Category: Friendship

Sailing Naked – How a Hungarian Freedom Fighter and His American Daughter Resolved Intergenerational Trauma

Available 15 October 2025 in the UK and EU through local booksellers as well as major retailers. Sailing Naked will be released in the US on 6 January 2026. Want a compelling read?? Buy yours now!

Synopsis:

Sailing the high seas, clothes were always optional. Why settle for plain vanilla when you can be an outrageous chocolate sundae—overflowing with flavor and a few nuts on top?

Frank thrived on creativity and contradiction. Whether he was sailing the Pacific, debating the virtues of growing vegetables in the desert, or simply losing himself in conversation, he did it all with flair. The ascot and Wayfarers he wore were more than style—they were the bow on a loosely wrapped package, the final flourish on a life lived vividly.

Yet beneath that charm lay the shadow of a past he could never escape. At twenty, Frank fled Communist Hungary in 1956, carrying with him both freedom and the wounds of exile. He was no man for excuses; he simply chose to live at the farthest edge of everything—having once known the suffocating stillness of censorship, he sought only extremes.

Kristina’s memoir is a raw, lyrical exploration of her life with her father, a Hungarian Freedom Fighter turned political refugee. Through love, loss, and turbulence, she unravels the story of a man celebrated for his courage yet undone by his demons. Though he earned entry to the United States through a visa recognizing his service as a translator for the Austrian border guards, his spirit remained haunted by the Russians and their tanks. Drugs and alcohol became his refuge until his final breath.

Where hope flickered, despair often followed. Few could comprehend the emotional wreckage born from a youth of hiding carrots, stealing chickens, or dragging a wounded comrade from the reach of Soviet bullets. In the end, hindsight became a reflecting pool—showing a thousand ways Kristina and Frank might have found peace together.

This is an account of her path to find peace, via Venice Beach, California in the 1970s, Seville, Spain in the 1980s, Michigan, Chicago, Switzerland, Hungary, the Isle of Wight and Mexico.

Early praise for Sailing Naked includes:

“A compelling expression of vulnerability and acceptance… A must read!” — Evelyn Farkas, Ph.D., National Security Expert and Fellow Hungarian

“Her lesson to all of us is to have empathy for oneself and to honor and develop your highest self.” — David Evrard, Author and Entrepreneur

“Through storm and hellish situations, Kalapos unflinchingly documents her father’s struggles and her own quest for inner peace. A moving tale of compassion and acceptance.” — Zilka Joseph, Author of Sweet Malida: Memories of a Bene Israel Woman

About Kristina Kalapos:

Kristina is an entrepreneur, writer, adjunct instructor, and ski instructor, she has built a dynamic career defined by creativity and resilience. Born in Zurich, Switzerland, she remains deeply connected to her Hungarian roots and has successfully founded two businesses. Her intuitive vision has guided her work in business, in the classroom, and on the ski slopes alike. Kristina attended elementary and junior high school in Traverse City before moving to Harbor Springs for high school. She currently lives in Northern Michigan.

Thank you for your purchase!

Why Strong Women Don’t Need a Golden Lasso or Bionic Arm

When I was a kid, The Bionic Woman and Wonder Woman were the strongest women I knew. Lindsay Wagner was an athletic, coyly sophisticated badass that morphed into an image of power and strength, single handedly (she did only have 1 bionic arm 😊) taking out the bad guy.

While Lynda Carter, a glamourous model who won Miss World USA in 1972, portrayed a Princess from an island in the Bermuda Triangle.  She spun her way into her super powers, deflected bullets with her golden wrist bracelets and subdued her enemies with her golden lasso.

A LOT has changed.

women brain storming in a meeting
Photo by Yan Krukau on Pexels.com

Strength and power in women today abounds and surrounds us in everyday life. Everyday, everywhere.

Our power is neither artificially implanted nor theatrically elevated. It lives and breathes within us and among us.

Wisdom, age, experience, exposure, education, success, and failure line the halls of our collective super powers. I’m not talking about taking out the bad guy, deflecting bullets, dominance or control. I’m talking about empowerment, encouragement and support.

Like spokes on a wheel, we all need to come together to keep rolling down the road.

My Grandparents – Imre and Maria Kalapos

My grandmother was one such woman. If only I had the capacity to recognize that while she was still alive. She endured 2 world wars, the Nazi’s, Russians, and the Hungarian Revolution before fleeing her country after 57 years.

