Open Season

      Well, we've made it through December and the most magical week of the entire year in southern Ohio has already come and gone:   Deer season.  Thousands of camouflage-clad men and boys from parts unknown converge upon our little tight-knit communities in droves.  Supposedly, these guys are search of the elusive whitetail deer.  

Here's how it works:  They hitch the dilapidated 1970s camper to their late-model shiny show pickup and hit the road, bound for a place in which they would never otherwise willingly visit.  It's all just a ploy to escape their lives and wives for a solid week and enjoy the company of their drinking buddies without being nagged to take out the trash.  Or to take a shower.  
       This year, I decided it was time to turn the tables.  Through the magic of the cell phone camera, the hunters became the hunted.  I decided to capture a few of these creatures foraging for food and beverage in the local Wal-Mart one evening and provide a commentary of what I witnessed.  

     This was the picture that launched the whole idea. When I first spotted this vehicle on the highway, I was just sure it was headed to a gas station or the local Walmart to re-stock the ice & beer in that green cooler.  I was wrong.  Much to my dismay, they blew right past every opportunity to load up, which told me they were late arrivals headed to the nearby campground.  Probably stopped off at a motel the night before and spent the first day of deer gun season in a casino.  And why not?  Shooting a deer wasn't really the goal anyway. 

     This one is a bit blurry, but I assure you that guy had on his camouflage regalia and was making a beeline for the beer aisle.  I was trying to find the most discreet way to snap some candid shots without arousing suspicion. 

     This guy was fun.  He seemed to be the social butterfly of his party.  And he has a cool hat.  While capturing this shot, I overheard him conversing with a random shopper.  This is how I learned his crew was from West Virginia.  

     This is the same guy, just moments later in the beer aisle.  I know you can't see it because the picture is lousy, but he still has his fun hat on and has a six-pack tucked under one arm and is going for another one.  Stay thirsty, my friend.  

      This gentleman has brought his son along and they are selecting lunch meat. I thought it was nice he was including his son in his week away from the womenfolk. Also, I thought it was nice of him to get some sammich-making supplies, rather than insisting upon self-sufficiency and playing Survivorman.  Gotta respect a guy who knows his limits. 

     Yes, you need a couple Lunchables for tomorrow, Dude.  It's a long climb down from that tree stand when the hunger strikes.  

     These guys (above) were not together, yet they are simultaneously using technological resources to aid in supplying their respective groups for the hunt.  I'm guessing they drew the short straw for the beer & beef jerky run.  They share the Synchronized Shopping Award. 

     These fellas were on a mission.  At first I thought they were barreling through for the beer aisle. . . .maybe. . . .

        . . .  nope, just grabbing some dew & coke. 

     They then ventured away from the grocery section, and I needed fabric softener, so I decided they were worth tracking a bit further.  

     The trail for this herd ended in the video section.  Here they are discussing the plot of various action films :

     If I were choosing a group to hang out with around the campfire, it would be this one.  Just 3 mild-mannered guys sharing a week in the great outdoors . . . and WalMart.  Since  they were the most interesting ones I found during my hunt, they win the Trophy Buck award.  I wish them well.  

     The guys in the picture below are also on a mission.  If there had been a fence or a hunter orange "caution-wet floor" safety cone in their way, I'm certain they would have leaped right over it.  Since they are headed toward the pharmacy area, I'm thinking maybe they need Rolaids.  

     

     The gentleman above gets the Efficient Checkout Award.  He spent considerable time weighing his checkout options.  After much analysis and evaluation, he selects checkout #1.  He seems satisfied with his decision.  Way to go, Efficient Checkout Guy!

Epilogue:

  The photos that follow represent the departure of our annual visitors.  This photo was harvested the day after the conclusion of deer gun season.  Apparently a stop at WalMart is in order to provide snacks for the debriefing that will occur during the journey back to their native lands.

    Notice there are no deer strapped to the vehicle to herald their success.   Very sad. 

     There were plenty of deer to be had, however.  This one stood by the side of the road so long, I had time to snap several photos.  I'm convinced she would've let me approach her if I had tried.  I have a hard time thinking of these creatures as "elusive."  You just have to know where to look.  The most popular hangout seems to be anyplace near a roadway. 

     For the grand finale, I captured this image the following week.  Someone's makeshift recreational vehicle is for sale.  It truly is the piéce de résistance because the proud creator has thought of everything.  It's mobile.  It has the camouflage, so the occupants can use it as a blind as well as living quarters.  And yes, indeed, that is a snorkel on the right side of the cab.  This is truly a work of engineering genius.  

     I'll never know whether any of the hunters featured here were successful in bagging any deer.  But I know I was successful in nabbing my prey.  

     See you fellas next year.  

Been awhile . . .

     It has been quite awhile since my last post.  Honestly, I just haven't had a whole lot to say and, believe it or not, I've been busy.  I simply decided not to force myself to write a bunch of meaningless garbage just for the sake of posting on a semi-regular basis.  

     Summertime has come and gone since I last wrote anything, and I'm glad.  The second school year without me has begun, and the world hasn't stopped spinning due to my absence.

     Yesterday I set foot inside a school building (NOT Xyz School, btw).  It was for a non-school gathering.  Being as this was my first venture into an elementary school in well over a year, it dredged up some things I never expected.  

     First, let me say, I'm so glad that I went to this event.   For one thing, I got to hang with my 2 best friends, the ones who have been there through everything.  And for another thing, it involved bingo and bingo makes me remember good times at my grandparents' home.  My grandma had a dollar store bingo game and, for a younger me, playing bingo with grandma was the greatest thing ever.  Don't underestimate the impact that everyday, seemingly insignificant things have on your children and grandchildren.  It's amazing what sticks with a person.  

     Anyway, I had a great time.  But when I returned home from this gathering, I just felt really strange, almost uneasy.  I couldn't put my finger on it for a few hours.    Finally, it came to me:  I had gone into a setting exactly like the one in which I had lived and breathed and worked for such a long time.  I was forced to face a small chunk of my 21-year failure.  Turns out, that's kind of a big deal.  

     However, I survived and I got over the inexplicable uncomfortable feeling and was just fine.  The next morning, I got the best text from one of my friends who attended the gathering.  That text meant so much to me.  The sender will never know how much.  It's just nice to know there are still a few people with whom I can chat. 

      So, 24 hours later, I'm still kind of hashing it all out in my mind, wondering why in the world was I so upset after having such a good time seeing my best friends.  

