Obama Wants Me To Write This Blog!

 

In an attempt to find a stimulus package that will boost my blog readership, I decided to take a candid look at the Obama Presidency.

Although I am really not one to discuss politics, I will venture out on a limb here and hope that I am not disowned by friends and members of my own family. I have always considered myself an Independent. I vote for the person who I feel is the better candidate for the job regardless of political party. There has never been a candidate in either party that is firmly aligned with my views, so I consider the points that I feel are most important and vote based on that.  Most of my family, however, is staunch Republican.  This year’s Presidential election created quite the stir. Although I had often voted across party lines for lower political offices, for the first time in my voting life, I crossed party lines and voted for a Democrat for President.

What swayed me this time around? I wanted change. Barack Obama had the perfect message at the perfect time. Now, the change that I wanted did not necessarily have anything to do with the change that he suggested, but it spoke to me personally. I was tired of feeling ignored. I wanted change in my job. I wanted change in my marriage. I wanted change in my pocketbook.  I felt like very few cared about me as an individual, so Barack Obama’s message and manner hit a chord.

Now, several of you here are going to bring up the fact that I have not talked about real qualifications such as experience with foreign policy, economic stimulation, or social service reform. Those are all very valid areas to consider. I am reminded, however, of the old saying, “If you keep repeating the same actions, you are going to keep getting the same results.” That’s where I think Barack won the election. He promised not to do the same things. He may not have as much experience as McCain, but he had hope and he gave hope to millions of others like me.

We will always face the same underlying problems in human existence.  People will be filled with greed, gluttony, envy, wrath, and the other vices. Those underlying themes will always be the Bain of human existence.  They are what got us all into this mess, not one political party versus another. We as individuals were greedy. Companies were greedy. Foreign leaders who steal elections and threaten others to get their own way are greedy.

The ways that we display those vices is ever changing though. People used to threaten others with their fists. Then they threatened with guns. Now they threaten with nuclear bombs. We have to adapt how we respond as the world evolves. If we don’t, we will become extinct. The same is true for political parties. Barack pledged to find different solutions to some of those growing problems. McCain didn’t.  The Republican Party this time around reminded me of an annoying little sister who kept chasing after Obama and trying to imitate what he said and did.

So now we have a President who has promised the change that we all want.  There are many who haveplaced him into the ranks of an Untouchable. There are actually Super Hero Bobble Head dolls of Obama now and a very detailed pose-able action figure where he can wield swords and guns. Everywhere you look there are ads trying to convince people that Obama wants them to buy this car or Obama wants them to go back to school.  Everyone is trying to cash in on this ray of hope. Now he will have to prove that he can combine his new ideas with sound decision making, and with all of the glamorization, it will be tough to prove it.

Obama IS touchable. He is a person just like you and I who want something better.  I am sure that he will make mistakes along the way. Change is not easy. There will be growing pains. There will be resistance. There will be fear. It can’t be all about him though. If we really do want change, then we have to be willing to change ourselves. It’s easy to blame others when we stand by and do nothing. That’s not what America or the world needs right now. Along with the vices, there are other things that we need to bring into play: forgiveness, honesty, integrity, love, and foremost, responsibility. Despite your political affiliation, that is where we all need to start.

Fired because of Facebook

As more and more people join the Facebook nation especially with the dawn of mobile updates, the temptation to post at work and about work is ever present. If you are a Facebook citizen, the likelihood of you logging on while at work is probably pretty high. Some employers have been cracking down demanding that social networking on the job is affecting productivity. Other employers believe that allowing workers to take a momentary hiatus from work will actually help workers focus. Regardless of your work’s policy, posting at work or about work can actually get you fired. Just ask Chris Pestow from Indianapolis.

According to Bob Segall of Channel 13 News, “For more than two months, State Police have been investigating officer Chris Pestow for what he posted on Facebook.  The state trooper used the Internet site to publicly brag of heavy drinking, to post photos of his banged-up police car, and to show another police officer holding a gun to his head. That was just the beginning. But Wednesday, it resulted in the end of a career for this ISP officer.” Apparently, not only did Officer Pestow make poor judgment by posting controversial topics and pictures on his site calling himself a “garbage man” who was picking up “trash”, he was also posting while on duty.   