She and my grandfather left everything behind.

They escaped from the worsening of continued oppressive control. Imagine a scale so out of balance it illuminated a dimly lit path that meant walking away from their lives, spirits, professions, and their material and nonmaterial possessions.

Everything they knew = the cost of freedom. A price so exponentially unimaginable, it is difficult to quantify.

The persevering resilience she exhibited empowers me. Pretty much hard to complain about anything when I think about all she endured and sacrificed to feel and be free. My life exists solely by virtue of her monumental sacrifices.

Takes my breath away every time.

So, I persist, I focus, I move forward, I endure, I give, I try, I speak, I sink, I swim, I float, I jump, I fall, I get back up.

Persevering resilience is my super power. It is time tested. If I persist, I prevail.

Or as Social Psychologist, Amy Cuddy likes to say, “Fake it until you become it.” I have faked my way through many things knowing and believing I will eventually prevail. I will become it. If you haven’t crossed paths with Cuddy’s 2012 Ted Talk on body language, linked above, it is a worthy 20 minutes of your day.

Artistry, insight, knowledge, compassion, connections, endurance, tolerance, inclusion… What is your super power? Your gift?

Do you give it away?

woman in black shirt holding red lipstick
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Whatever super power you have, give it away. Share it often. Empower someone. Help them find the confidence to step into the magic slippers and discover their own super powers.

So many of us need it. We don’t need a golden lasso or bionic arm; we need each other’s strengths.

If you need a super power, look for it. Likely, it is standing right in front of you poised to encourage, enable and empower you.

A big thank you to Julie S. for my writing inspo. Congratulations on ‘becoming it.’ Now it’s time for you to go make some waves!

RIP to the Grandest of Grandmothers:

My Grandparents grave marker. They are buried just outside of Zuirch, Switzerland

Maria Vagho Kalapos 1905 – 1983 Imre Kalapos 1901 – 1985

It’s Time to Say the Hard Things

After sitting on my unpublished website for almost 2 years with a folder of random writing, I saw its purpose exclusively to promote my forthcoming memoir, Sailing Naked. When I finally launched it and hit ‘publish’ on my first blog post, What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People? I hoped it would bring traffic and exposure to my book. My entrepreneurial spirit in sales and marketing put to good use, I thought.

My ambition and direction with this blog found its way more by accident than intention.

concrete road
Photo by Maizal Najmi on Pexels.com

I write from and through my own personal experiences as well as things I bump into along the way. My perspective is not derived from a formal education rather the school of trials, tribulations, adversity and the angst, anxiety and depression that ensued in their wake.

I cringe each time I hit ‘publish’ knowing I am exposing more of me to all of you but publish I do.

I see the option to sink or swim in life as a choice while fully knowing others don’t have the ability to or chose not to. If my life lessons are akin to the burn of a Hot Stove then wallowing in my scars is a choice I avert with intention.

In my youth, I scaled mountains of adversity long before most of my friends knew what adversity meant. It affirmed the resilience and perseverance exhibited by my grandparents and showed me how to grow from the challenges.

While I had my share of depressive times, my darkest days appeared in the years (teens, 20’s and into my 30’s) long struggle with my sexuality (gulp, yep, I just said that, Publicly).

I suppressed much of it in an effort to be normal but felt mortified, ashamed and embarrassed to not be like everyone else. I had boyfriends, fell in love and hoped to marry to mask and repress who I knew myself to be.

By the time I was 30, I had stood up in 10 of my friends’ weddings and found a depression I didn’t know could exist in me. I was single, petrified of coming out, of crossing the line, of accepting who I was.

After suppressing it for so many years, I couldn’t carry the weight anymore, and the darkness consumed me. It took me three more years to find the courage.

One friend, a constant through my 20’s and beyond, we’ll call her AB, was there.

Always there.

She asked the hard questions and said the hard things. She didn’t judge me, rather encouraged me to find me, and supported my future’s path which eventually, years later, enabled me to embrace who I was.

While the depression waned, outside of the obscurity that living in Chicago provided, the shame and embarrassment lived through my 30’s and 40’s.

Fortunately, today I don’t give a fuck so owning my space gives me pride. I’ve found patience and gratitude. Being frank and direct is my way. Objectivity, positivity, and optimism flow like rhythms of my favorite song, and wallowing in things I can’t control along with regret are things of the past.

