When I Don't Get What I Want

Sometimes I don't get what I want. 

I'd like to be all mature and say that I see these moments as growth opportunities and I'm happy for the person who did get what I wanted.  I'd like to say that I roll with it and get all zen and peaceful and wish the universe well in its grand plan.  I'd like to say all those things, but then I would be lying.

Oh, I've learned to be a good sport when I lose at a game.  Or when we don't go to the restaurant I want.  Or even when someone wakes me up when I wanted to sleep.  (Not all the time, but usually.)

But sometimes I stare the universe in the eye and say, "I want my life to be like THIS.  Exactly like THIS.  Pay attention to what I'm telling you -- make it like THIS!"  I feel like the universe and I understand each other.  I see the universe nodding in agreement.  And then the universe goes and does whatever the heck it wants.

Seriously, it sucks.

I thought the universe and I were friends.  I thought the universe had my best interests at heart.  I thought we were in this together.

But I didn't get what I wanted.  I feel ripped off and picked on.  By the entire universe.

And you know what's worse?  Do you know what the real slap in the face is?  That stupid universe is right.  Like, every single time. 

It never fails.  I am sure I've got it figured out.  I am sure I know what is best for me.  I'm sure I've got the upper hand in my battle with the universe this time.

And before too long I am looking at the universe with its slight, Mona Lisa smile.  And the universe knows it has won again.  It does not brag.  It doesn't need to.  Its power is evident for all to see.

And I am forced to not only humble myself and say, "You were right."  I find myself bowing my head time and again saying, "Thank you."  (But I still mumble under my breath, "Stupid universe.")

Living with Chronic Illness

Living with chronic illness, my daily "to do" lists don't look like most.  I can't plan much because I don't know if I'll be able to get out of bed that day, how much I'll be hurting, or what level of energy I might have.  With a husband and five active children, there are plenty of things added to each day.  I have to keep my own plans simple.  Very simple.  Many times this has left me feeling like a failure because I can't do as much as others.  Or overwhelmed and paralyzed because there was so much to do and I didn't feel like I could do anything.  As a therapeutic project, I spent a lot of time examining my life and figuring out what I could realistically expect to get done each day.  This way, even on my worst days I can feel like I've accomplished something.  It helps.

Worst Days:

• eat something
• do something - anything
• try to communicate current status to family

Bad Days:

• eat
• make my bed
• put a bra on
• spend time out of my room, at least five minutes
• communicate with family

Down Days:

• eat
• make my bed
• get dressed
• open curtains/windows
• shower if needed
• brush teeth and hair
• try to spend some time outside, no matter how small the amount
• let family visit with me in my room

Iffy Days:

• eat
• make my bed
• get cleaned up enough to leave the house
• open curtains/windows
• leave the house
• talk to someone outside of my family, even if only online
• clean something - anything
• shower if needed
• spend time with family outside of my room, no matter how small the amount

Good Days:

• eat healthy food, try to stick to schedule and track
• make my bed
• get cleaned up enough to visit with friends
• open curtains/windows
• drive somewhere - anywhere
• go for a walk or do yard work
• listen to a conference talk/devotional or read church magazines
• shower
• pick up the living room
• talk to someone outside my family, in person or by phone
• try to stay out of my room

Great Days (add any of the following to Good Day plans):

• do something creative (write, draw, color, crochet, flute)
• do something that feeds my soul
• do real exercise
• meditate
• vacuum the living room
• straighten the dining room
• clean the kitchen, including a load of dishes
• do a load of laundry
• write a list of what's been weighing heavily on my mind
• run errands
• shop for fresh fruits and vegetables
• play a game with someone
• clean for 15 minutes - no more
• do deep breathing
• do calendaring/scheduling
• do budget/bills
• spend more time out of my room than in it

Every Night:  choose one thing I want to get done the next day; forgive myself if it doesn't happen
Every Day:  pray and spend some time in the scriptures, no matter how small the amount
Bonus Points:  talk to my husband in person and make some kind of physical contact

I try to make my bed every day because it makes me happy.  Anything beyond what's on these lists would be a major accomplishment and might cost me the next day.