This seems like a fairly clear cut case. He broke company policy by posting at work and lowered his department’s integrity by posting images and comments about himself in his role as a public servant. The State Police have since developed a new policy making it clear that employees cannot post anything on the Internet that might embarrass the department. But what about other cases out there? What is you did not post at work or post anything about work. What if you simply put up pictures or comments about yourself that your employer felt was unbecoming?

Last year a high school teacher was fired after she posted a photo of herself on MySpace dressed as a pirate with an unidentified drink in her hand. The caption under the photo was “drunken pirate”. She was not at work when the incident occurred or at work when she posted the photo. Would the school have treated her the same if a community member saw her dressed up on Halloween with an unidentified drink in hand instead of it being posted on the Internet?

Another young worker in Britain was fired after posting that she was “bored at work.”(NBC San Diego) She didn’t even name her place of employment. The boss found out by reading her updated status. Hmmm…and what was the boss doing on Facebook during working hours? Just checking on his employees? He stated that the firing was justified because she was apparently unhappy at work; therefore, he determined that it would not work out.

There are many more examples where employees through direct or indirect comments have been disciplined or terminated for what they posted online. Where is the line between a company’s right to maintain a positive image and an individual’s right to freedom of speech? After all, this is the United States of America, not Iran. So far the government has not blocked Facebook because someone said something that it might consider embarrassing. Employees do need to be loyal to their employer or find another job, but employers also need to be concerned about more than their image. If employees feel the need to vent publically about their work environment, there are probably greater underlying staff morale issues that need to be addressed. You may fire the one who speaks out, but you are not solving the problem. If the people who work for you don’t believe in you, then you won’t be successful.

What’s the bottom line? Be careful about what you write and put online. My mother always told me never to put anything down that might come back to haunt you later. It is very easy to type things online and click that send or submit button. I’ve done that more than once in late night e-mails that I’ve regretted sending the next morning. As a society, we are losing a very important skill that used to help us monitor what we say. With the dawn of texting, posting, and chatting, we are losing the ability to read body language and listen to tone of voice. We think less of what we say and we interpret other written messages differently than the writer intended.  The way we communicate with each other is quickly changing and our strategies for interpreting and reacting to those changes must transform as well. God help us if one day we can actually read each other’s minds.

Freelance Reality Show

In the spirit of uncluttering my life and finding the “callings of my soul” as Matt Dyer puts it, I left (with the help of my employer) a well paying job that consumed every drop of blood, every spare moment of my time, and every penny of spare change that I managed to find in the sofa after my in-laws came to visit.  After the first shock wave of, “Hey! I’m unemployed in a really horrible economy,” I actually found myself elated. I was free, free at last! The problem, of course, is that nothing else in this world is free.

This presented me with a new problem. How do I pay the bills? Well, of course I started applying for every job remotely related to my college degrees and got rid of every “luxury” service that we could do without. My daughter still has not forgiven me for dropping text messaging. I also went through all of my professional books and starting selling them on Amazon. Heck, I didn’t need them anymore! I was unemployed! Every penny counts!

It was at this time that I decided to pursue the love of my life: writing. I hit the road running, of course, with full enthusiasm. I was going to publish that novel that I have always wanted. I was going to start my own freelance writing business. I was going to sit at home in my pajamas all day with mediation music playing and let the words flow. They did flow…for about a week. I wrote 8 pathetic chapters in my novel. When I say 8, I am really exaggerating. There are technically 8 because there are 8 scene changes or time transitions, but the chapters are incredibly short. I started comparing my writing to the authors that I love–Cooney, Myers, Draper, and Paulsen–and my writing began to look more and more pathetic by the moment.