     I think leaving a job, for any reason, is almost like you have ceased to exist for everyone that you knew and with which you had constant contact during that period in your life.  It's like being dead, and yet there you are, still walking around invisible and seeing that everything just goes on without you.  I'm ok with that. It's just an incredibly surreal feeling at times when I am forced to confront it.

I'm thankful I don't think about it that much anymore.

    So, that's where I am now.  As I look back at all the huge changes that have come in the past 21 months (see July 2013 posts),  I realize I just never know what I'm going to think or how I'm going to feel from one day to the next.  I see different facets every time I'm forced to analyze.   At this point, I've become what I wanted to be when the whole thing started:  a ghost.  But now that I've finally achieved that, I'm looking to the next goal and simply learning to be content with where I am until I evolve into it.   

      I'm also figuring out along the way, that it really will never be over for me.  Despite my best efforts, I can never get back what was taken from me.  But, really, do any of us ever get our former selves back after a life-altering event?  I'm inclined to think not, and have therefore ceased trying.  

     Turns out that's kind of a big deal, too.

     

     

You Can't Go Home Again

   I used to think the quote "You can't go home again" was just utterly ridiculous.  I have heard this at various times and places and would always think to myself "Nonsense!!  Of course you can go home again!!"

     Well, I finally get it and let me be the one to tell you the cold, hard truth:   You really can't go home again.  It isn't there anymore.  Even if you never left "home," it still isn't there. 

     Home is generally what we think of as the place where we (a) grew up or (b) spent a period of time when we were most comfortable or had the most awesome experiences of our lives.   If you are in that sweet spot right now, you don't know it and you aren't going to realize it until it is over, and by then, the moment is lost forever.  Later, when it's too late to scramble back, and when things aren't so swell, you're going to think "Gosh, that was the best time of my life, I really had it made then!"  

     Think about it for a few minutes.  Pinpoint the best time of your life.  The period that you wouldn't mind repeating if you were given the opportunity.  . . . . . got one?  Now, ask yourself, "Did I realize how awesome that period was when I was busy living it?"  Obviously you did not, because you moved on.  But now, looking back, you wonder what ever possessed you to go on to the next phase.  Right about now, you are probably realizing, with complete horror, that you were batshit crazy to have ever moved on to the next part of your life when you had it so good.

      You can also apply this quote in the most literal sense, as in the place where you grew up.  If you were a lucky kid, home was safe and comfy.  Often, as adults overburdened with countless responsibilities, or as we move into old age, we long to return to that safe, comfy place.  We have an image in our mind of what it was like and we expect that if we could just return, it would be exactly the same as when we left it.  

       Let me be the one to destroy your yearning for the past:  "Home" is not going to be the same.  People have changed, scenery probably has too.  Old buildings are gone, new ones are in their places, neighborhoods become dilapidated or rejuvenated.  Storms, fires, humans and other forces have removed bits and pieces of the basis for your perfect memory until it's just no longer tangible.   The memory is all you have left.   You can't get back to whatever helped form those memories. 

     So, I guess the point here is, try to look around at whatever you may have going on in your life.  Try your hardest to avoid stressing over the inconsequential garbage and savor whatever you can find that is good, happy and comfortable about the here and now.  

      After all, you're going to need those good memories to help you define your new "home" the next time you discover that the old one has vanished and is no longer accessible by any means other than your imagination.  

Am I There Yet?

Note from Goldie:  I wrote this about a year ago and never published it.  I have no idea why I didn't.   It seems to be a common theme for me this time of year, as the post I've just completed has a similar theme.     

I've been on a long hiatus from writing again.  Just haven't been in the mood to share any thoughts, although there have been plenty floating around in my head.  I've been spending the months since the anniversary date doing anything and everything that doesn't amount to wasting my time thinking about my former life and events that ended it.  Am I there yet?  No.  

     But I am getting closer.  I no longer waste much time and energy thinking about what happened, how I got here, what is going on at XYZ Elementary, and most of all, why things are what they are in general.   No one can tell me I mattered, because I haven't heard a word from anyone in the administration, or school board, and that silence alone speaks volumes.   I have not reached out to anyone either because it's just better this way.  Just way too awkward on both sides. 

     Do people think I'm crazy?  The people who really know me, no.  People who think they know me, maybe.  Anyone else on the outside, probably. Do I really care what anyone thinks?  No.  

     The main thing that pisses me off at this point are the effects with which I am left:  extreme sensitivity to noise and movement being number one right now.  Generally, I can't stand being in a room with more than one other person.  I can't stand sudden loud noises like my husband's over-dramatized sneezing. Or banging cabinet doors and clattering dishes.  Or being hammered with a series of insignificant questions upon either one of us returning to the house. Or conversations between my son & husband going on with the television or radio on at the same time.  Just regular everyday stuff that used to be no problem.  I can get physically ill or reach a point of extreme irritation and rage if I do not remove myself from those situations before it pushes me beyond my limit.  It can take me anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of days to recover.  I know it's not normal, but neither is the PTSD that has caused it.  I just do what I gotta do, get out of the area, pop in some earplugs and ride it out.  To my knowledge, my husband and son have no idea how I am affected by these things and I'm not telling them, because it's my problem, not theirs.   

     Why am I telling anyone this, or writing about it?  Because I want to raise awareness for other people.  I had no idea that these kinds of side effects were part if the whole PTSD thing.  Now that I know about this one, I wonder what else there might be that I have been lucky enough to have avoided experiencing so far.  I refuse to research it, because I do not wish to give my subconscious any ideas. However, I think I am a much more compassionate person by having an awareness, and maybe if I share it with others, they might choose to be a little more kind toward others as a result.  You really never know what another person may be going through in his or her life, and I don't think it would kill any of us to just try to be a little more patient and less in a hurry to spout off whatever ugliness might be going on in our heads when we are dealing with people who may not meet our expectations.  

       So, there it is.  It's your choice how you choose to react to others.  You can be kind, you can be mean, you can avoid.  Whatever you choose, I hope you'll take the time to consider how your choice may impact those around you.  

One-Year Anniversary

     Well, I've taken yet another trip around the sun since I was deemed crazy and a threat to others by a bitch who's opinion isn't worth much (see posts from July 2013), and I gotta say, so far, so good.  I haven't managed to hurt anyone yet.  I have learned some things though.  

