My Self

Since I was very young I have struggled with my Self.

• My parents, as is true for most, tried to foster a Self for me that epitomizes the dependable Catholic good girl;Every time I even consider cussing or ...worse, this Self pours on the judgement=Self1 Saint Catherine is created. 
• My sister attempted to persuade me to be an ideal she will never aspire to, thus always making her Self feel less and angry with my Self; this Self reappears every time my sis enters the room and we will never have a good relationship=Self2Successful and Independent Catherine is created.
•  All of my friends and teachers in school convinced my Self that I was smart; since then my ability to learn is often thwarted by this because hey, I know it all=Self3Intelligent Catherine is created. 
• My Bff tried to coerce my Self to believe itself wholly spiritual and wrong for any desire of normalcy;Now when a banal choice is made, I doubt it and cross reference to what a saint might do=Self4Open and spiritual Catherine is created..

I've never believed any of these Self's were accurate because they never satisfied me. Within me there is a constant restlessness...a need to be so much more than I have ever known.

•  Some people have told me this is my soul looking for God thus informing me that I am a Self that has not got enough God in my life=Self0Satanic Catherine is created. 
• Society whispers this gaping hole exists because I don't have a man to fulfill my happiness; This self has me in constant search of Mr.right with such a desperation that Mr.Wrong almost always shows up-Self5Man Hunter.

Me, the me that lights up when I see a mother look at her child with such love; Me, the me that is re-energized when I step outside and am greeted by my puffy white clouds or the blanket of stars winking at me ; Me, the me that loves the feeling of pure freedom when I am on the open road, pushing my car to its limits...In these moments I realize that my Self is too much...too beautiful...too unwritten to be any one thing. I am all of these things, yet none of them existing together. My Self is and will be forever seeking a self. Upon my deathbed I am confident I will happily not know who my Self is but I will look back at my life and marvel at who my Self has been.

Secrets

There is a wonderful website that I frequent once a week. They post new items every Sunday. It is called Post Secrets. It's the place for exactly what the name implies. Every week/day people transform beautiful, plain and/or eccentric post cards by scribbling their secrets upon, anonymously. Out of the thousands, about twenty-five notes are picked to be showcased on the website each week. Even more are put in the book; there are 4 books so far (I have 2 of them). The author of these books and, in fact this oasis for the guilt-ridden is Frank Warren. "Frank Warren claims that the postcards are inspirational to those who read them, have healing powers for those who write them, give hope to people who identify with a stranger's secret, and create an anonymous community of acceptance" (Warren, F. (2006). My Secret. New York City: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.)

The concept behind this is that sometimes we just need to put it out there. It doesn't matter the purpose or results. Can you imagine having a long held thing/event caged inside your entire life? Picture confessing that to a person, anyone you know, be it friend or family. What do you think the results would be? If you can answer your secret would be well received or accepted with grace then count yourself beyond lucky. However if you are like most of us, the answer would be nothing but condemnation. We, as human beings aren't hardly aware of just how judgmental we really are, even and maybe especially to those we love. In order to correct this, we seek out therapists and strangers that might allow us more freedom to be who we are without prejudice.

As Mr.Warren intended I get to this site and I am moved to tears by the urgency of some of the confessions. Oftentimes, I am inspired by the beauty of another persons secret self. Believe it or not there are even notes of pure entertainment that make me laugh out loud. I suppose it is the anonymity that creates this atmosphere of wonderment. Secrets are told that no one would dare utter. Thoughts that rarely see the light of day, beyond our minds are brought to the world. It is exactly like getting to take a sneak peak into someone's diary. I suppose it might be compared to blogging, at least my kind of blogging, definitely.

My purpose here is to see all human beings. I strive to accept and acknowledge all walks of life. This website is a very good place to get an inkling of what that entails. I urge you to go there and tell me what you see. I bet your wondering if I have mailed in a secret of my own...I'll never tell.