Transitions Suck or Forced Early Retirement

Take your pick.  Either title works.

I am in transition.  Kind of stuck in transition.  At least, I hope it's transition.  I hope it's not my new life for keeps.

I worked very little before I got married.  I got pregnant almost immediately after getting married, was incredibly sick, and became a stay-at-home mom.  We made lots of sacrifices to live on one income so I could be with my kids.  My heart and soul were devoted to them.  As exhausting and difficult as it was sometimes, it was totally worth it and I don't regret a minute of it.

As my youngest child approached school age people started asking what I was going to do with all my children gone.  I joked that I'd probably sleep the first year.  After that I might consider working.  We're old fashioned.  My husband believes it's his responsibility to provide for our family and I believe it's my responsibility to raise the kids.  We've each pitched in a bit in each other's realm, but for the most part we took the traditional route.  My husband left my choices about what to do with my life after the kids went to school entirely up to me.  Work or don't work.  My choice.

Kindergarten was only a couple hours a day, just enough time for me to run errands and get a few things done.  But when our baby started first grade it opened up six hours a day for me.  I wasn't looking for work, but as it happens a wonderful job fell into my lap.  A job I was perfectly suited for and excelled at.  A job full of wonderful people.  A job that helped others.  A job that was very personally satisfying.

I worked there for three or four years.  There were ups and downs as I tried to merge my work life and my family life.  I got to a point where I felt like I had it worked out.  Balanced?  Maybe not quite.  But well shuffled.  I was happy and content and fulfilled.

Then my health fell apart.

Long story short, I had to make a choice.  I only had enough in me physically to work or take care of my family -- not both.  It was a traumatic time.  I didn't want to give up what I'd gained through work.  But my heart told me to go home.  Many other people could fill my position at work.  No one could take my place at home.

So I quit my job and went home.  I'd been a stay-at-home mom for about fourteen years before that job.  I knew how to do it.  The transition back should be easy, right?  Not so much.

I didn't have little kids any more.  The world I left and the one I returned to weren't the same.  I was kind of lost.  Still lots to do in the morning and after school but so much empty time during the day.

Which should sound beautiful and appealing and free.  But it's not.  Because I don't feel well.  Really ever.  So I have six hours a day trying to force myself to do something even though I don't want to get out of bed.  I'm still searching for a purpose.  I would love to have a schedule and plans.  I would love to volunteer or create or make a dream come true.  But each day I don't know if I am going to be able to get out of bed.  I can't plan my day because I don't know if I'll be functional.

I keep thinking I'll find a routine, a rhythm to my life.  I'm still searching.  It's been five or six years.  I spent the first three or so going to doctors and doing everything I could to feel better, hoping in the back of my mind that I could go back to work some day.  Expecting that one day I would feel good again and go back to being the over-achiever I am in my heart.  I still go to doctors and try to feel better, but I now accept that I won't have that life back again.  This is the life I have now.  I need to figure out how to live it and feel fulfilled in it.

But I still feel like I haven't found my footing.  I still spend too much time floating from this distraction to the next trying to find what fits.  Bored and frustrated.  What works one day doesn't work the next.  One day I have a little energy but my mind won't work clearly.  The next day my mind is okay but I can't see well.  And then there are the days that I don't get dressed until just before my kids get home from school, having spent the whole day in bed without actually noticing that time passed.

I'm trying to create a life that fits me.  But I still struggle to know who I am now, in this new form.  I'm still wandering.  Hoping I'm still in transition.  Hoping I'm not just lost in my own life.

Why Do You Apologize?

You did something stupid.  It was hurtful.  And now you feel bad.  So you apologize.  And your apology is rejected!