      For one thing, PTSD isn't the greatest disorder to have.  Most people only associate it with major, large-scale stuff, like war and tragedies like 9/11.  Contrary to popular belief, it can happen from a vast accumulation of little things.  Or from beng traumatized in untraditional ways.  Another thing is, you don't go around wearing a big old sign saying "I have PTSD, please stay out of my personal space."  It's manageable for me, though, and I know thousands of others are much worse off, so I'm not going to waste a lot of blog space complaining.  

     I've learned who I can count on and who I can't and I've learned to be ok both sorts of person, whether they be family, friends, former co-workers and acquaintances.  No one can be everything to everyone they know.  

     I've learned to trust only my family and my very best friends.  Nothing wrong with giving up my stupid urge to see most others through rose-colored glasses.  I'm not perfect, I certainly don't deserve to be seen that way, and therefore there is no need for me to give anyone else a free pass.  You want my trust, you gotta earn it.  And it ain't gonna come easy, if it ever comes at all.  Don't take it personally, though.  It's just my new policy.  

     I've learned a lot of new skills and hobbies.  Too many of those to mention. Some were for fun, some for survival, and others just to keep me busy and teach me to slow down during long periods of waiting.  None of them were goals I ever had.  Most of them I like to keep to myself because it really doesn't pay for others to really know all the capabilities I have.  I had to learn on my own, everyone else can do the same if the need should ever arise and they aren't too lazy and don't waste their time acting helpless.  It isn't that hard. 

     I've learned to wait out every low point, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute and even second-by-second at the very worst times.  Something better always comes along eventually. 

     I've learned my husband loves me and supports me way more than I could ever imagine or expect.  He didn't sign up to have a crazy wife who would decide to walk away from a stable 20+ year career.  He doesn't understand me, he usually doesn't know how to help, but he has hung in there.  I would never have asked that of him, and he knows it. But he just does it anyway. 

     I've learned to trust my gut instinct when it comes to first impressions.  It is right 99% of the time.  I really think that would be 100% of the time so far, but I probably still have some living to do, and there's always a chance I'll be wrong at some point.  

     I'm still learning to slow down, take my own sweet time and let the rest of the world either wait for me or go on without me.  Maybe I'll catch up, maybe I won't.  In the end, it's really not going to matter. 

     

Who Cares, Really??

 

   Duck Dynasty, Phil Robertson.  3 words: I.don't.care.

People voicing opinions on the two topics above:  same 3 words.  Voice it if you want, or not.  Don't care either way.

     The thing is, it's not my place to judge.  Anyone.  For any reason.  Unless I'm placed on jury duty and am asked to evaluate evidence and apply the laws of land.  

I've been called to jury duty a lot.  Six times between the ages of 18-39.  They really liked me.  When I got to liking them and looking forward to my next invitation, they mysteriously quit issuing them to me. Go figure.  

     Anyway, about the Duck Dynasty Debacle:  People get "suspended" from their jobs for a variety of reasons all the time.  I was told to "go home and don't come back for a week and bring documentation from your doctor when you return."  

     Go read the 4 posts beginning in July 2013 for that sordid tale, if you haven't already done so.  It's a real gem.

      How are these two things related?A&E, just like Mrs. Frills, is concerned with its own image.  Understandably so.  Administrators or corporations or television producers are not going to throw themselves under the bus for anyone.  Remember, their livelihood is at stake.  They don't give a rat's ass about anyone beneath them.  They don't have any real "friends."  They want whatever will please the sources of their finances. Period.  That's just the way it is.

     The people who they think are their friends are those who are willing to bow down and be submissive and go along with the program.  In essence, those who will pretend to agree with their edicts on order to protect their own livelihoods.  Usually this is done passively in the world in which most of us live.  The peasant employees just steer clear of the topic and keep everything hush-hush.  If we don't voice our true feelings or beliefs, no one gets hurt.  Or so we think.  We keep our fake friendship with the hand that feeds us and hope that our outward display of neutrality will prevent the "collateral damage" from thinking we don't care about him or her. 

      Here's what I am interested in with the Duck Dynasty crew:  We're about to find out which way the Robertson family will go in this public controversy.  We're going to find out the stuff of which this family is really made.  Will they throw poor Phil under the bus and continue their relationship with A&E?  Or will they display full-on support for their family member and decide that he is more important than the financial gain of maintaining submissiveness to A&E's demands?  Will they attempt to find some other option that will appear to be neutral with the hope that no one will call bullshit?   In the end, it's probably all just a ploy concocted to move the show to another network, probably owned by the parent company of A&E to boost ratings. Who knows?

     Even though I don't watch the show, and I don't have any sort of stake in the outcome, I'm in total suspense waiting to see what path they choose.  For me, it's not an issue of the beliefs expressed in Phil's statements.  Actually, I haven't taken the time to even investigate fully what he said because it's his opinion and I just don't care.  I don't need to know what exactly he said in order to know that the Robertson family finds itself at a crossroads between upholding the values for which they have become well-known yand maintaining the financial gains of their now-public lives.   

     It's quite ironic, really.  A&E loved capitalizing on the Christian values displayed by the Robertsons, but only as long as it was kept politically correct.   The Robertsons loved being in the spotlight, but now the light is going to reveal how true they really are to their beliefs in the importance of family and faith.   Do they have enough faith to refuse to conform to anything other than their own beliefs?   We're about to find out whether the Robertsons have "sold out."

     The suspense is killing me.  And that's a fact, Jack!

How I Learned Faith

  
    It's finally time to tell the story of how I learned to live by faith.  I have waited over 3 years to share it, never quite knowing how to put it into words.  I still don't really know how I'm going to do that, but that's kind of  the point of the whole story.  We don't always know how we are going to accomplish something, but the Lord will lead us there if we simply follow His direction. 

   In 2009, I was still a teacher.  I had finally got smart about doing continuing education and learned to look for workshops that were not only interesting, and applicable to my work, but that also had additional incentives for completion, like PAY.  In November of that year, I scoured the offerings from the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) because at that time, they had many week-long institutes for teachers that offered a stipend to cover travel expenses.

     I love the Appalachian Mountains.  Just love them, but I don't know why.  As I was cruising the internet looking for potential professional development opportunities,  I stumbled upon an institute offered by NEH in Boone, North Carolina that was about the Blue Ridge Parkway.  It was a week long in July 2010.  I applied in late 2009 and waited anxiously until spring 2010, when those who were accepted would be notified. 