Red, all the way

What if our lives were not our own? What if fate controlled our lives and free will was a thing of imagination? Let’s examine the pros and cons of this scenario. On the one hand that would mean that we could do no wrong. Since we no longer had choice then good and evil were no longer our responsibility. We could live our lives with zero guilt or worry because all decisions were gone. This would confirm that our creator is truly a selfish one of human failings to use us as puppets upon a string or would it be proof that it cared so much so as to not allow us to fail? Why would a omnipotent being create these beautiful beings, only to allow them nothing of life? It would not be our own lives if we were not doing the choosing! Perhaps like controlling parents, it believed that it was protecting us.

On the other hand, what if fate only carried the playbook of our lives but we chose which game to run? Lets suppose that every decision we made, destiny had a path that correlated to each. The most perfect way to imagine this life would be seeing yourself standing at a crossroads of infinite roads. There right beside you is fate/destiny/God with pen in hand, posed to highlight the path once you choose.

Basically, I am asking, if you were given the opportunity, would you choose the blue pill or the red pill?

Citified Country Girl

My childhood was a good mix of adventures really. Birth, alone, was in a foreign land that not many can claim. It was an experience that I do remember and value to this day. Not the birthing part(that was kinda a blur), but the 6 or so years I lived in Germany. Then we moved to Texas, yeehaw! It was there my Arachnophobia was born and perhaps my dislike of the heat. Years later I am stranded on planet North Carolina. It was most definitely an alien feeling place. I won't go into details, destroying the southern name that I attempt to own. There are things you Yankee's will never know.

Yep...NC. I hated it. It's safe to say that. I felt like I had landed in the middle of a cornfield(quite literally at times) with no proof of life. And so I suffered on for years as a city girl forced to be country. I made the best of it by communing with nature and all the while keeping a book in my hand so as to not lose track of my mind. I resisted assimilation for a long time but eventually the brainwashing took. I believed myself to be one of them and even(gasp) married one. For that matter I even produced one of my own.

Then...life kinda crashed a bit and flipped upside down on me. I moved to a land far, far away with bright lights, no stars at night and lots of traffic. There were moments of longing for the sight of that big white ball in the sky at night but I adapted quickly. In fact, i was so shocked that I convinced myself this was where I belonged.

BAM! Life throws another curve ball. Not only do I end up back in the country but in my family home. There was no question coming here...I was home. I heard the crickets at night. I actually woke up to a rooster crowing. Those dots in the sky...my goodness they lay glistening on that velvety blanket in the sky and I see every one of them.

Long story short...turns out I'm a bonefied (oh its a word) country girl! Ya'll come back ya hear

Faretheewell

I want you to know one thing.

I will remain on my feet...

Even on the days that I feel half alive

Although my heart is struggling to beat
and despite the fact that I constantly cry

so today I can't hear the music soar
because it brings me renewed pain
Tomorrow I'll crank it up more
Joy will return with each refrain

I close my eyes and your blue eyes remain
Just like every mark on your body I knew
but the day will come that I won't remember your name
and I'll forget what I loved about you

But you ,my dear, will always find me
because your heart holds the weight of what you've done
There won't be a time you'll truly forget me
Even when the new ones come
Because me...you lost what you'll never find
I'll haunt your days with the remorse you didn't show
some days it will bring you to your knees
and that is what you most needed to know

Goodbye Larry.

Actions Vs. Words

Being a lover of words, I am easily seduced by such. A grand promise of things too good to be true...a half-hearted apology or excuse...a tiny glimmer of decency can persuade me to believe, so foolishly. It has taken many lessons to learn that it is the actions that truly do speak the truth, not my beloved words. Trust me I come to this conclusion with a broken heart in hand. This weekend I was shown the difference and the final nail was carved into my romantic delusions.

I guess I should say thank you to him. Thank you for finally allowing me to see the real you. Thank you for taking away my childish ideals that had clung for so long to this silly heart of mine. Thank you for allowing the long held tears to flow through my body and soul. Thank you for finally giving me the courage to scream out in pain. Thank you for this lesson so I will never be hurt again.

I'm back

I have returned (cue dramatic music). The bears and bugs and this one danged rooster have not bested me  yet. Although the spiders and I  might have a mortal fight to the death...soon, but for now I am alive and well. I have survived my move to the country(for the most part). My home is back to looking like one so let the blogs begin...