*  Maybe it is openly rejected, "Oh, yeah.  Right.  Sure, you're sorry."  Dripping with sarcasm.
*  Maybe it is accepted on the face of things, but the person still holds a grudge and punishes you every chance they get.
*  Maybe you get no response.  They heard you.  They just won't acknowledge you said anything at all.

So now what?  If you're like most human beings, now you get irritated or even angry.  You offered a sincere apology.  How dare they not accept it?  How immature of them!  How un-Christlike!  And you walk away feeling superior.  You did your part.  They were too childish to do theirs.

But have you ever asked yourself why you are apologizing?  I think our reasons for apologizing change all the time.  And understanding why you are apologizing gives great insight into the way you react afterward.

Sometimes we apologize because we feel genuinely sorry.  Sometimes it's an attempt to get out of trouble.  Sometimes it's because it's what we think we are supposed to do, even when we don't feel sorry.  Sometimes our mom or wife or friend pushes us into apologizing.  Sometimes the person we've offended demands an apology and we offer it out of fear.  Sometimes we're too tired for the fight and just apologize hoping to end it.  There are more reasons we apologize than I can list.

When I say I'm sorry I should mean it.  It shouldn't be about getting out of trouble or doing what's right.  It should be because I saw the hurt I caused, realized I was at fault (either partially or entirely), and want to make amends.

And this is why I don't make my kids apologize.  When they were little I taught them to say, "I'm sorry."  Even when they didn't feel it.  And once they were old enough to say, "But I'm not sorry," the conversation changed.  We discussed other people's feelings, how our actions affect others, and repentance.  Their apologies began to hold greater meaning.  They are 14-21 now.  When they hurt each other they are often not sorry.  In many circumstances I could still bully them into apologizing.  But I won't.  I will chastise and teach.  And if they are unwilling to try to make up for being hurtful (usually because they aren't ready yet), they won't be allowed to stay in the room with the rest of us.  And maybe I will apologize to the person who was hurt because my child misbehaved.  I won't claim the offender is sorry.  I will say I am sorry for their behavior.  Because I am.  Sometimes they later apologize; sometimes they don't.  But when they do, they mean it.

And sometimes, even after all this, even with a sincere apology, forgiveness doesn't come.  The hurt individual stays angry.  And I am okay with that.

I think a sincere apology stands on its own, with or without forgiveness.  If I offer it with my whole heart, I am more concerned about healing a wrong I have committed than being forgiven.  Sometimes it takes a person a while to heal from a hurt.  If I am getting angry or bitter with them because they aren't accepting my apology as quickly as I think they should, how sincerely concerned was I about hurting them?  If I love them and am truly sorry I hurt them, then I have to step back and allow them the time they need to heal instead of demanding that they get over is so that I feel better.

Too often we don't allow people time to process their feelings as deeply as they need to.  We rush things.  We want to feel better now!  You need to forgive me so I can feel better!

Forgiveness is important and I accept an apology as quickly as I can.  Sometimes that's immediately.  Sometimes it takes time for me to heal.  A few minutes.  A few days.  Sometimes longer.  I appreciate the offer of an apology, but I won't fake healing.  I won't pretend I'm over it when I'm not.  Very few things offend me, but sometimes I am hurt.  Often by a repeat offender.  I won't cheapen myself by quickly saying it's all okay when it's not.  My feelings and pain matter.  If I don't value them, who will?

Doesn't everyone deserve that same freedom?

**********

My post was inspired by this post, by Beth Ann at It's Just Life.  Thanks, Beth, for making me think.

I Don't Like Food

I don't like food.  There.  I said it.  Now it's out there.

I believe there will be some who read this and accuse me of being anti-American or from another planet or something.  I've asked around, and this just isn't one of those things that makes people around me say, "Me, too."  This is weird.  It's just not right.

And I agree.  It's not right.  In fact, it kind of sucks.

It seems that food and I have a different relationship than just about everyone else on the planet.  I listen to people talk about food.  They oooh and aaah like it's magic.  Like it casts some kind of spell on them.  I watch people at restaurants, struggling to choose something because it all looks so good.