     Since there was nothing else to do during this time, except for teaching and holidays and such, I started playing around on Ancestry.com.  I stumbled upon some interesting information about my paternal grandfather that I never knew.  I learned he was from Meat Camp, North Carolina in Watauga County.  Yep, there really is a place called "Meat Camp."  Anyway, it turns out Boone is also in Watauga County, just a stone's throw away from Meat Camp.  This made the possibility of attending the NEH Blue Ridge Parkway workshop even more exciting.

    While I was waiting over the winter, a very good friend said she would like to go along to camp with me.  I was already planning on taking my son, just to hang out while I wasn't in class.  This trip was shaping up nicely. 

     Sometime in the spring, I received a notice that I was on a waiting list if any of the class attendees should cancel their plans.  In other words, the program was full and I did not make the first cut.  I was disappointed, but didn't give it much more thought.  I figured it was over with. 

     Two days later, I received a phone call from the program director.  One of the potential attendees had to decline and I would be able to attend if I was still interested.  Of course I would not pass up this opportunity!  I accepted and proceeded to finish my school year, anxiously awaiting summer.

     As luck would have it, money was tight in the month prior to the trip.  My vehicle needed a lot of work.  I could pay to have the vehicle repaired, but then would not be able to make the trip.  I decided not to attend.    I had a strong feeling that I was not supposed to give up, yet I didn't know what else to do.  I announced my decision to my husband, but I would need to wait until morning to notify the program director.

     Later that evening, my husband suggested I use his truck for the trip rather than my vehicle.  This sounds like a logical solution to most people, but I would never have even considered using his truck.  I just don't like to drive it because if something goes wrong with it, I don't want to be the one responsible.  He's not weird about it, but I am.  I just don't like to feel like mishaps are my fault. 
But since he offered, and I was really, really feeling like I was supposed to attend this particular workshop for some unknown reason, I accepted and reversed my decision to bail out. 

     Time to attend the workshop came.  Money was still tight.  I still could have bailed out, but something was driving me to go anyway.  My parents each gave me some money to make the trip (the pay from the program wasn't going to be awarded until after the trip).  The money was enough for me to make the drive and pay for my campsite for the week.  My son and I pulled out of our driveway early on a Saturday morning with all of our gear, except for one thing:  We would need to buy a tent somewhere on the way.  And it needed to be cheap yet big enough for us to live in for a week. 

     I had no idea how we were going to buy food or fuel once we got to Boone.  I just knew I had to get there and figure it out day by day.  I should have been scared, but I wasn't.  By this time, I knew I was supposed to be there and that there was a bigger purpose for this trip than simply professional development.

     We got to the campground where we would be spending the week, set up, got dinner and went to bed.  The next day we explored a little and then I had to attend the first class meeting that evening.  When I returned to camp, my friend had arrived and she brought a friend along and a very special travel companion, a dog named "Jenna."

     Money wise, we ended up being ok for Sunday, Monday, & Tuesday. But every night I prayed and prayed.  In my head, going to sleep, I would sing "God Will Take Care of You."  It comforted me and kept me from worrying.  In the back of my mind, though,  I knew Tuesday evening, my husband's truck was going to need fuel.   I still had no idea how I was going to get it.  My 16-year-old son was not as calm as I was about it, but I knew somehow, some way it would be ok.  Still, neither of us talked about it in the presence of our friends.  We just enjoyed each other's company and told stories in the evenings after I returned from class. 

      One of the friends who had joined us randomly gave me money to pay for her part of the camping.  I had no expectation of this.  I was totally just glad to have her join me for this adventure and did not even think about having anyone else pay anything.  But being in the position I was, I accepted and was tremendously thankful, and I had enough money to buy gas for the truck and a few food items for one more day.

    Later that evening,  my son found a $25 gift card for Applebee's in the glove box of the truck.  Apparently,it was from the PTO of the school where I worked at the time.  I know I must have received it for teacher appreciation week at some point in my career, but I honestly only vaguely remembered receiving it a year or two earlier and I certainly had no idea how  it turned up in my husband's truck.  I figured if worst came to worst, we could use that for a meal at some point during the week.  I knew that God was looking out for me by now.  There was no other explanation.

     The next day, the other friend wanted to pay for her part of the camping for the week.  Now, this was really too much.  I certainly didn't expect that either.  But again, I reluctantly accepted and was thankful to have enough gas and groceries to get through the next day, which was Thursday.

     Friday was the last day of class as it turned out.  Originally, the schedule said it was Saturday, but what I didn't realize that the Saturday was just for people staying in the dorms to have a chance to get themselves together and be provided with a shuttle to the nearest major airport in Charlotte. 

     So, we made it to Friday!!!  We had class as normal on Friday.  That evening a final dinner was given for the participants and it was a pretty fancy deal.  I did not realize that our stipend checks would be given at the dinner.  But they were and I was one relieved chick!  Now I had more than enough money to get home and even take a little side trip to Townsend, TN. 

     This is where the story gets really good.

     By now, I was pretty amazed at all the blessings God had bestowed upon me to make this trip happen:  First, I wasn't accepted and then I was.  I had no trip-worthy vehicle, and then I did.  I had enough money to start the week, but not enough to get through the whole thing.  I made the trip on faith and God provided.  This was the only time in my life I had set out knowing fully that I did not have enough resources, yet went anyway and trusted that it would be provided.  And God did not fail me.

     Saturday morning, my son and I packed up and headed for Townsend, TN.  It wouldn't have been that long of a trip, but my son suggested taking the "scenic" route and traveling the Blue Ridge Parkway, stopping off to see Mt. Mitchell and then going through Asheville to get to Interstate 40.  Sounded like a grand plan to me. 

     We drove along.  As we neared Mount Mitchell (which is the highest point in the United States east of the Mississippi), I noticed the truck was not gaining speed or climbing hills well no matter how hard I pushed on the accelerator.  I wanted to panic, but tried to convince myself it was my imagination.  After the third try and losing speed, I had to admit to myself that we had a problem.
  
