the chorus.
Lately I’ve hit some rough patches. Things haven’t gone the way I’d hoped. Crossroads can be confusing times in your life.
One day my husband surprised me by saying I needed to watch It’s A Wonderful Life because I had made a difference in many lives even if I would never know it. Although I didn’t think it was obvious, at that moment I wasn’t certain of my accomplishments and his words gave me solace.
In the back of my head I believed him. I believed he knew what I meant to the lives around me even if I couldn’t see it myself.
Then small little glimpses started to be revealed.
Although I was in a slump one day, I forced myself to go to the press conference for an art installation to cover it for the local blog I spend so much time on each day. I went through the motions. I might have written down five words and took some pictures. When I came home I forced myself to write the article and a barrage of comments filled the blog post congratulating the artists. I realized by taking the time, I really made a difference for them.
This Sunday as I entered church, a woman quickly told me they were all taking the music director out to a brand new restaurant which was reviewed on the blog. Although I hadn’t written the article, I had reached out to a friend to write the review. She had enjoyed the experience and now a broader community would too.
Later when I was getting a cup of coffee, a friend told me how much reading the local blog means to her and how she tells everyone about it. Her happiness and dedication surprised me.
As I was leaving church, a boy and his mom followed me for a block in the freezing temperature because he recognized me and wanted to say hello to his cub scout leader.
As I stood on the street, a woman came up to me and started to tell me the renovation of her historic home was progressing so we could sit down together for an interview. The only other example of this type of architecture in our City had been demolished and she was excited to share the last of its kind with everyone.
Then someone wrote on my Facebook wall that she had gone to a concert because I wrote about it on the blog and “it was great”.
To finish up the day, a woman sat at my table at a family dinner. She was looking to buy a house and when I mentioned the blog. She looked at me and said, “Are you that Griffiths?” A complete stranger then told me she gets the daily email and knew about my real estate listing.
My husband was right. I don’t have any idea how many lives I touch in my community. None of these things are very big deals, just the little bits of glue which make us all feel connected.
When I’m alone with my laptop making decisions and receiving negative feedback, the experience can be difficult. Now I have my own little Wonderful Life episode to remind me we should never give up hope.
I’m sure I’ll need to read it again but I am grateful, so very grateful.
Three years ago the Silver Spring Zombie Walk was started by a few local bloggers who decided to invite the readers to show up as zombies. Since I wanted to see the turnout inspired by these blogs and I always enjoy a fun time, my husband and I doned some white powder and makeup and ventured back to our old Silver Spring neighborhood. Doing our best to appear to be the walking undead, we dragged our legs along and observed. Much to our delight, everyone was friendly, talked, and a great camaraderie grew. We were immediately part of the group even though we didn’t know anyone. The spontaneous gathering attracted between 100-200 people.
With big crowds lining the route this year, the 3rd annual event grew to over 2,000. If you’ve experienced the Zombie Walk, you know the reasons why. If you see the pictures and wonder why anyone would ever do this, here’s what’s going on! The Silver Spring Zombie Walk mixes interactive theater, creativity, community, and straight-up fun for a out-of-the-ordinary escapade.
Community. People come to meet friends and see their costumes/makeup. Almost everyone walks with someone they know. The main focus is being together to share the smiles and laughs. This is something you definitely talk about around the water cooler or over the backyard fence. This year, while looking for one group of friends, I lost track of my other friends. I found myself completely alone and the Zombie Walk had started. After looking around at the crowd, I realized I’d be fine by myself because everyone in this massive crowd was in this together. You become part of a broader community.
Creativity.Dressing and pretending to be a zombie allows participants to express themselves creatively. Being a zombie goes beyond a typical Halloween costume because you need a personality too. If you don’t perform on stage or act in some capacity, you most likely don’t have many imaginative outlets in your daily life. Being a zombie allows innovative commentary about our society, our flaws, and our icons. Santa, Yogi, Superman, and Politician Zombies populate the wonderful craziness of this pretend world.
Breaking The Norms. In society we share expectations of how we all should behave. Stepping outside these learned behaviors is a treat. During the zombie walk, our norms are disregarded which results in an exciting, unstructured event. The freedom to growl, scream, and flail at strangers is certainly an attraction, but seeing others behave as zombies is just as thrilling.
Interactive Theater. The Zombie Walk is a live, free, ad lib show. This year a Zombie Hunter walked with a working chainsaw protruding through an unsuspecting zombie. A pretend policeman used his club to defend the innocent crowd. A very authentic looking Jesus attempted to bless and save lost zombie souls. If you are a zombie, each step brings an opportunity to act. These on-the-spot performances are a rare occurrence worth experiencing. When in college I did gorilla theater to create awareness about Apartheid, so I’ve always loved spontaneous theater.