Why does all of that matter?

Because what I didn’t see coming through all of this was the support, feedback, resonance, validation, and acceptance that has resulted. Hearing from others about their personal experiences, enables me to persist and step out of my comfort zone with my writing by exposing things I’ve previously hidden.

It may have even saved a life.

With permission, here is a condensed excerpt of what someone wrote to me,

“This past year has truly been the toughest… the deepest depression, anxiety, no sleep. I finally called my doctor and asked for help and told my spouse…. In January, I pulled up your latest blog about suicide, which hit me so very hard. Since I have read your blog, there has been something poking and tugging at me… I didn’t want to be another person you wrote about… You both have made an amazing impact on me. THANK YOU. If I am struggling, I will say something.”

A timely New York Times article hit my in box with some surprising stats, Suicide Science, written by Ellen Barry, published 2/21/24.  Excerpts below:

“Research has demonstrated that suicide is most often an impulsive act, with a period of acute risk that passes in hours, or even minutes. Contrary to what many assume, people who survive suicide attempts often go on to do well: Nine out of 10 of them do not die by suicide.

When an attempt fails, ‘these folks generally survive and go on to get past these thoughts, go on to live happy, full lives,’ said Dr. Paul Nestadt, a suicide researcher at Johns Hopkins.”

This isn’t about me or my blog, this is about the importance of vulnerability, bravery, connection, communication, compassion, and empathy through shared struggles and challenges where hope and the desire for positive outcomes CAN prevail. 

It is a long overdue time to say the hard things. Speak your truth! Bear the benefits and the consequences because somebody needs you now!

This may not be for everyone and that’s okay, otherwise if it is, shine your bright light where the darkness lives.

POV  – Not Everyday in the Life of a Ski Instructor

Hands down, being a ski instructor is the most gratifying work I have done in the 45ish working years of my life. My professional life paid my bills and supported the lives of my small staff but seemed more of a means to an end.

I enjoyed and was even fulfilled in both of my careers as an insurance broker and small biz owner. Sales is my niche, and getting people to buy from me was my strategy. It built 2 successful businesses.

When I left Chicago and returned to Michigan, I knew if I didn’t do something regularly that got me outside in the winter, the walls surrounding me would crumble. I skied most of my life and was on the ski team in high school, so well, here I am.

Despite freezing my ass off at times or sweating through layers of clothes on others, I FRICKIN LOVE IT! The rare frostbite on my nose (2 times), being drenched from the rain or pounded by a blizzard (too many times to count), is all in a day’s work.

I have encountered -25 degrees Fahrenheit, cowered in 30 mph winds strong enough to blow you back up the hill and basked in the beauty of the rare winter sun.

Northern Michigan winter weather runs the gamut.

There are times when I am so cold, I can’t take my ski boots off, or think, or formulate words, and yet we who love what we do, endure and persevere because WE FRICKIN LOVE IT!

I have wiped tears and green boogers and gotten adults out of their heads and onto their skis. On the busiest days, I teach 7 hours of private lessons with a short 20ish minute break for a few bites of food, a warm-up and the bathroom.

I try not to drink too many fluids because the bathroom is an elusive warm place one can only dream about, and yet we who love what we do, endure and persevere because WE FRICKIN LOVE IT!

Why succumb to such absurdity, you ask?

Because the experience changed my life. I suppose if you share a similar passion for your endeavors a familiar result will occur, but I haven’t found it. Writing is close, but the gratification is delayed and sporadic.

Mostly, I teach children, 75-80% of the time and the remaining lessons are adults fine tuning skills or embracing a new sport for the first time.

The kids are so moldable and eager to have fun, they thrive quickly. The magic hula hoop, snow fairy’s cave, snow fairy’s dust, beads, glades, and Petoskey stones have all served me well. Powder penguins, box bunnies, turning turtles, and edging eagles find their way into the teaching fundamentals.

I ski with my favorite littles multiple times a season for consecutive seasons. It’s so gratifying to watch them grow and improve.

The adults range in skill and age. I am always impressed by their collective fortitude and willingness to overcome fears – heights, chairlifts, crazies straight lining down the hill, or just stepping out of their comfort zone.

One experience left an indelible impression that I will never forget. I was so humbled; tears found their way down my cheeks.