Still, I couldn’t give up. I created online ads, an online website, subscribed to online freelance writing sites. I started an author club and enlisted the help of former students to help me review my novel. The kids loved it, of course. One wants to beat up one of the characters.  They also asked me why my chapters were so short.  I am also smart enough to know, however,  if I told an agent that they should sign me because my students and my mother and my dentist  all love my work, it would only get me a smirk and perhaps the courtesy of not throwing my manuscript away in front of my face. I’m not sure about the last part.

As far as freelancing, I now realize that there are billions of writers out there trying to do the same thing that I am. I was used to working for $40 an hour.  There are so many freelance writers, I’m lucky to get a job writing for less than $10 an hour.  Starting off has been tough. I finally got some contracts. One promises to bring in some substantial cash, but I’m leery.  I know very little about the client and they are not very forthcoming with personal information to check them out. I feel like I’m on the verge of a major scam.  I need to build a portfolio. I need customers to build a portfolio. I need a portfolio to get customers…the proverbial chicken and the egg.

In the meantime, now that my career with full benefits has ended, by daughter (whom we just put braces on) needed emergency oral surgery and my son has already been out to the emergency room with what we swore was a broken finger.  My daughter is also a part of a school organization that requires $800 paid by August 1^st.  The bottom line: I needed a job with benefits and I needed it now.  I applied at every bookstore, publisher, and library within driving distance. I even considered those beyond driving distance. I EVEN considered selling the house and all of my earthly possessions (except for my laptop of course)and moving to the Cayman Islands to live like a bum on the beach for the rest of my life.

Ultimately I was offered a job—teaching English at a local college and developing their library program. It’s a 40 hour week with full benefits and a lot more time to come home and actually spend time with my family and write. At the last job, I could do neither.  It is only about 1/2 of my last salary though, so I am still pursuing the freelance writing work. I figure that to bring in what I was making, I will have to work another 35 hours a week on top of my full time job and bring in a minimum of $2,500 from writing each month.  I know that is not likely, and I don’t even think that I want it. Those days of keeping up with the “Jones” no longer matters much to me.  I want to write because it brings me pleasure. I want to write to inspire others, open doors of opportunity, and change the lives of those around me. 

So, Matt Dyer, who has inspired me to pursue my dreams, urges me not to give up. According to him, “the age of my body has no bearing on what I do or who I am,” even though I have spent the last 3 years being called a “dinosaur” by my students and being passed up repeatedly by pretty, young,  upcoming stars who have no children or obligations outside of work. He tells me that I can accomplish anything that I set my mind to because my attitude plays a big part in how successful I am. I have to admit, since losing my last job, my attitude HAS completely changed.  I am actually a nice person now, and I feel like I have a whole new lease on life…one that I’m in control of.

I will continue to burn the midnight oil writing…in my pajamas and with my meditation music…but I will do it more realistically. I know that I have a lot to learn, and I need to start by watching and interacting with others.  I will be a published author one day. I may not make millions, but if even one person reads my book and smiles, it will be worth every minute. Some are put on this earth to do great things: save thousands, end wars, advance knowledge, find cures. I prefer to change the world with a simple word.

What would you do if you witnessed your father murdered when you were three?

Chapter 1 (2008)

 They had gone past fifteen miles of cornfields and cow pastures at least. Every once in a while, a small town with an auto shop and a post office would dot the landscape. Raul would close his eyes and imagine himself riding down those streets on his bicycle stopping in the gas station and counting out change for a pop. His mouth watered at the thought of a candy bar, but it quickly faded as the nausea returned. He leaned his head against the front seat of the white fifteen-passenger van and he desperately tried to adjust the metal cuffs that cut into his wrists.  They were held together with a lock box that was attached to a chain that went around his waist and down to his feet where they connected to the leg shackles.

The van slowed and turned down the long winding road of the correctional facility. Raul felt his stomach lurch and he could not hold it back any longer. The boy beside him violently pushed him to the floor. “You just wait until I get these cuffs off, punk, and I’ll rip your head off!” The sergeant in the adjacent seat began to curse and ordered the driver to roll down the front window.

“Just stay away from everyone and go through the program,” his lawyer had said on their last visit after the court hearing. Raul did not know how that was going to be possible. The bus came to a stop and Raul felt his stomach lurch again.