Spontaneity. During the first zombie walk, almost everyone in Silver Spring was unsuspecting. The blogs informed their readers but the general population was unaware. The unsuspecting reacted. Managers locked business doors and everyone moved away from the windows. A lone security guard bravely ran toward his office building doors to lock out the chaos. One woman in a restaurant window was visibly shaken. This year the event had regional newspaper coverage and WTOP was even given traffic advisories to avoid the area during the Walk. People at outside restaurant tables had obviously planned their ring-side perch. Only one woman reacted unfavorably to the knife through my head as we walked to the event early in the evening. Although a more institutionalized and planned event can quash some of the radical uniqueness, individual behavior can always bring it back.
Escapism. If people go to see zombie movies as a form of escapism, then a live zombie walk has to be even better. When you are at a zombie walk you escape in much the same way as when you see a movie, except you are the movie. Whether zombies snarl at you when you are standing on the sidewalk or you actively participate by defending yourself from zombies or you scrape by as the undead, you are automatically participating. When bystanders hold up their phones to take a picture and the zombies react, they are brought into the performance. With so many hundreds of zombies, it’s difficult not to begin to imagine the situation is real, or could be real, while the movie rolls all around you.
Shared Experience. A professional photographer commented, “I wish they would all put down their phones so I can get a picture.” Because of the great excitement and fun, people constantly took pictures and video. Even a police officer blocking an intersection for the Walk had a gigantic smile on his face as he snapped photos nonstop with his phone. You could tell he was having the best time on duty. The Zombie Walk is not something you can keep to yourself.
It’s impossible to have this much fun and keep it a secret. Step into the zombie world and live.
When I picked up Wild Goose Chase by Mark Batterson, the idea of a spiritual adventure intrigued me. I was looking forward to something new. A year later I’ve realized what influenced me the most from the book involves looking back.
In the chapter entitled “A Rooster’s Crow”, Pavlov’s dog-salivation experiment which led to the concept of a “conditioned reflex”, is used to make the point that our lives are “an elaborate repertoire of conditioned reflexes”.
But whether they are big or small, conscious or subconscious, harmless or harmful, one thing is certain: we are far more conditioned than we realize.
He goes on to imagine how Peter must have felt every time he heard a cock crow. Jesus had told him he would deny him three times before the rooster crowed and just as he finished his third denial, a rooster did crow. For the rest of his life, Peter would have to wake to his greatest failure.
At first I didn’t think much of this chapter, but I became aware of the concept. One day as I was driving, a metro bus pulled beside me and I realized I was gripping the steering wheel tensely. Because a bus had collided with my car a few months earlier when I pulled into an exit lane from a parking lot, I was unknowingly carrying around the turmoil of the accident. Since a bus stop was located in the exit lane, the bus had the right-of-way. I was at fault. I was guilty of causing the accident. Until I read the book, I hadn’t been conscious of the reflex I was having with every bus on the road. Daily driving was destroying my confidence and peace.
Do certain situations, sounds, or sights bring back your pain?
We all have failings and feel guilty. Becoming aware of the reflex is the first step in healing which allows us to go forward and find happiness.
I know of someone who had sexual encounters in the men’s locker room at the gym. He’s struggled with changing gyms and leaving them altogether. With a family at home, the guilt about his transgressions must have been so overwhelming each time he saw gym equipment, even at another location.
We can’t live with such enormous pain in our lives without destroying ourselves.
How can we heal from the small and enormous failings in our lives? Living with secrets or avoiding reminders is a temporary fix. The triggers are still there. We need to find a way to truly forgive ourselves before the pain will leave. We need to break the “cage of guilt”. Only by fighting back the bad thoughts then finding peace and forgiveness, can we be happy.
Months after our vacation to Acadia National Park, I’m still struck by the astounding beauty of the rocky shorelines and mountain peaks. But another thought has grown in my mind and brought me to action.
During one of our tours, the guide explained that over the years Acadia National Park was pieced together with donations of property. One individual gave away 4,000 acres of this prime real estate.
The wealthy bought this property for their own use. Far from civilization and unique to the East Coast, the mountain views of the Atlantic Ocean were unsurpassed. During the 1800′s expansive hotels were built close to the shorelines. If people had not given the land away, one can only imagine the developed sprawl which would have been built. Those hotels from 200 years ago are large, even by today’s standards.
So why to you give away 4,000 acres? That’s a lot of property and a lot of money.
For some this public purpose to save this pristine place for future generations trumped any future financial deals. All the donors would have had to love this place more than their wealth. Perhaps for some, this was small potatoes compared to everything they owned, but it’s still a sacrifice.