     I considered myself lucky to find a pull-off on this particularly winding part of the parkway.  I pulled off, my son told me I'm just not driving it right.  LOL.  He got out, checked under the hood, but of course found no problems.  He decided HE would drive and everything would be ok.  I sarcastically thought to myself "Good, glad I have an expert pickup truck driver with me.  All is well."  So we got back out on the road.  Everything seemed fine for the first mile or so.  Then, we came to more hill-climbing.  At this point, we also reached the entrance to Mount Mitchell State Park.  As soon as we turned onto the road leading to the mountain that is the highest point east of the Mississippi, we had no choice but to pull onto a very narrow patch of grass.  Now my son, the expert pickup truck driver had to admit there is a problem.  He was quietly freaking out. 

     As soon as he realized there was not much cell phone signal, he decided to be a little more verbal with his panic.   He tells me to call his dad.  I'm like "What good is that gonna do?  He's over 400 miles away??"  But I attempt to call anyway.  I was able to tell my husband what was going on and then the call was dropped and the signal did not return long enough to call him back.  We were on our own.

     The boy is continuing to panic.  I had to get mean and tell him "You can't freak out right now because I can't deal with that and the truck problem too, so suck it up!"  At the same time, I thought to myself  "The nearest tow truck is probably 60 miles away, no way they're gonna come up here to get us even if I do manage to get a call out.  No way.  I have no idea what we're gonna do." 

      Suddenly, my son's precious 16-year-old face lit up and he said "I KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT AND WE HAVE THE PART IN HERE TO FIX IT!!!!"  He said it with such conviction that I wanted really, really badly to believe him.  But seriously, who has spare parts in their vehicle?  And if we did have a spare part, what are the chances that it would be exactly the one that we needed?

      My son proclaimed "It's the fuel filter, I'm telling you.  And we have an extra one in here!"  We looked at each other silently for a few seconds, and then simultaneously jumped out of the truck, trying to avoid oncoming traffic.  We started unpacking ALL of our camping stuff from the backseat, piling it in the grass by the side of the road, trying to not let any of it tumble down the side of the hill.  Finally, at the bottom of the stuff and behind the back seat, my son pulled out the extra fuel filter that he said was there. 

     To make a long story short, he climbed under the truck, took off the old filter, put on the new filter, and the truck started and ran like a champ for the rest of our trip.  It was nothing short of miraculous. 

     The neatest thing about all of this was the location. The photograph at the beginning of this post shows the actual roadway where the big truck breakdown took place.  We couldn't have been any closer to "the heavens" in our part of the country.  We were in a very remote location.  We had the right part.  One of us knew how to replace the part, and it wasn't me.  All of these factors, and probably a few more details I'm forgetting, left me no doubt as to who had taken care of us. 

     And that's the story of how I learned what it is to have real faith.  Personally, I don't believe you really can have faith unless you have been through a situation where there is absolutely nothing else upon which to rely.  Having this experience has given me such a peace through every situation since.  I know that God truly can do everything.  I know that He sees things that I cannot.  I am thankful every day that He allowed me to experience such an incredible test of faith and that He gave me the peace to endure it and  to hold myself together and truly trust that He would provide. 
    
              

Wheels

 Yesterday I set out on a mission to find a knee walker for my mother.  The way I was presented with that mission is a whole other tale, but the excitement I felt when I realized "mission accomplished" took a bittersweet turn almost immediately.

My mom is going to be unable to walk for 6 months, due to a condition called charcot.  She has a great attitude about it and of course we realize it could be worse.  But acquiring a knee scooter made me think about wheels and the stages of our lives that are marked by the objects to which out wheels are attached.  

First, when a person is a baby, there are wheels on the crib or bassinet.  These wheels are there not for the baby's convenience, but to make life easier for the caregiver.  These wheels are inconsequential to the baby until he or she becomes a grown up caregiver. 

The next set of wheels us humans encounter are found on a stroller.  Baby is getting out more, able to go on adventures outside of the home without being glued to mom or dad's hip. Baby is getting a small taste of freedom within the safe confines of the stroller unit.

Not long after that, the baby is introduced to a whole new experience:  the self-propelled walker, complete with bumpers and, you guessed it, a new set of wheels.  Baby's world just got a whole lot bigger.

Finally, the baby moves on to bigger and better riding toys with wheels, like the trusty Fisher-Price scooter, the Little Tykes car, or other riding toys, and eventually the baby is a toddler. 

That toddler is soon ready for a tricycle. Still self-propelled, and fairly safe.  But independence is taken to a whole new level: the toddler will learn to pedal and also discover that hard surfaces, such as sidewalks and roadways make for much easier locomotion.  Wow, this world is even bigger than the toddler realized.  

Of course, that toddler gets a little older and a lot more coordinated.  He or she quickly outgrows that tricycle.  Soon it is time to graduate up to a bicycle.  But not so fast:  balancing on 2 wheels is quite a huge step.  So, auxiliary wheels are often utilized to assist the young child in learning to balance and pedal at the same time.  Training wheels are the bridge from toddlerhood to childhood.  The missing link can be defined by these gadgets, really.  Bicycles will take the child faster and farther away from home than ever before.  Those training wheels are helpful in reaching this new, wonderful plateau of independence. 

The bicycle phase lasts longer than any other experience with wheels up to this point in the child's life.  For the parents, this can be a magical time.  The child is fairly independent and able to fulfill most of his or her basic needs as long as the materials with which to do it are readily available.  The child is, however, still interacting with, and learning from Mom & Dad.  Total independence is not yet in the picture, but it's sneaking up fast. 

Before Mom & Dad know what has hit them, that child is 16 years old and in need of some "wheels."  The big kahuna:  a car.  A real vehicle to drive on a real street or highway.  Mom & Dad's magical period is ending, and the teenager's is just beginning.  

(Teenager:  These are the best years of your life.  Enjoy them and don't do stupid stuff.  Cherish your freedom, respect your parents for providing you with it.  You will be surprised by how quickly this idyllic period ends and you will want it back.)

So, now we have the ultimate in independence.  A car or truck or motorcycle.  You can go anywhere you want with one of these.   As a matter of fact, these wheels will likely be crucial to working and raising a family.  

See what I mean, teenagers?  That freedom without strings didn't last long.  As you begin this next phase with wheels, you quickly find out that you are now dependent upon these wheels in order to maintain them and thus preserve your ability to get around and to provide for your own family.

Well, what goes up really does come down, and our level of independence is no exception.  As we age, we find out that we are not as invincible as we thought we were when we acquired that first set of "real wheels."  More likely than not, at some point we find that we need a little help getting around.  Time for a different kind of wheels.  