 

Chapter 2 (12 years earlier)

 Lacie stood in the doorway with one hand on her hip and the other grasping the hand of the sleepy 3-year-old. She banged on the door for a third time. Her impatience was definitely growing.

 “I know you are in there, Jonas Scriven! Open this damn door!”

Eventually the door opened. Jonas sheepishly glanced down towards the child and then up to the fuming woman.

 

A smile slid across Jonas’s lips.

 “What up, baby?”

 “Don’t Baby me. I’m going out tonight,” Lacie announced as she adjusted  her earrings and sprayed on her favorite White Oleander perfume. You get to take care of Raul.”

 “Hey, I can’t tonight, Lacie. I got business… Jonas dryly announced. “Besides, I ain’t working so you can go get high.”

 “Since when are you working, huh? You haven’t held a job since I met you!”

 “You got all the bling you need, so don’t worry about it! Don’t think about throwing on me about money!”

 Lacie was already turning the corner at the end of the hallway when the words left his mouth. Jonas looked down the child who was now wobbling with exhaustion.

“Your mamma lost her mind, my little man. She know I can’t take you out on business. Get in here before you fall over in the hallway. I can’t have a kid sleeping outside my door, ya know. It would ruin my reputation as a playa.”

Chapter 3

 Jonas checked his pager and went down to the phone booth.

 “What you got man? Yeah, I can be there.  How much?  Hey, is LaTonya still in town?  I need a little favor.  Shit, that’s her third time this year ain’t it?  You’d think she’d learn to spot them by now.  What about Jasmine?  Trisha?  No, my baby’s mamma took off and left me with the kid.  Settle down! I said I’d be there! I’ll find somebody to dump him with.  Yeah, no problem. Talk to you later.”

Raul was now asleep on the sofa when Jonas came back in.  He picked him up and carried him out to the car.  “You just lay there and be quiet, you understand.  I can’t mess this up.  Terrel’s already on my case over the last bunch.  Just go back to sleep and be quiet.”

 Jonas started the car and headed towards Parker Blvd. He pulled into the skating rink parking lot and dimmed the lights.  The car throbbed with bass, but Raul remained asleep.  Another car slowly pulled up and stopped beside Jonas.  The passenger side window was down and muffled voices inside fell silent.

“Turn that thing off, you fool. You want to attract attention?”

“Sorry man, I was into the music. You got the package?”

“Yeah, I got it.  Where’s the Benjamins?”

“Its all here.  I can wait around if you want to count it. Hey, man! What is this?  This ain’t no …What are you trying to pull?!”

The flash startled the little boy sitting quietly in the back seat. He had woken when the music stopped and had quietly sat up to see who was talking to his daddy. There wasn’t very much sound like he had seen other times when he had seen the flash, but this time his daddy slumped over against the steering wheel and something about his head didn’t look right.  Raul started to reach up to touch it as the other car began to pull away. His arm felt warm and he looked down at the growing dark stain on his sleeve and began to cry.

 Chapter 4 (2007)

 Abel Gader pulled his pick-up truck up to the curb in silence. Raul jumped out of the back of the pick-up and started setting things out on the curb.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Lacie. You moved out of this neighborhood for a reason. It doesn’t make sense to move back now. What do you think this is going to do to Raul?”

 “He was only 3 years old then, Dad. I’m sure that he doesn’t even remember what happened now. He never talks about it. Besides, Jackson needs to be closer to work and Mom doesn’t need a teenager and two little kids running around in the shape she is in. I appreciate you letting us stay while Jackson and I worked things out.”

 “I don’t want you back to your old ways, Lacie. The drinking and the drugs…you’ve about killed your Mom and I. We are worried sick about you moving back here. Don’t you remember what you went through yourself?”

 “I don’t want to talk about this again, Dad. I told you that I don’t do that anymore. I learned my lesson. I admit, I was really messed up when Jonas died. I should never have gone out that night and left Raul with him.  After my arrest for possession, I knew that I had to change. Losing Raul was the hardest thing in my life. I served my time. I went through rehab. I’m now in a good relationship. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

 “I certainly hope not, Lacie. I still don’t think this is a good idea, but you are a grown woman. You are always welcome back if you can stay clean. Tell Harley and Sabrina that I love them. Raul, you need some help back there?”