In February of 2021 I spent a week with 2 amazing people that exhibited such humility. Grace, we will call her, and her husband skied at Boyne Highlands (now The Highlands at Harbor Springs) for 25 years until she developed progressive dementia.

Taught to ski by a Highlands legend, BJ who passed away suddenly 5 yrs prior, she took lessons each season and developed a lasting and enduring friendship with he and his wife, Annie.

According to Grace’s husband, on one of her more lucid days she proclaimed the desire to ski again. They made the 10 hour drive from their home to spend a week skiing and I was the lucky chosen one.

Grace was 73 years old and skied proficiently for the better part of her life. We spent 2 hours a day for 5 days together. Our lessons were from 11-1 (not a standard booking window) to accommodate the time her husband needed to get her ready; awake, fed and dressed for skiing took 2 hours each morning. He sacrificed his time on the slopes to ensure she could have this moment.

We went back to square one.

For 5 days, each time we stepped on the snow it was as if it was her first time. To load the moving carpet (conveyor belt designed for uphill transport), I took off my skis, locked my arm in hers to maintain her balance, and walked beside her while she rode, not standard protocol.

As we made our way, she needed reassurance about how we would get to the top, how to exit, and which direction we should turn. From one ride to the next she didn’t remember.

Her unwavering determination and commitment to persevere as well as her husband’s selfless devotion left me virtually inconsolable the first day.

Her muscle memory, understanding of the moving carpet, ability to make a wedge, turn, or even keep her balance were all things she relearned every single time we went up and down the hill.

It is truly the most humbling experience of my life. Her husband warned me from one day to the next, she may not return, but she did each day with the full desire to do it again.

I am grateful to have shared that time with her and to witness the patient selflessness of her husband. It was truly remarkable. I haven’t seen them sense then, but hope Grace is ripping down the hill in her dreams.

Humility is a powerful gift.

Honoring Grace, next time you feel the urge to complain, inhale deeply and find gratitude. It is quite humbling.

This is why I succumb to such absurdity. I endure the cold and persevere for everyone that crosses my path, especially people like Grace because I FRICKIN LOVE IT.

Ski ya later allegator.

#SkiLikeAGirl

Suicide – It may be Closer than You Think

This post will be as difficult to read as it has been to write but we must prevail in the name of support for those struggling with their own mental health.

Please don’t shy away.

I recently compiled a list so troubling that I am having difficulty sleeping.

The recent loss of an acquaintance to suicide led me down this path. A path that ends with abrupt devastation.

On the outside, this person seemingly had everything. She was smart, savvy, humble and worthy. She was a spouse, mother, grandmother, friend, mentor, employer, and community advocate.

We breathed the same air. We walked in common space. We shared cheerful words. We bonded over barbells and burpees. We exchanged smiles and contact information. We looked down the same road but saw its end at a different intersection.

Sadly, what appeared on the outside is not what lived on the inside.

Where are the signs? How do we find them? What can we do?

I always say, “Perception is reality.” Is it in the realm of suicide?

When we lose someone famous, we gasp in despair while scratching our heads wondering why someone who couldn’t possibly want for anything, die at their own hand.

Clearly, perception is not reality when the turmoil on the inside can be disguised by accolades, fame, the perfect family, the perfect career, beautiful smiles, and warm hellos. The projection of normalcy keeps us at a distance that we can’t see or perceive.

How can we navigate the quagmire to extend a lifeline, offer support or help?

My beautiful friend was so close and yet so far.

She joins 6 other friends or family that I know personally who seemed to ‘have it all’ but could no longer face their internal torment. Imagine the vast magnitude of darkness, anguish and despair so broad and unmanageable that it extinguishes such brilliant lightness in all of them.

Devastating.

Why can’t we see such dark despair on the outside when it pervades so powerfully on the inside?

Suicide prevention must be congruent with mental wellness and human connection. As our society continues to isolate itself in the name of absolutes, we exacerbate the turmoil and disconnect from those who feel different or troubled or wounded or lacking in some perceived way by the global masses.

988 The Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (formerly The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline), receives over 2 million calls a year. It’s difficult for me to quantify that number. Imagine how many struggling souls don’t make that call.

Everyone should be entitled to be free of the encumberments of judgement and angst and the perceived isolation that it generates. If we didn’t stigmatize depression or other mental crisis’s just maybe the 7 people in my life would be living and breathing today.

It troubles me greatly when I hear others lament about suicide as thoughtless and selfish or short sighted and feeble, that they didn’t try hard enough to be happy or hopeful.