I envy that.

I look at the menu and spend a good ten minutes trying to find something I can eat.  Something I might enjoy. 

Sometimes I can eat food just like normal people.  I get hungry, I get something to eat, the taste is pleasing, I am filled.  But that's rare.  And even when things go well I don't seem to be getting the same pleasure from it that others do.  It's not a glorious experience for me.  The food was good.  Now I'm not hungry.  That's about it.

And other times, if I think about it too much, I can't really eat more than a few bites.  I'm not a big fan of the process of eating.  I can be chewing along, eating my meal, and then I think about what I'm doing.  I pay attention to the food in my mouth.  And I gag.  I'm done.  No more food for me.

I go hungry a lot.

It's not uncommon for me to realize it's four in the afternoon and I haven't eaten anything that day.  My body doesn't like that.  I often eat medicinally.  I usually eat because it's necessary to sustain my body and because my headache gets worse if I don't.  My life would be much simpler if eating weren't required.

I've seen people look at cook books like they are food porn, drooling and desiring.  That's just never been me.

So please understand if I don't eat what you offer me.  It's not a statement on your cooking.  Chances are it's just not a good eating day for me.

I know it's strange.  I've come to accept the fact that I'll never be like other people in this way.  Food and I will never have that kind of relationship, that seductive romance that I watch others experience.

I'm strange and that's okay.

**********
To read more about my food issues, go here.
To read more about my resulting psychiatrist visit, go here.

Letter to a Friend -- Take Two

I think it's safe to say that I am in a heavily therapeutic place right now.  Focused on healing so much that I miss a lot.  One thing that proved this to me was my last post.

I don't think it was overly negative or anything, but it didn't even occur to me to write something positive.  Something praising.

Today it occurred to me.  So I want to try again.  There are so many people who have touched my life.  So many who saved me.  From myself.  From bad situations.  Whatever.

This is for them, with one in particular in mind.

**********

Dear Friend,

My heart is overflowing.  I have so much gratitude I don't know how to express it.  When I think of you, and the time we've spent together, I am ovewhelmed at my fortune.  I know God brought you into my life.  I am sure of this.

Do you know that you are God-like in your nature?  Do you know how much you radiate His love?  His tenderness?  His compassion and acceptance?  Do you know that hugging you is like being wrapped in His arms?

You make me feel safe.  You make me feel valued.  You make me feel wanted.  Do you know how rare that has been in my life?

You are amazing.  You fill me with awe.  I look at your life, at all you've been through, and wonder how you became so radiant.  How were you able to endure the darkest things in life and still shine so brightly?  It was your light that got me through some of the darkest times in my life.

You are such an example to me.  I aspire to be like you.  Sometimes when I'm trying to figure out what to do I ask myself what you would do.  I want to be like you.  You are one of the most Christ-like people I have ever met.

The way your face lights up when you see me.  It's overwhelming.  It floods me with love and value.  And I've watched as you give this gift to others.  Like whoever you are with is the most important person in the world.  Like there is nothing you would rather do than sit and be with this person.  With me.

Do you know your power?  Do you understand your greatness?

And no matter how long we are apart, I am welcomed back with love every time.  Never judged for staying away, for being busy, for not staying in touch.  Just loved.

Do you understand how rare you are?

I love you.  I love you so much it makes my heart hurt.  I love you for what you've done and for who you are.

And I praise God every day for bringing you into my life.  Thank you for being willing.  Thank you for letting Him guide you.  Thank you -- for everything.

Love,
Robin

Crying Uncle

I don't know if it was family upbringing or just my natural state, but I grew up fiercely independent.  I didn't ask for help; I researched it on my own.  I learned how to do what needed to be done by myself.  I cowboyed up and got myself through the tough times.  For so many years.

Giving help was fine.  Receiving it was not.  Asking for it was an abomination.

Enter chronic illness.

Wow.  Let me just tell you, independence goes out the window with chronic illness.