Since we came home from vacation, my husband and I have made the largest one-time donation on record for our family. It felt good to give the money and I understood how it might feel to make a bigger donation. We could make a difference. This isn’t anywhere near what we dream of doing, but it’s a first step as I aspire to give away my 4,000 acres.
I can’t help by feel overwhelming appreciation for all the people who made Acadia a reality as its beauty still lightens my spirit and their generosity challenges my selfishness.
Blogging has an “anything goes” reputation. Bloggers are known to go off on extreme tangents and tell you exactly what they think. Sometimes anonymous, sometimes angry, blogging has traditionally been known as ranting.
For me, blogging is the opposite. Sometimes around elections I feel like I’m going to burst.
Through the years, I’ve never been one to tell people how to vote. Often people ask me, even on Election Day, when they show up at the poles and want to do the right thing but realize they haven’t been paying enough attention. They don’t know the difference. They want someone they trust who has been paying attention to tell them how to vote. I won’t do it.
I’ll never forget the time I took an Iranian neighbor to the polls to vote as an American citizen for the first time. She asked me to explain the issues. I fairly and evenly laid out the arguments on both sides. After all, I was a philosophy major and that’s what we do. Then she proceeded to tell me how she was voting and it was opposite of how I was voting. At least I had proof of my abilities.
So here I am blogging for our local community blog. We don’t endorse candidates and welcome the arguments on both sides of the issues. I see comments on the blog and I can’t respond. I can’t join in with my opinion. If there are facts, I can correct them, but I can’t even tell my friends who I’m really supporting.
Last night I sat there for a long time on Facebook staring at a friend’s status. I completely agree with him. I feel people are not saying it enough. I had the comment open. I stopped myself.
Thank goodness for my husband. He gets the brunt of it and we’re not even in the same political party.
I’ve argued with a journalist on her blog about whether I can actually write about my community while participating in it. I know I can. If I have an opinion, I tell everyone up front but I won’t ever admit who’s getting my vote.
Lately I feel like everyone’s entitled to their own opinion except for me. How crazy is it that a blogger can’t give her opinion?
This summer a small group of Cub Scouts from my Pack went away to sleepover camp. Four moms joined me as adult leaders. It never occurred to me that a group of women would be noticed, never mind create a stir.
One night we had to prepare our own fire then make “foil dinners”. You take meat and vegetables and wrap them in foil then throw them in coals from a fire. We had apples with sugar and cinnamon to cook for desert. I pride myself on building fires so I had the boys fixing and lighting it in no time. We ate our dinner and dessert then started on our own supplies to make smores. Our camp guide, a 17-year-old Boy Scout named Earl, came to our site to hang out then went to the adjacent site to offer his help since they were still cooking. They replied “Oh no, we don’t need any help, but there are women down there who might.” Earl ran down the hill laughing to tell us.
We all couldn’t believe the men thought we needed help because we were women. We joined in his laughter especially since they seemed unprepared for this task.
Earlier in the week, the district executive invited all the leaders from six scout camps to a special steak and potato dinner at the main post. When I looked around the 200 or so leaders, I could only spot one other woman. Later during a firework display, a male leader asked how we convinced moms to be involved. None of their moms wanted anything to do with cub scouts. I explained we always had a balance of moms and dads and I worked to recruit all the parents. I thought it was a shame that none of the women would step forward for him. We obviously stuck out among the 800 people in attendance.
The next day the all-male leaders who shared our dinner table asked how my day was going as we floated down a stream together. I was having a great day after shooting 2 bullseyes at the archery range then catching a fish, so I told them. That evening a dad from our Pack arrived to stay for a few days. When our dad joined the table at dinner, they were immediately jolly, slapping him on the back and commenting that they wondered if we had any men in our Pack. Truthfully, I hadn’t been eating meals with them all week wondering if they had any women in their Pack. From our earlier conversation that day, they must have been able to tell I knew what I was doing.
Being a young girl in the 70’s, I always thought I was equal. In my mind I have never questioned it. I know women still don’t get paid at the same rate as men for the same job, but I always consider myself equal in my day-to-day life. I wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.
My cub scouts had a great week. The boys were Pack of the Day and received quality unit and adventure awards for extra accomplishments. We were top notch under our leadership which just happened to be female. The reactions seem ridiculous to me, but I know our boys won’t have them. Their moms rocked the outdoors. They’re not having an education in sexism. They’re being shown women can do everything.
Today, in honor of Father’s Day, I have a guest post from my son who just finished 7th grade.
His teacher sent his original exam question to us through the U.S. Mail. She included a letter explaining students had to respond to a prompt comparing two texts then added:
I have enjoyed reading these essays by my students, but your son’s was so heartfelt I thought you might enjoy reading as well.