We will fight this stage with everything we have.  We will use almost anything else to avoid giving up our ability to go anywhere we wish.  However, at some point, we find that we need a cane or maybe a walker.  As our upper body strength fails, we may need a walker with wheels, or a knee scooter, or maybe even a wheelchair.  With the acknowledgement of the necessity of wheels to help us perform everyday tasks, we give up a degree of independence. This is an unavoidable sacrifice if we wish to be able to continue to live in our own homes and allow family members to help care for us as opposed to living in a long-term care facility.  The wheels keep us free a little longer. 

So this was the bittersweet realization that swept over me as I accomplished the mission of obtaining a knee walker for my mother.  In trying to help her maintain some independence, I'm also forcing her to acknowledge that she needs some help.  It's a strange paradox and an unavoidable landmark along life's journey.  

At any rate, I'm thankful for the wheels that we have to make life a little easier. 

It's More Complicated Than You Think . . .

        I've been on a little break for almost a month now.  Lots of topics I could write about, but I really don't have enough to say about most of them to do a whole post.  One topic in particular keeps popping back into my mind, however.  It's like that bag of popcorn in the microwave.  I keep waiting for a long enough pause between between pops to take it out, but there is always the persistent pop that comes at the final split second before I open the door.  So I anxiously wait again, thinking there might be more pesky kernels that are going to give way if I just maintain my patience a few more seconds.

     It's a fine line.  Wait too long and it's going to burn and ruin the whole bag.  There are always going to be a few resistant kernels that have to be sacrificed in order to keep the rest of the bag edible.

     I think I've reached that point with addressing my thoughts on mental health care.   The lack of availability of it is what I have been pondering.  I guess I just find it so ironic that persons who finally decide they have got to seek help (which is a difficult point to reach in itself) are then faced with the daunting task of actually finding a place where they can obtain services.

   It happened to me.  I've seen it happen to others I have tried to help.   Usually by the time you are feeling bad enough to not give a hoot about what other people think of you, help is needed pretty quickly.  But it IS NOT readily available, despite what you see on tv and billboards and hear on the radio.

     When my little incident happened last January,  I was already waiting for a response from ANY psychiatrist with which my family doctor had tried to get an appointment for me.  There was none.  By the time things happened which caused me to be voluntarily removed from my classroom (see July 2013 post "Well, Well, Well), it was too late for me to care about saving my career.  

     It's a good thing I wasn't as crazy as certain people thought I was.  That's all I'm gonna say about that. 😉

      I recently tried to help a family find help for their adolescent child.  After several phone calls, a visit with a local juvenile resource agency, AND a trip to the hospital with a child who clearly needs help, we got nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  

     Prior to the hospital ER visit, (which was a last resort), one place I called said they do not serve persons under 17.  The place they suggested I contact had a 3 month waiting list, at minimum. Another place I tried to call had no answer and no voicemail available.  Two other places called and with which I left messages never returned my calls.  The one place that seemed to be on the ball went through an hour and a half of collecting information and setting up a series of appointments before calling back to inform the child's mother that her insurance would not cover the needed services at their facility.  

     At wits end, we finally broke down and took the child to the ER.  This was necessary we were told by the hospital's behavioral health clinic, because that is the only way they do intake for their clinic.  We were assured that once this step was taken, the child would receive either inpatient or outpatient services.  

      Well, that turned out to be misinformation.  After a 10 minute doctor consult, the adolescent was turned loose.  Even with the hospital having knowledge that the child is exhibiting dangerous, life-threatening behavior that occurred on our way into the ER, IN THE HOSPITAL PARKING LOT!  This child was given no referral for services of any kind.  However, I guarantee you the hospital will certainly expect a grand payment for their useless assessment of the situation.  

     The child's school has even ignored numerous phone calls from his mother, personal visits from myself, and emails from both of us.  No response whatsoever.

      It appears no one cares or wants to help this child to be safe and successful except the child's family, closest friends, and myself.  No agency, doctor or law enforcement officers care that this family is living in constant fear not only for the affected child, but also for their own safety and the safety of their other children. 

     Why do these so-called mental health agencies even exist???  They serve no purpose except to give someone a job answering the phone (or not) to say "We can't help you."

     The only reason I was finally able to get help in my own situation is because I had a terrific family doctor who knows me well and who was persistent in finding someone, anyone to evaluate me.  Once I told her I would drive anywhere in the state or even outside of the state if necessary and pay out-of-pocket to get around insurance restrictions, I was able to get help.  

     But guess what?  I'm not a juvenile.  I made a financial leap of faith in pledging to pay without using insurance if necessary.  Not everyone can do that. 

     So, the next time you see on the news a kid has gone on a killing rampage, you need to stop and wonder if his or her caregivers tried to get help and was turned away.  

     And we wonder what's wrong with people.  This country is way more screwed up than any of us have a chance to realize.  

Government Shutdown

With all the hullabaloo about the government shutdown, of course I have a few thoughts.  

First, it's time for a revolution in this country.  Why are we putting up with the shenanigans of ineffective government leaders? 

 Well, probably because there are too many of us minions to organize ourselves, and we are kept way too busy just trying to survive.  

I think it's high time to establish new qualifcatiions for members of congress.  Let's revisit the constitution, because, seriously, it's no longer the late 18th century, and a whole lot has changed since then.  

My first recommendation would be that anyone running for congress must not make more than 100,000 per year.  Nothing against the wealthy, but hey, we need people who are still in touch with reality and who may possibly know what it is like to still be working your tail off trying to provide for your family.  Let's just get rid of the greed-driven corruption right off the top.

Next, in order to run for congress,  any trust funds, investments, and other such potential wealth-building tools must be suspended while serving as a member of Congress.   This also applies to members of your immediate family.  You probably don't have much of these assets anyway due to rule #1, but just in case, don't be planning to transfer all that stuff to your wife or children. That oughta put a stop to self-serving agendas that are breaking the backs of the hard-working peasantry.  

In addition, term limits.  You get two if you can be elected to them. After that, you're done.  Go on about your business.  Limited congressional benefits for one year after leaving your legislative post.  If you were ambitious enough to get elected and serve, you'll have no problem  returning to a normal life.  You aren't going to need security to follow you around, because you did not benefit financially from making self-serving decisions as a member of congress due to rules #1 & 2.  Back when the Constitution established Congressional qualifications, this was pretty much the way it worked just because that's the way things were.  Although I'm sure hideous wealth & greed existed, it certainly was not the basis of all legislation.  Special interest groups had not yet been born, nor had the idea of robbing common Americans through big business.  The framers of the Constitution, for the most part, had more important things to contend with, like creating a healthy independent nation.  