Moving

Today is the day. We are moving. Before today it has been boxes and bags and those terrible decisions to be made of trash or not to trash. Funny, how I actually love moving into a new home but hate the actual moving part. Not so funny, I suppose! The thing is I actually( I might say actually too much) do love the unpacking part...finding a new spot..a new arrangement to old things. I'm excited! (something might be wrong with me)

This might be my last blog for a bit too because our internet service won't get put up for days at the new home. UGH! I don't know how I'll live without it. Gosh, I guess this means I actually have to be efficient and stuff. I might even wander out doors at my own risk. I hear there is this shiny thing in the sky that gives nutrients. I might give it a shot. Wish me luck!

I must have done something good...

For some time now I have been researching the steps it is going to take to build my dream home. I've written about this goal many times because it is crucial to the success of my life. I've gotten a book that tells me the style of houses. I've gotten a book that is specific to bathroom design, floor types,wood beaming. I've poured over, compared and priced floor plans. Last but not least, I have prayed that I can make this dream come true.

Thursday, one of those strange "the Lord works in mysterious ways" event presented itself. I was offered my grandparents house--paid for, no rent and even leniency of no lights or water switched over for a month while I get situated. It is not necessarily my dream home but it is a beautiful big house, out in the country where I have fond memories. My son and I are so excited, words hardly can express. The biggest part of all of this is the blessing factor. Daniel and I had began having some really tough times. I was truly at my wit's end living paycheck to paycheck to make all my ends meet. Then ...this happened. I don't even know what to say. This has rarely  happened to me. Somebody is looking out for me, obviously.

Thank you to everyone that prayed, hoped and loved me through this trying time. I will be able to give back now. I'll be able to see that life is so much more than these little things that seemed like a world-ender.

Arguments, Lies and Drama, Oh my!

I don't know how to argue. Every time I have an argument I think two things: Either one of us sees the other persons point of view, aka gives in or neither one of us will budge so there is only one option, to split. Let's be honest, how often are people willing to admit they are wrong. Even better how about getting someone to admit that they aren't right or wrong anymore than I am. That brings us to the rare third option.This endangered species is to be adults and accept that we have differing opinions that we should both be able to respect. Ooopsy I just used that horrible S word, should. In reality, option number three is an awesome task. Ego must be taken out for one. Also you must examine the disagreement itself, its structure. If the two people (or more) stayed on the task of the topic then it might be salvageable but, if it became an attack on the person, rather than the subject, you have neglected the battle for a war. If this happens, and I must say it invariably does, then the healing process is longer because it has become personal.

I think this began as a child seeing my parents "disagree" to violent proportions, even though they survived all that into their comfy middle-aged lifestyles now. My parents actually made their arguments sound like a competition. One seemed to attempt to reach a more threatening plateau than the other. It went so wrong that they even claimed they wouldn't leave just in spite of the other. Yes, you read that correctly. My mother said she would not leave because that would give my father the peace that he didn't deserve. Similarly my father said he wouldn't give my mom the satisfaction of leaving. Their simple disagreements always became epic battles,ending in hurt and base behavior. That right there is a funny little sidenote: my parents have been together for 30 something years now just to win an argument.

I never wanted it to be that way for me so I am always ready to say, lets just stop this right now. Unfortunately, I inherited my parents' Irish tempers so that moment of rationale doesn't always reach me before things are past the point of no return. More often than not, I am left backpedaling to find a safe way to exit the situation. For me the next step is a process of extended reflection that I must do alone. The time away is my attempt to see an alternative to never speaking to this person again. Truthfully, the easy answer of just leaving is foremost in my mind but I do fight it. I examine where the conversation took its turn for the worst, what my part in it all was and if or how it could have been prevented or will be in the future.

As much as I love the idea of a debate, shaking people out of their humdrum opinions which are often merely repeated ones from others, and giving my own self important thoughts, I hate arguments! There is a distinguishable difference between debating and arguing but it appears I can't seem to find that place so...back to the drawing board.