 Raul struggled balancing a large box as he walked up the steps to the apartment complex. A couple of young girls came out the door as he was about to enter and let their eyes scan over him as he stood up straighter and hefted the box. Raul broke into a big grin and responded with a cool, “ladies?” The girls laughed and continued walking down the steps.

 “You’ll be back! All the ladies want to know Raul Scriven,” Raul purred.

 Abel and Lacie shook their heads. “He gets that from you, Dad. It’s that red hair, Lacie joked.

 “He most certainly did not! I may have red hair from your strong Irish grandfather, but he nor I ever behaved that way,” Abel retorted, “I’ve got to be getting back to your mother. I really don’t like to leave her this long since her memory is going.”

 Lacie stood on the sidewalk and watched Abel drive away.  She looked up at the towering apartment complex and sighed. It would be three hours before Jackson came home from work and a lot could happen in that time. She slowly walked up the steps and hesitated at the door. She looked back at the empty street and then reluctantly went in.

 Chapter 5

 Raul sat on fire escape outside the apartment window with his sketch pad in his hand. The summer was quickly fading and he dreaded going to school. He didn’t care much for school—just drawing. Last year he doodled in every class and had to repeat all of his freshman courses—all but art class that is. He ended up with a B- in there—not because of the quality of his work, but because he got an attitude with teacher. After that, she always gave him a lower grade on his projects.

 Raul’s grandmother used to love to look at his artwork. In fact, she had saved every one that he had given her since he was a little kid. He would still draw for her now and again, but she didn’t really seem interested in them now or him for that matter. Lately he had to remind her who he was. She got scared the last time he walked into the house—started shouting out that there was an intruder in the house. Raul had not been back. Lacie tried to explain that it was her dementia, but Raul was angry just the same.

 Raul looked like his dad—light black skin, tight curly hair that had a reddish tint. He was tall and lanky like his dad too and people said that his laugh was recognizable from a distance. Neither he nor Raul ever took themselves seriously. His father’s side of the family came from Jamaica two generations back. His aunties, uncles, and cousins still talked among each other with a brassy banter that often disturbed others who did not know them well. Raul only remembered his dad through pictures, but he felt like he knew him because he was now surrounded by Jonas’ family. They had never left the neighborhood and were clustered around in various apartments surrounding his own.

 His mom’s side of the family was a complete opposite. Lacie was blonde haired and green-eyed like her mother. Abel had fiery red hair and ruddy cheeks.  He had worked in a factory until it closed. Now he puttered around in a carpenter shop behind his house until he decided to come in and fall asleep in his lazy boy chair. There was no extended family and hardly any noise at all except for the ticking and cooing of the cuckoo clock. He lived with them for a year and a half while his mother served her time and went through rehab. He came back for another six months with his mother when she and Jackson split up after Harley was born.

 That was when Raul really began drawing. Abel would take Raul out to the shop with him while Lacie and the girls would fuss over cooking, cleaning, and finding the latest bargain. Raul would breathe in the pungent fragrance of turpentine and linseed oil as his grandfather would sit for what seemed like hours on end painting old barns and city courthouses onto canvas. Raul would sit on the floor and draw—partly out of boredom and partly out of admiration for his grandfather’s ability. When they left and came back to the city, Abel had given Raul a sketch pad and art supplies.  Raul carried them everywhere that summer, and most evenings his cousins would find him sitting on the fire escape staring out into the distance with a half drawn face staring back at him.

 Chapter 6

 Marvon Scriven swung down from the fire escape above Raul and landed with a thud next to his cousin. Even though he was two years older than Raul, he was considerably shorter.

 “Like my new tat?” Marvon crowed. The word THUG was sloppily tattooed across his knuckles.

 “Yeah, sure,” Raul stated without really looking up.

 “I got this one in juvy last year,” Marvon continued as he pulled up his sleeve.