I could think of a lot more, but this is a start.  Tremendously unrealistic, perhaps, but it's nice to have a dream anyway.  

Wise Up!

"We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation.  It's one thing to feel you are on the right path, but it's another to think that yours is the only path."

The above is a quote from Paulo Coelho.  I had never heard of this Brazilian novelist until I stumbled upon this quote, but I have to admire how well he has crystallized my own scattered thoughts on a difficult topic with words.

     I noticed a "friend's" comment to one of my Facebook posts. The comment made contained only one word.  But I, with my insane hypersensitivity, felt the heavy sarcasm in that one word.  I am being judged, and lumped with the "leeches of society," and I am not surprised.  I knew it was coming.  I just didn't know from who or when.  

     There was a time when I would have been just as judgmental as the one-word commentator.  Except my life events have allowed me to really experience the pain and renunciation to which Paulo Coelho refers.  In doing so, I would be incredibly ignorant if I did not recognize that others also experience pain and torments of their own, stuff that is kept private and of which even their closest confidants are unaware. None of us really knows what any other person goes through.  

     Even though I know that my early retirement funding does NOT come from the taxes paid by my hardworking one-word commentator, he does not know that.  Therefore, he sees me as a "lazy bum," and he mistakenly resents me for it.  Or at least that is the feeling that I got.  I bet he'd be amazed to learn that my early retirement benefits from a private pension fund are even taxed, just like regular income.  He also does not realize that the benefits to which I am entitled serve as a sort of "insurance," in place because I no longer have the ability to do what my years of training and experience are all geared toward.  A teacher does not simply go into another line of work.  Many employers simply do not think teachers are able to do much of anything besides babysit, which is not a skill set they are looking to hire.  Of course, any teacher knows that this is a misconception, but unless the potential employer has been a teacher, the misconception wins the day.  

   Also, teachers do not simply change school districts.  Once a teacher has so many years of experience, he or she is stuck right where they are.  At hiring time in a school district, the cheapest candidate available has the edge.  

  I won't even go into the questions that a 21-year veteran teacher would have to answer in a job interview with any employer.  Stuff like "Why did you leave your last job?"  Any answer, honest or not, is certain to scare away any potential employer. 

  I really hope Mr. One Word Sarcastic Commentator reads this, but I'm betting he won't take the time and luckily, I'm determined to not let it bother me.  There is so much about the teaching profession outsiders can never truly understand. 

   Anyway, back to the main point, which was my inevitable judging.  I tried to blame myself for reading too much into one word, but another comment came on another post which was a thread within an event posting.  

   My gut was right the first time, yes, he had stereotyped me.  When will I learn to listen and quit giving others the benefit of the doubt?  Probably never, because I know that I could wrongly judge another person if I did not give second chances.  However, third, fourth and fifth chances are things I have eliminated.  I don't have the time or patience anymore, and I've finally wised up enough to know that it's a futile idea that those persons who need more than two chances will accept me for who I am.  Best just to cut my losses and drop those folks from my life. 

   Just like Mrs. Frills, the only contact or impact I plan to have on Mr. One Word Sarcastic Commentator's life in the future is to pray for him.  I know he has experienced things I can never know about and he has a lot of bitterness. No one can be happy living like that.

   I pray that Mrs. Frills & Mr. One Word find peace in their lives so that they both can function in a positive way for the benefit of those who must tolerate them.  

   It's the least (and most) I can do.  

  

   

That's What It's All About

     I have spent a lot of time pondering life.  By pondering I mean, what is the point of it all?  We get up, we go to work, we clean our houses, take care of our kids, if we have them.  We go to sleep (or try to) so that we can get up the next day and go do it all over again.   When we get paid, we pay our bills and spend our hard-earned money on stuff that we need.  If we are lucky enough to have money left over, we spend it on secondary needs or the occasional "want."

     This endless cycle seems to be the norm for most of the people I know.  For years and years I have wondered what is the deal??  Is this all there is to it?   Why would God put us here just to do the same mundane stuff day after day, until we finally die?  What if I just can't do the same mindless song and dance anymore, then what?  Why do I think there must be some reason besides "just because"?

     I can't remember when I started wondering about these questions, but I know it was pretty early.  Probably around the time I had to write my first research paper in high school or maybe had to try to analyze MacBeth.  I just thought "What is the point?  Is this the reason I am living?  Just to make wild guesses about some cryptic messages that were allegedly cloaked in all sorts of gobbledygook?"  I didn't sign up for that!  

     Even though I was a kid then, the world still puzzles me in the same way now that I am a supposed grown up.  Most of the stuff we do in life just seems like insignificant nonsense for the most part.  

     We do these things in the pursuit of happiness, usually our own happiness or that of our immediate family members.  We do them whether they really make sense or not.  

     This is NOT what it's all about, folks.  

     It has taken me over 4 decades to figure out what it is all about.  It is all about your impact on others.  I don't want to make this a 9/11 post, but the events of that day in 2001 and subsequent stories of heroism and just generally being good to others and helping are the ultimate illustration of what it's all about.  

     There are other much smaller, yet significant examples I could give.  But I think my readers should spend some time coming up with their own.  Think "random acts of kindness." If you've had any proper upbringing at all, you know what this means.  It means doing something nice for someone for no reason.  Doing the right thing, whether anyone else will know or not.  If it can be done anonymously, all the better. If it's something kind done for someone you may not even know, icing on the cake.  

    Why?  Because your willingness to do so shows your true character.  Random acts of kindness are not done for recognition.  They are done to make someone's life a little better.  THAT'S what it's all about.  

     Pass it on!  

25-Year Class Reunion

     I haven't thought of myself as a very social person in a long, long time.  But last night, I had one of the best social experiences of my life.  It was my 25th class reunion.  The experience of reconnecting with the people that were my friends during the formative and sometimes awkward teen years was just amazing.  25 years later, and it really felt like we picked right back up where we left off.

     What is most stunning about that to me, is that most of us have been outside of our little isolated community during the time that has passed.  We've carved out a niche for ourselves wherever we have ended up in the world.  We've had jobs, careers, marriages, children, divorces, illnesses, and losses.  We've been experiencing life, disconnected from each other.  Yet suddenly, 20-30 of us are in a room together.  We are visiting, laughing, crying, catching up, and reminding each other of funny things that happened during high school.  