We all need to be accountable to those around us by embracing their individuality and engaging in supportive wellness, not only for the others in our lives but for ourselves.  

Until you walk in someone else’s shoes. Leave the judgment behind because those shoes just might end up on your door step.

Loss survivors of suicide live in their own torment. In the cross hairs of shame, guilt, grief, sorrow, helplessness, and an insurmountable anguish. The list of questions we carry will never be answered and the abrupt loss remains with us indefinitely.

It changed me forever. Now I see things others don’t and say things they shy from.

I don’t have the answers, I live in the wake of the ship as it sinks to the bottom grasping for reasons why it sank in the first place. If only there was a telling sign or symbol that could indicate crisis and distress alerting those close enough to make a difference.

I imagine compassion, courtesy, kindness, empathy, understanding, inclusion, acceptance, expression, forgiveness, vulnerability, and trust, just might be the olive branch, the extension of peace, the bridge that narrows the gap, the love and connection that heals and ultimately suffocates the demons.

They are all cherished souls whose lives we need. Suicide may be closer than you think, we must band together to suffocate the demons.

BeThe1To.com outlines 5 steps we can all take if we encounter someone who may be suicidal.

You just might save a life.

#BeThe1To Ask, Be There, Keep Them Safe, Help Them Connect, Follow Up.

0 to 60 in 1,893,415,558 Seconds

If that was the measured duration of time it takes for a car to reach a top speed, your vehicle would be an obsolete pile of rusted dust sitting in a junk yard.

Fortunately, with all the ‘Cares,’ carelessly, carefreely and carefully covered, I’ve managed to avoid rusting in a junk yard.

In 60 years, there are nearly 2 billion seconds, 31,556,926 minutes, 525,960 hours, and 21,915 days for which to have cared.

That’s a lot of frickin time.

Generally, birthdays have never really been a big thing for me. I don’t like being the center of attention.

Ironic, isn’t it?

As I lap the sun for the 60th time it seems surreal to reflect on the years of passed time. I have often said to my friends with kids, their children are the barometer of their own age since they can see and feel their age through their kids’ age.

Kid-less, my life feels like, Holy shit, how did I get here so fast?

Let’s see, shall we?

Random facts in 6 decades of life:

I’ve lived in 3 countries, 14 different cities with 20 addresses, 7 were in Chicago. 

I attended 10 different schools – K through College, 7 preceded high school.

I spent 2 years as a 3rd grader.

I took 40 credit hours my senior year of college to avoid being a 5th year senior.

I’ve had 13 jobs and 2 careers.

I’ve loved 7 dogs, 2 parakeets and a bowl full of gold fish.

After driving the infamous ‘Blaze’ in high school, I’ve owned 4 Chevy Blazers.

A handful of acquired wisdoms:

Touching a hot stove never felt so good.

Living with regret is a monumental waste of time.

Being mean hurts you more than who you are trying to hurt.

Bullies suck!

Mistakes are the seeds of life lessons.

Embracing death as a constant companion gives you life.

Friends are my backbone.

Believing I can accomplish anything I set my mind to.

Being accountable delivers freedom.

Being vulnerable enables trust and compassion.

Balancing the ebb and flow delivers sanity.

A handful of things I didn’t see coming:

The urge to pee every time I pull in the garage.

Knowing the location of bathrooms in every place I shop.

Hearing my mother’s tone and pitch in my voice.

Getting married.

Not giving a shit.

Loving asparagus.

Wrinkles.

The dreaded colonoscopy.

Blood pressure medication.

Plucking rouge hairs from my chin.

Plucking rouge hairs from my nose that seem to be growing to my chin.

Not feeling the need to bathe every day.

Feeling relaxed and slightly more patient.

Being publicly vulnerable.

Doing a cartwheel on the beach on my birthday!

Writing this blog!

In the nearly 2 billion seconds that I’ve breathed air on this plant, I am grateful to all who have shared in my 60 laps around the sun. I am where I am because of where I’ve been and with whom I have been there. All in!

Every second has influenced and guided me to this precise place. Foibles and all, this path was the intended journey.

Time to lay more bricks. Ready or not, here I come.

Breaking Bread with Dead People

When you think of the commonalities you share with another person, what comes to mind? Most likely, things like interests, hobbies and passions.