Yes, I've studied psychology and had enough therapy to know that interdependent is the healthier place to be.  Knowing that wasn't enough to get me there.  I had to be dragged there kicking and screaming.

I'm still not good at it.  I still think I should be able to do everything I used to.  I still want to be everything for everyone.  I want to solve all the problems.  I want to be the hero -- not the damsel in distress.

But life doesn't always turn out as we planned.

Tonight I had a lesson in interdependence.  Tonight I cried uncle.

Lots of things have slipped since I got sick.  The house (a wreck).  My job (gone).  Volunteering (non-existent).  All of those things are difficult to accept.  But for the most part they are just irritants.  The one that was dangerous was money.

You see, I've been in charge of the money and the bills for most of our marriage.  When I got sick, things started to slip.  We bounced checks.  Bills didn't get paid.  Collectors started calling.  (I hate the fact that my kids are well trained in the art of avoiding the bill collector calls.)

I went through good periods and bad ones.  I'd catch up and then fall behind again.  But all along the way, I was sure we had enough money and I just wasn't managing it well enough.  And I would pledge to get on top of things.  Tomorrow.

Somehow, tomorrow didn't seem to want to appear.  I kept waiting for that magical day to happen when I would be able to conquer the piling debt and stress and get that monkey off my back.

But it didn't come.

I don't know why.  I don't know what kept me from being able to do it.  I know how.  I have the capability.  But I just couldn't do it.  (I have theories, but they would take too long here.)

And now the money problems are at a dangerous level. 

So tonight my husband and I had a meeting.  Not confrontational.  Not a fight.  Warm and open.  Supportive and affirming.  A meeting where I said, "I just can't do it.  I hate that I can't, but I can't."  And he said, "You've done everything for so long.  It's my turn."

And that was it.  He is now in charge of the bills and the money.

I promised to let him do it his way.  I will not interfere or correct or complain.  And when I do (as we both know will probably happen) he will kindly remind me that I promised to trust him.

Lots of feelings of failure.  Lots of feelings of inadequacy.  And so many tears.

And then peace.

Sometimes crying uncle is the right thing to do.  No matter how hard it is.

It's All Downhill From Here

Remember when you were a kid and the word downhill was magical?  It meant you'd made it to the top of the hill and could almost fly down.  The thrill of danger.  The joy of easy speed.  The pride in your hard work that got you to the top.

Once you hit 40, downhill doesn't mean that anymore.  Downhill is now a bad thing.

Your health is going downhill.  Your looks are going downhill.  Your memory is going downhill.

Now I know that there are plenty of 40-year olds who are doing better than ever.  Plenty who still look great and have it all together.  For now.  But they're just delaying the inevitable.

Because it's not like it used to be.  When you were a kid and something went wrong with your body, it healed.  You felt miserable, for a few days.  You worked hard and were tired and sore, the next day.

Now it might take a week or more to recover from an intense day.  When something goes wrong with your body or you feel miserable it might not get better.

And it requires a mind shift. 

I'm not saying to give up.  I'm not saying to quit trying to improve your health.

I am saying, "Be realistic."

You will never feel like you did when you were twenty.  Never again.

Suck it up and deal with it.  You're more than a grown up.  You're a grown old.

Little Miss Persnickety

You know her.  She's your niece or your neighbor that you agreed to watch for the day (or maybe several days).  It's time for a meal.  You prepare the food.  Everyone sits down.  They all start eating.  Everyone but her.

If she's been drilled to be polite, she just looks at the food and pushes it around on her plate hoping to find enough that she likes to no longer be starving.  If she hasn't learned manners well yet you'll likely get a big EW!

Boy, if that's not flattering of your cooking.

She's such a brat.  She's so picky.  Nothing will make her happy.  Her parents have spoiled her, overindulged her.  Fine.  She can go hungry then.  She'll eat it when she gets hungry enough.

Maybe.  And maybe not.

