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After sitting on my unpublished website for almost 2 years with a folder of random writing, I saw its purpose exclusively to promote my forthcoming memoir, Sailing Naked.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.

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.

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!!