Can we bridge the gap in areas of emotional distress? Why can’t we talk about death or tragedy without people feeling sorry for us or reluctant to welcome a difficult conversation?

Common tragedies bring people together from a sense of knowing. Compassion, empathy and patience are automatic.

The more we talk, the more we gather, the more we grow.

I would be remiss without referencing the inspirational, M. Scott Peck’s poignant words from The Road Less Traveled,  “…we must live with the knowledge that death is our constant companion traveling on our left shoulder.” Important words for the future whether you have lived through a significant death or not.

I originally wrote this in the summer of 2021 after lunch with two former high school classmates. I was so troubled and moved by their shared tragedy, I went home to write this for them.

Sadly, in the time since that day, there are other friends who, tragically and with great despair, have reluctantly joined the club.

This is for anyone who has lost a child.

I recently shared a meal with some high school mates among whom time and distance has put a few decades of space between. Life happens and so does death. How did we move from the bleachers of our high school gym to a table in a restaurant discussing the death of each of their sons?

Catching up on our years since takes a vastly different direction when one has lost a child. I only know this from afar because not only have I never lost a child, I do not have one to lose. In the reminiscent realm of these gatherings, ‘yea, me too’ is not something one might consider hoping to share.

I do know death intimately, though. We are old acquaintances. I have felt the air sucking deflation of every ounce of purpose and faith.  When I met death, disguised as hope and a glimmering light, it felt like falling off a cliff waiting for the bone crushing end that continued in perpetuity.

A bone crushing crash that never ends. Yes, can you imagine?

This is a path where second guessing intersects why me. A winding path full of questions that offer no answers and ends in a place where the entrance to the club requires a secret handshake.

They know the nature of fragility. They met at a dead end road.

They remain in turmoil while they stumble towards peace. They seem to rationalize the absence but not the loss.

How does one even reconcile the loss of a child?

How does one not say, ‘God should have taken me?’

They have asked those questions but find no answers. They choose to live despite them. They know time fleets, wanes and is a gift wrapped in a constantly unraveling bow. 

As an empathetic spectator, it moved me to witness the grace with which they each shared their grief and pain, and ultimate compassion for the other’s loss. A sense of knowing that doesn’t emerge until you walk in another’s shoes.

Interestingly, they both attended the Catholic elementary school together but admittedly struggled finding solace in their faith. I imagine a loss so great cannot be reconciled in any form intended to comfort.

It is there that we break bread with dead people. Where shared tragedy bridges decades long gaps instantly exchanging what truly matters, for what truly does not. Tomorrow isn’t what it will be without yesterday. Forward our only choice.

My old acquaintance taught me this, and apparently, it taught my friends the same.

Perhaps, this club is not for everyone. It requires great strength, resilience and fortitude to enter and stay, but true unwavering perseverance to leave, to seek and find peace, to hope and breathe again, and ultimately, to find the parachute’s cord before the bone crushing end.

If you know someone who has lost a child, meet them at the dead end road. Welcome a difficult conversation. Check in, be present, listen and support.

If you are the surviving parent, keep them close. Live within, through and beyond their absence and loss, ‘always traveling on your left shoulder.’

Peace and love for a memorable, reflective and joyous Thanksgiving to all.

What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?!? 2.0

When I wrote my first blog post ‘What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?’, it was in the aftermath of one of our country’s mass shootings. I was doing the dishes and became so distraught that I found a pen and a piece of paper to release my worried mind. I had no intention of conceiving a series around it.

Can you imagine having enough material for a blog series titled, ‘What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?’?

Sadly, in our culture of late, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. I couldn’t possibly speculate the source of the malicious angst and venom that some people feel free to spew relentlessly but there is a definitive shift in how we treat each other.

Recently, I had a troubling conversation with a friend who works in education. She has encountered something so distressing that she has taken medical leave and is considering stepping aside from her career for her last two years as an educator.

Really?!?! Are you frickin kidding me? This is what we do to people?

What can you imagine is so egregious that it might result in such an outcome? What could push someone to the brink who has spent her career in education as a principal, teacher, mentor, and tutor?

She has two master’s degrees in education: one in literacy as a reading specialist and the other in administration. She has an endorsement to teach English as a second language and currently works in the private sector educating educators.  Need I go on?

Any guesses? We have a winner… bullying!

What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?!?

These are not children on a playground (an equally hideous ritual) but grown frickin adults! How does a bully move through their career and remain in a position of authority?