I would like to introduce myself.  I am Little Miss Persnickety.  I eat like a five-year old.  I refer to the food you eat and I don't as grown up food.  I know people find me irritating.  I know they judge me.  I've had to learn to live with that.  But there is more to it than you might know.  Have you ever really considered it from the child's point of view?

I have been picky about food my whole life.  There are so many things I don't like.  It might be the taste.  It might be the texture.  Who knows?  In fact, sometimes I don't like food at all.  Any of it.  Sometimes just the thought of food makes me gag.  But it's necessary.  I get weak when I don't eat.  My headache escalates.  I have learned to see food as medicine to keep me healthy.

I spent my childhood being chastised for it.  I didn't understand why people got so upset.  I was the one going hungry.  It's not that I don't like YOUR potato salad -- I don't like potato salad.  I guess people take their cooking pretty seriously and get highly offended if you don't like it.  I have offended many people.

But I am so jealous of people who like food.  When I go to a restaurant with others I watch them scour the menu.  So many options.  So many things look so delicious to them.  They are so excited.  They are eagerly anticipating.  And when the food comes they revel in it.  Other people get so much enjoyment from food.

I scour the menu for a different reason.  Is there anything here I can eat?  Will the meat be done?  How irritated will my dining mates and waitress get if I send it back?  What if I send it back more than once?

Seriously, I avoid eating out with certain people just because I can't take the judgment.

It's my money.  I am paying for the food.  Shouldn't I get to have something I like?

I don't ask people to prepare special food just for me.  If I don't like what you're serving then I just won't eat.  Why are your knickers in such a twist?  It's just food.

I don't know why I'm so picky.  Maybe it was the only thing I had even a little control over as a child.  Maybe it's because my sense of taste and smell seems to be stronger than most.  Maybe I'm just an irritating little brat who wants my own way.

Whatever the reason, I accept it about myself.  I'm okay with it.  If you are that sensitive about whether I'll eat your food or not then don't invite me for dinner. 

I'm sure there are foods you don't like, too.  I'm sure there are things that would make you gag to even think about eating.  My list is just longer and contains more foods that most people eat.  But I don't.  I don't like eggs, cheese, bananas, mayonnaise, barbeque sauce, meatloaf, sloppy joes, onions, onion rings, hot dogs, fry sauce, and many more every day things.  I want my meat well done, no pink at all.  And I don't like processed meat.  I don't like hamburger, although I will sometimes eat it under the right circumstances.  I want my meat to look like the striated muscle tissue that it is.  I want it in the form that it came off the animal, only a lot more cooked. 

There are so many other things, an endless list.  I have learned to eat bananas even though I don't like them.  And I now eat spinach in my salad.  But that's it for my growth for now.

But maybe you could do me a favor.  Next time you have someone who doesn't like what you're serving, instead of feeling hurt or thinking them a brat, maybe you can remember that thing you don't like to eat -- and cut Little Miss Persnickety a little slack.

**********
To read more about my food issues, go here.
To read about my psychiatrist visit connected to my food issues, go here.

Blogging About Religion

I've been a member of the blogosphere for a while now, both reading and writing.  And I've noticed an interesting thing.  Lots of people include religion in their blogs.

Isn't religion supposed to be one of those topics that is off limits in polite conversation?

I'm not saying that people who blog about religion are rude.  Not at all.

It's just interesting to see how different people approach it as they write.  Some have little tags on their blogs claiming their religion.  Others clarify religious references for people of a different faith.  And many others just assume that you know what they are talking about.

I haven't done a lot of blog hunting.  I have just basically followed those of friends, or those a friend is linked to.  A little blog hopping, but not much.  So, it stands to reason, most of the blogs I follow are written by Mormons (like myself).

And if your entire audience shares your beliefs then I guess it's safe conversation.

But my audience doesn't.  I have several readers who do not share my religious affiliation.  So I have been unsure how, or if, to address this.