As a gift to my husband on Father’s Day, here is my son’s answer to his semester exam question:
The greatest bond that can be created, the one that can never be broken, is the bond between father and child. I have one of these bonds with my dad. I love and admire him. These are the exact same feelings that the speaker and the narrator have towards their dads.
The main feeling that both the writers have towards their dads is love. You can tell because in Cheaper By The Dozen the writer says, “How we loved him then.” This actually says that they love him, the writer included. The writer of My Father Is A Simple Man also has great feelings of love for his father. You can tell because he says “I’d gladly give my life for this man.” That is a perfect example of unconditional love. The writer loves his father so much he would make the ultimate and final sacrifice for him. The bond between father and son sits on a gossamer web of love.
The other main feeling of the bond is admiration. To the writers and me a smile means success. A man who has everything from maturity to responsibility is so much higher up the ladder of life than you. When he reaches out his hand to help you up what else can you feel but admiration. The writer of My Father Is A Simple Man understands this and his admiration is shown by the quote “whose kindness and patience are true …?” The writer is talking about his father and the fact that he sees these two attributes shows that he respects and admires his father. The writer of Cheaper By The Dozen also shows admiration in the quote “… and then we’d throw our arms around him.” This clearly shows admiration and probably love. In total when you put admiration and love together it’s like the sun and moon, dark and light, and ying and yang working together with a conundrum so powerful that the bond cannot be broken.
There are things I will never understand in this world. Girls is one of them but if there is one thing I do understand it is the bond of father and child. It cannot be broken once it is made. If admiration is lost, love will bring it back. If love is lost, admiration will bring it back. In the end, love and admiration are the two most powerful forces there are and if a bond is made of them that nothing, not even a nuke, can break it.
I add all my love and send it along with my son’s.
This morning I went to a breakfast to talk about politics, development projects and our kids. Since it was a light summer day I threw on a sleeveless sundress and sandals. On the way home I decided to pick up a few things in my usual grocery store.
A few aisles into the store, a man stood, stared and said “You are sexy” in a perverted way. I ignored him. As I walked along I started to feel weak in my dress and sandals. Since I started kickboxing there have been a couple of occasions where I felt threatened and a solid, powerful confidence gave me determination. When I work out, sometimes it’s just exercise and sometimes I’m really beating on the bag. There is a difference. If something bad happened, I always believed in the strong version of myself.
As I walked down the next aisle, I felt vulnerable. I felt girlish and silly in a dress and sandals and completely unable to defend myself. The only strong thought I had was of Byron, my favorite instructor, showing us three ways to elbow strike during the previous night’s training. Then he was in my face again “Will you make me breakfast.” The pervert.
I’ve always found ignoring works best. Although he didn’t say anything, he kept going back and forth past me in every aisle with one thing in his hands.
When I checked out, I did the only smart thing in this entire episode. I told the cashier a man had been bothering me and making comments so that I felt uncomfortable. She asked me if I saw him and I didn’t’. While she was checking me out, I did see him leave the store but didn’t say anything. If something happened to me, hopefully they would recognize me and check the store video cameras for the guy who was bothering me.
I was glad he was outside because I could be in control. Since he should have been long gone and I didn’t see him, I went to load my car. Sure enough, he drove past me toward the store, away from the exits. I quickly finished putting my bags in the car then started to drive.
Here’s where I made another big mistake. I did not pay enough attention to his vehicle and did not get his license plate. All I could thing about was escape. When I started to drive and had to wait for a light, I looked around making sure he wasn’t following me.
This could be serious. You can find someone by looking up their plates. He could find me but I couldn’t find him.
Now I was really upset with myself. Not only had I failed dismally to have the confidence to physically defend myself, I had also failed to get good evidence to identify him.
In a few short minutes this absolute pervert had torn me down. I spent my whole time driving home making sure no car even slightly resembling his car was anywhere near me.
I was sick and disgusted. And finally angry. By the time I changed into casual clothes, I could have beat him badly. I don’t care what you think of me for wanting to defend myself. This was not the usual staring and gawking. He was a predator.
I’m so sick of men doing this to women, degrading them. I’m sick of the defenseless feeling. This man is exhibiting behavior which could become worse and worse until he does rape a woman.
I would gladly kick his ass even if I am crying and degraded.
Along the way I've discovered a love for blogging. First for my local community with RockvilleCentral.com (now exclusively on Facebook), then almost immediately with TryingNotToBNeg.com when I needed to express my thoughts beyond Rockville, MD.
My company, OnlineandInPerson.com works with businesses, organizations and individuals to improve communications with social media and offers complete marketing plans along with ongoing assistance and training for owners, staff, and members. When not practicing yoga or kickboxing, I spend my free time volunteering to make lives better in our community.
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