 “You showed me already,” Raul said, again without looking up.

 “You always out here drawing!” Marvon persisted, “You need to hang with us tonight. We’re going tagging. That’s kinda like drawing. Come on.”

 Raul tossed his sketch pad back on the bed inside the window and followed Marvon down the fire escape.

 They walked to the backside of the neighboring apartment complex. Raul could see several dark shadows leaning up against the building and sitting in white plastic lawn chairs. He recognized them as his Uncle Terrel, Critter, and Willie. There were a few others that Raul did not recognize as well. Two little boys, other cousins, burst out the back door screaming and laughing.

 “Put that away and get back inside,” Terrel said gruffly. The two boys looked at Terrel and then the others and quickly went back in.

Marvon swaggered up to the men sitting on the chairs and they immediately started an elaborate handshake, fingers flying, ending with a fist pound.

 “What up, homies? What going down tonight?”

 “What up, Marvon? You two looking for business?”

 “I’m up with dat, Critter. You know I always is.”

 Terrel continued to lean up against the wall in silence. He was much older than the others. Most were in their late teens to mid twenties. Terrell was edging closer to forty. He was Jonas’ older cousin. “I don’t think that Raul here is ready for business. I think you need to come back when he’s ready.”

 “He’s ready, bro. Look at him. He’s here ain’t he?” Marvon chided. Terrel gave him a look and Marvon stopped talking. Terrel looked Raul up and down and shook his head.

 “He ain’t ready. You come back later, Lil Marv, and I’ll see what I got.

 Raul stood there seething. He was angry with Marvon for lying to him about what he wanted to do. He was angry at Terrel for not thinking he was man enough to do it. He walked up to Terrel and spit on the ground in front of him. Willie and Critter stood up. Marvon backed away. Before Raul could say a word, five men took him to the ground.

To Be Continued:

A Fat Woman On Dieting

People have strong opinions about dieting. You have your anorexically thin wisps of people, your morbidly obese people, and all of your average bumpy, lumpy people in between. I, myself, started as one of those anorexically thin people. I was 98 pounds when I got married.Now, 20 years and 2 children later, the days of the size 3 mini-skirt are long over.

Now each time I stand in front of a clothes rack, I swear I will never buy a size larger. Yet in what seems like a matter of months, I do. It is depressing to think that I now weigh what I did when I was nine months pregnant. Diets have always failed me, or should I say, I have always failed them.

I have tried the Adkins diet, the South beach diet, and the L.A. weight loss diet. I have tried the tuna and lemon water diet, the Carb Enders diet,and stopped just short of the colon cleanse. That just doesn’t sound too appealing. I have endured the Dexatrim diet, the Slimfast diet, and Spirulina. And we can not forget the Turbo slim, Ultra slim, and Chromium Picolinate endeavors. I have poured money into exotic miracle juices and Siberian Pine oil remedies. I’ve even tried NOT eating. That only resulted in complete gorging when I had only missed two meals. My favorite, though, is the See Food Diet…see food and eat it. In all, I could have had liposuction and a tummy tuck for all of the money that I have poured into diet plans over the years or at least a cute personal trainer named Miguel to whip me into shape.

Now we get into the exercise equipment. The treadmill is serving great as a clothes rack. I don’t even think that it is close to an outlet anymore. My nine-year-old gets out the weights from under my bed every so often so they don’t collect too much dust. He discovered them one day while retrieving a dirty sock. I won’t tell you what he does with the elastic exercise bands. I’ve had to take those away from him several times. In all of this, however, I can’t forget the 6-Second Abs machine that got about 6 seconds of use or the kickboxing, belly dancing, line dancing, and yoga exercise tapes that still sit in an unforgiving pile waiting to be picked up. We won’t even mention the gym membership that I NEVER used or the free gym right at work that I walked passed every day for 7 years. My all-in-all favorite though was the Nia CD because I thought I looked hilarious doing it. At least I got exercise from laughing because both I and the pitiful guy in tights on the CD looked like we were tripping on LSD.