My experience with those of other faiths is limited.  So I will speak of myself and my faith.  Probably just this once.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  A Mormon.  I believe strongly in my faith.  I go to church once a week, where I teach children.  I am sometimes involved with mid-week meetings as well.  My faith is a part of my religion every day through prayer, scripture study, and the many choices I make in a day -- especially parenting.  I don't believe that I would be whole without my faith and the gospel I believe in.

That said, I do not think that those who disagree with me are going to hell.  I do not think I am superior to them in any way.  I do not think that religion should stop me from being friends with anyone or treating anyone with respect.  I mention this only because I have seen evidence that others do hold these positions.  I have seen these opinions within my own faith.  These are the opinions of people, not principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I am so grateful for the many religions of the world and believe that people (religious or not) are just trying to be the best people they can be, to worship whatever god(s) they believe in the best way they know how. 

And I love learning about the beliefs and practices of others.  I think anytime we strive to understand each other, we move closer to unity and peace.

And couldn't we all use a little more peace in our lives?

I Love Getting Intimate

Verbally, that is.

I love the one-on-one conversation.  Face to face.  Eye to eye.  Soul to soul.

It's best when there will be no interruptions.  And it only really works when both participants are interested.

But when two people choose to be honest with each other, open about who they are and how they feel, trusting that they are loved and accepted by the other person -- it's magical!

It can be deep.  It can be shallow.  It just needs to be real in order to have power.

When I am fortunate enough to have conversation like this, I am more.  I am more because this person chose to give of themselves to me.  They gave me part of who they are.  Usually, a tender part.  A precious part.

And when this part is added to all that I am, I grow. 

It takes a brave soul to allow others to see them purely.  To see them unvarnished.  Uncovered.  Open.  Flaws and all.

And only through conversations like this can we truly come to know that it is the flaws that make us beautiful.

I Glory in Teenagers!

Those teenagers.  Those rebellious, argumentative teens.  It's like aliens have taken over their bodies.  Our children used to worship us.  They used to listen to everything we said.  They used to think we knew it all.  They used to want to be just like us.  Now they fight.  They argue.  They question.  They challenge.  Isn't it horrible?

No.  I don't think it is.  I think it's wonderful.  I think it's a beautiful age of discovery.  Finding out who they are for themselves, that they don't have to be the person everyone else tells them to be.  Learning to think for themselves.  And, yes, challenging everything!

For the life of me, I don't understand why everyone has such a stereotype in their heads about teens.  Why is everything they do that you don't agree with labeled rebellious?  Do you understand that is an opinion and not a fact?  As soon as you change your perception and see a desire to learn and grow and become instead of fighting your every wish, it is no longer rebellion.  It's defining themselves.  It's growing up.

I believe we get so frustrated because we sense that we are losing control.  We are no longer in charge of what they do or who they choose as friends or what they wear.  They don't want to follow our rules anymore; they want to make their own rules.

But I have news for you.  It's not our job to control them -- it's theirs!  I believe it is our job to support, guide, teach, protect . . . but not to control. 

We spend so much time teaching them to be polite.  To do what they're told.  To not ruffle feathers.  And then we expect that at eighteen they will magically be able to go out into the world and be independent adults.  We've tried to micromanage every decision for them, and now they're on their own.  Good luck, son!

Eighteen is an arbitrary number for adulthood.  The legal age in this country for various things has changed over the years.  The age to smoke.  The age to drink.  The age to be legally accountable.  The age to have sex.  These all change depending on society's current view.  Is this because one generation of children is more (or less) mature than the others?  No.  It's because adults have decided they got it wrong before and they are trying to fix it.

Do we really think that just because they are young and inexperienced, they have no good ideas?  That they can't discover new truths?

In my faith, we believe that Joseph Smith (a fourteen-year old boy) restored Christ's gospel to the earth.  That he resisted the growing push to join religion.  That he questioned.  And that he received new truth.  A truth his parents and grandparents didn't have.

It's a good thing his parents didn't write him off as a rebellious teenager.

I think there's too much polite in our world.  I think there's too much "go along to get along" attitude.  I think there's not enough challenging of the current system.