My dear troubled friend is on leave in support of her mental health. This disturbs me so greatly, especially because she is on the other side of the country out of my supportive reach. Ultimately, if she steps away, the bully wins and the students lose. Or do they?

Let’s peel this back for a moment, shall we?

Bullies are weak, insecure, narcissistic a-holes that find their odd twisted insidious power belittling, demeaning, undermining, berating, shaming, and embarrassing others to feel superior. Did I overlook anything?

Their moral void so vast, the victims are cast aside at every corner.

Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Does that mean we give bullies consent, or do they prey on those who are sensitive, empathetic, compassionate, and emotionally curious? The precise type of person we want to educate our children!!

Sadly, by nature, educators’ gifts of emotional curiosity, concern and care are fodder for bullies.

Their gifts = their detriments.

Can’t we have a 12 step program for the bullying narcissistic a-holes of the world? Or perhaps, there is a small plot of land in Siberia suitable for the venom oozing a-holes.

Typically, I do not wish ill of others, even the a-holes of the world because their due shall come, but when the circumstance extenuates beyond the realm of reason it is time for drastic measures.

Since Siberia is likely off the table, we all need to stand in support of the next victim as the bully rounds the corner. Help them regain their power and not concede to inferiority. Their gifts should not be to their detriment but rather to their, and everyone else’s, benefit.

My friend may step aside, she may not. Hopefully, either way she gets her power back and protects her mental health. If she does step away, she leaves an accomplished and successful career in the name of her wellbeing a mere two years early.

Her legacy is worthy. Time to share her gifts where she can shine.

Peace out mother-fing bullies!

Friendship: When a Sailboat Capsizes the Keel Rights the Boat

I was recently graced with the presence of my all-time besties from college. For those of you that don’t know me personally, that is 41 years of our collective best and worst selves settled into the north side of middle age-dom.

We have come up together. We spent our last years as teenagers together. We embraced our independence and took trepid naïve steps toward adulthood together.  We morphed into responsible people, transitioning our college life from books, beers and boredom to Chicago, shit jobs and cool apartments.

Together we floundered and prospered. We were bold yet ambivalent, independent yet crazily dependent, and happy yet desperate. We ambled aimlessly and with intent. We were complacent and determined. We shared endless pleasures and a notable amount of pain. We felt the joy of hope and the agony of despair.

We laughed until we peed our pants and cried until we couldn’t shed another tear. We shared the warmth of love and coolness of contention, for there exists no greater comfort or pain than with someone who knows your greatest vulnerabilities.

We discovered our careers and our passions together. We stood in each other’s weddings as we married. We welcomed mini versions of ourselves into the confines of our friendship. We changed diapers, wiped tears and shoved the mini-mes off to college and beyond. We buried our parents.

Our early years together were the first real test of balance. We rode the seesaw up and down while eventually empowering each other to find the middle. These are people whose influence has greatly shaped my life and every step I take forward. I am where I am with and because of them.

After years as roommates, and decades in the same city, we are now in different parts of the country, so our time together is planned. Aside from the occasional one off we make a concerted effort to get together a few times a year. Is it fair to have expectations around these monumental visits?

Depends on which of us replies. Certainly, expectations are the breeding ground of disappointment, a no-win perspective masked in hope which seems to always land itself at the feet of disappointment. Sadly, we shared such a visit.

For me that visit was so detrimental that I stepped out of our friendship for a brief period of time. I didn’t draw a conscious line in the sand but as time passed it grew harder to reconcile my sadness and disappointment.

Life is too short to hold grudges, and I for one don’t allow room in mine for them but if a grudge’s twin is indifference, then I admittedly saddled that horse.

I’m not sure there is a worse way to feel about friendship than indifferent. It is quite the antithesis of how one should feel about their besties. I did not go down that road consciously but since hindsight is the reflecting pool of our misgivings, it is certainly where I double parked.

Fortunately, our friendship’s deep foundational roots endured their pruning. Erasing decades of unconditional love, guidance, empowerment, and congruency is a feat far greater than the reach of expectations or indifference.

When a sailboat capsizes the keel rights the boat. We continue to grow and mature as a collective unit and remain afloat.

We are the keel of each other’s boat. Stay the course!

Our independence is by virtue of our continued dependence on each other. Up, down and balanced harmoniously together forever.

What’s next? Stay tuned!!