There are a lot of lessons that I have learned over the years about diet and exercise. Number one, I know that I need to get eat right and exercise to be healthy. My health issues have always increased when the weight has gone up. I also realize, though, that I don’t have to compete with those smoky-eyed, thin girls on TV and in the ads. That’s all fake anyway. Computer technology has replaced true beauty with these unattainable images.

 

I also know that I have the power to tackle my weight issues when I am truly serious about it. I have had to take the bull by the horns many times in my life and it would be pathetic for me to say that I take orders from a cookie . The point is that it has to be a life change, not a diet. I have to start with changing my thoughts about food–food is for nourishment of the body and not to de-stress from a terrible day–and then work on changing my behaviors.

 

If you are struggling with your weight, don’t give up. Keep putting it on your New Year’s Resolution, but don’t wait until January 1st to start over. Today is a new day. Find one thing to cut back on. Walk a little farther. Reduce the stress without food. If all else fails, remember–if you fatten up everyone else around you, then you look thinner!

Is This A Midlife Crisis?!

You can suspect that you are in a midlife crisis when you find yourself sitting outside of work in your car and you don’t want to go in. You confirm that you are indeed in a midlife crisis when you find yourself sitting outside your house and thinking the same thing. This is where I found myself this month–sitting in my scratched and dented “soccer mom” minivan and staring at my destination. The impulse to drive off was sometimes intense. Needless to say though, I always eventually opened that car door, drug out all of my bags, and headed in.

So what is a midlife crisis anyway? If you look in books and online, you will see lots of definitions as well as lots of miracle cures to get you out of your funk. I decided to take one of those little on-line quizzes to see if I needed to commit myself to a mental hospital or not. So far, its not looking good. I think that I might need to start packing my bags.

Let’s see–first on my list of confirmations is the desire to quit a perfectly good job. “Good”, of course, is a relative term. Do I have a full time job with benefits that brings in enough money to meet my basic needs? Yes, and that could be considered a good job, especially in these economic times. Do I work with teenagers? Yes, so that could put that “good” term into questionability. I would say that this category is a toss up.

Next is listed the sudden desire to learn how to play an instrument. Well, I did secretly buy that book on how to play the drums–you can’t learn how to play drums by reading a book, by the way–and I also spend fifty dollars on that really bad set of karaoke Cd’s. The next time I purchase anything on EBAY, I need to make sure that I ask the seller if the music is in ENGLISH since that is the only language that I am really fluent in. I would have to say that this category is a confirmation.

Another category talks about restarting things that I dropped 20 years earlier. This is the year for my 20th high school reunion, and I have found myself addicted to Facebook. I have been sending friend requests to everyone remotely connected to my graduating class whether I really liked them in school or not. I found the boy who I kissed in kindergarten and made him wet his pants. I have no desire to kiss him now. He is missing a lot of hair and has quite the belly. No comment on myself. I have been nicely surprised though at the people who do want to stay connected. Here’s a message to the boy, though, who threw a dirty jock strap at me on the school bus and hit me in the face with it. I will never accept your friend request–never, never, never…OK, maybe if you say you are sorry. Yes, I would also have to confirm this category.

Finally, here is the killer. Do I show a sudden interest in drawing, writing books, or poetry? I am hiding my sketch pad as I write this blog. In my defense, this is not a new interest. I have always loved to draw and write, but in my deep desire to simplify my life, I have decided to make it a bigger priority. I find myself doodling in meetings and tucking paper into my purse to write when I am out. I am, as a matter of fact, blogging while I sit in the bathtub. Is that not a true sign of commitment? To what, I will let you decide.

Basically, a midlife crisis is an attempt to restart life to better fit your heart. Lots of things get in the way of that like jobs, relationships, finances, and other personal commitments. That is why they call it a crisis. Will I survive my crisis? Sure I will and I’ll even keep the husband and kids. Do I need to be committed while I am going through it? That depends. If the mental hospital happens to be in Tahiti, I’m ready to board the plane. A change in climate is looking really good right now. I might even trade that “soccer mom” van in for a Harley. What do you think?