As if the adults are doing such a great job running things.

Our teenagers argue with us.  They challenge what we say.  And they question everything.  And that's exactly what they are supposed to do.  That is how they define who they want to be.  And if we can just ease up a bit and look for the glory in teens, we might find that we like them.  A lot.  I know I do.

What Others See

We all project an image.  An image of ourself that we want the world to see.  We know we'll be judged, so why not choose the terms?

I wonder how successful this is.  I wonder how often others see us as we want them to.

We walk into a new situation.  We're a little nervous.  Never been here before.  Never done this before.  But we don't want anyone to see that we're nervous, so we project confidence.  Does it work?

We are asked a difficult question.  One that we don't really want to answer.  The answer might not be okay, or we just might not want to share the information with this person.  So we dodge the question.  We redirect.  We move on as if it doesn't matter, as if it's trivial and not worth discussing.  Does it work?

Our life is falling apart.  It's the worst day we can remember having.  Everything seems to be going wrong.  Our heart is breaking.  But we don't want anyone to know so we pretend that all is well.  We hold it all together in public and do our falling apart in private.  We try to fool everyone into believing that we're fine.  Does it work?

And what if it does?  What if no one takes the time to push beyond the exterior we present to find out how we really are, who we really are?  What then?

And what if our carefully crafted exterior is so successful that we start to fool ourself?

What's so wrong with being who we really are, even when it's not what others want to see?  What's so wrong with being vulnerable and needing help?  What's so wrong with being unsure?

What's so wrong with being us?

I'm in Love!

I am in love -- that uncontrollable, undeniable, can't concentrate, obsessed, just-want-to-be-with-them, always-thinking-of-them kind of love.

And *sh* don't tell, but I'm not talking about my husband. 

(Okay, kind of.)

I'm talking about people.  People of all shapes and sizes.  All personality types.  All colors.  All walks of life.  The more, the better.

And I know that the phrase "in love" is generally used to describe romantic love but, with the English language being so imprecise, I've got to use what I've got.  And saying that I love people just doesn't cut it.  It's not powerful enough.

I am in awe of them.  I want to bask in their presence.  I want to soak up whatever it is that's emanating from their souls.

I don't get star-struck in the traditional sense.  I have no desire to meet famous people just because they are famous.  But there are people who come into my life, people who sometimes don't even know I'm watching them, that floor me.

And there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason as to why I admire them.  Sometimes they have been through hard times and come out stronger and better.  Sometimes they are in the middle of hard times and are willing to show their pain.  And sometimes they make a comment that exhibits a depth of character that I didn't know was there.

Sometimes it's their mind.  They talk about things on a different level and invite me to come along.  They challenge me to be more; and I want to.

Sometimes it's in their voice.  They speak with tenderness and a reverence that reminds me that I am from a higher place.  That there are angels with me.

Sometimes it's their smile.  It's not just a beautiful smile.  It's warm and inviting.  It's like hot chocolate.  Some people have a hot chocolate smile that they share with those they meet in this cold winter world.

Sometimes it's in their handshake, as they look deep into your eyes and their eyes say that you are wonderful.  They've seen your soul and wholeheartedly approve.

Sometimes it's in their hug.  A hug that gives and receives at the same time.  It makes you feel powerful.  It makes you feel humble.  It makes you feel you are more than before.

And sometimes it's in watching how they interact with others.  It's amazing what you can learn about a person just by watching them.

Those who inspire me the most, who give the most to me, are those whose souls are open.  They are secure in themselves spirit and body and want to share and grow together.  And they aren't frightened if I openly love and admire them.

They are everywhere.  People who have seemed so two-dimensional for years suddenly blossom into three dimensions and beyond.  Flowers that radiate unimaginable colors.  Colors that warm and soothe and welcome.

Maybe they always were and I just didn't see it before.  Or maybe it just took a while for them to find their wings and soar.

And you're probably one of them.  Today, may you blossom and soar!