    It is true magic.  

    I am so thankful that social media has allowed us to have some way to connect to each other.  Most of us have been able to interact through Facebook.  We've had virtual conversations, and been able to keep tabs on life events because technology has allowed us to do so.  We've been able to browse each other's photo albums and poke around profiles to see where each other is working, who we're hanging out with, and what part of the world we now call home. We are able to read each other's posts and commiserate over life's frustrations and trials, as well as rejoice in celebrations and blessings together, even if only in cyberspace.  

     Wow, we are so fortunate!  We still know each other.  Reunions are a lot less awkward this way.  

     For me, social media has really given me an anchor over the past eight months. When I left my job, I instantly lost almost all of my day-to-day friendships.  It was mostly my resurrected high school friendships that allowed me to realize that who I am was not completely killed off with my career.  People have encouraged me through Facebook posts and messages.  Most of them don't even have a clue that some of their random posts were encouraging to me.  Some, unknowingly, have even saved my life.  

    This post has totally not gone where I expected it to when I began writing it.  That's ok.  This is my blog, and my thoughts can ramble wherever they wish.  So I'm just gonna go with it.

     I remember not long after I graduated, my dad said there was just something different about my class.  We seemed, for the most part, to have a certain closeness.  I know he was right.  I am truly grateful for this wonderful group of people that is the Class of 1988.  

     I hope the Class of 1988 gets to see more of each other.  I've really missed these friends.  I'm so thankful that they still accept me, scars and all.  Not one of my classmates who knows my whole story of leaving my career have turned their back on me.  My dad saw something special in this group long before we ever could know how important it would be.  To this day, I can't identify what it is that made us "different" from other groups of classmates.  

    For me, it's enough to just accept the explanation that my class and the friendships we've shared is true magic and I am just one lucky girl.

Deep Summer

     

In my part of the country, it's already well into a time of year I think of as "deep summer."  The leaves have all gone from their joyous shades of green to a spent-looking black emerald.  The flowers, although still mostly brilliant, are showing signs of fading to more muted, classy colors of autumn.  The nearby crops are nearing their peak of perfection, anticipating the harvest that is soon to come.  Whitetail deer are running rampant, seemingly eager to jump in front of any vehicle moving at a high velocity.   Below-average overnight temperatures are leaving behind thick morning fog that cloaks the emerald hillsides in a downy mist. 

     The color of the sky changes to a more brilliant blue, accessorized by full, puffy white clouds. Even the sun seems to be taking a slightly more southerly track across the sky.  Canadian Geese are beginning to put on their annual show, forming themselves into the familiar accent marks, pointing the way toward life-sustaining warmth.  Summer is dying a little more as each day passes, gently escorting us to the next season. 

     Although I may have noticed bits and pieces of these changes in previous years, I have never really had the opportunity to fully enjoy noticing them all together.  I've always been busy being either a student or teacher since the age of 4.  It's amazing to me how all of these changes go on right in front of us, yet we never really think much of it.  It just happens and the next thing we know, we are putting on coats, hats, scarves, gloves and boots, trudging out into biting cold winds and the occasional snowfall.

    In autumn, we enjoy the leaves changing colors and falling off the trees, of course.  But the more subtle changes come and go without being observed by most of us.  When exactly did the sound of singing birds get replaced by the humming of insects?  When did the brittle brown start to take over the succulent green on the cornstalks?  When did the nighttime haze in the sky start to erode away, leaving behind highly polished, brilliant stars?  All of these changes happen, like clockwork, every year.  Sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, but they always happen. 

     It's a magical thing, really.  I'm thankful I get to notice and appreciate all of these changes this year.  At the same time, it makes me realize there is so much more I take for granted.  But I'm not going to dwell on what I might be missing.  It's best to just go through the coming months and years with a heightened awareness and enjoy the new revelations as they come to me. 

"On Quitting"

The link below sums it up pretty well.  It expresses the courage needed to face the heartbreak of quitting something you love.  Doing what's best is not always what feels good.  It can be a challenge emotionally, financially and socially.

Please take the time to read the poem.

On Quitting by Edgar Albert Guest : The Poetry Foundation

Selfish Solitude

Yesterday's message at church was about selfishness. I won't get into the actual message itself, but I will tell you what it made me think about.

First, I started thinking about how one person's selfish narcissism helped to drive me from a career that I worked hard for and cared about.  Of course, I kmow, ultimately, the decision not to fight to hold onto that career was mine and mine alone.  I knew I could no longer be an effective teacher in that environment and, really, why would I want to?

I've come a long way in the past 7 months.  It's really only by the grace of God that I am even still here.  I have been blessed with a supportive family, true friends, a fantastic church family and incredible medical professionals who went above and beyond any expectations I would have had to get me through the really bad stuff.  Most of all, I had an inexplicable peace about the outcome of my situation. 

I have had nothing to rely upon but faith many times over the past 7 months.  I don't know why or how, but my family has been provided for without fail.

With that being said, I have reached a point of forgiveness.  It became a whole lot easier once I figured out what granting forgiveness does and doesn't require of me.  Also, I had to figure out that any expectations I have of other people regarding their behaviors or reactions are really unreasonable on my part.  No expectations=no disappointment=no anger.  Pretty simple, but difficult to really do while you feel like you are fighting for simple survival.

So back to selfishness.  Everyone has it to one degree or another.  As I suddenly realized where I am in my life and wonder what happened to land myself here, I started remembering those first few weeks I spent not working.  I remember how I thought to myself "Everyone else looks out for number one, so from now on, I'm doing the same!"

I knew that wasn't realistic for me to sustain forever, but I had to make a conscious decision to just take care of me.  I am still there for now, although I have tried to toss it out the window a few times.  

No matter how much we like to think that we are not selfish, we all have a little piece of ourselves that we need to preserve. It takes on different forms for all of us, but it is there.  For some people it is money, power, or time or any number of other things. 

For me, I think it is solitude. I like my time alone.  To not feel pressured to act a certain way or have to say anything to another person.  This probably comes from a lifetime of approval-seeking, and I've finally found that to be exhausting.  

Someday I may try to break out of my selfish habit of trying to be alone most of the time. For now, I just don't have it in me to fight it. I need to learn ways to make it less taxing on myself first, like learning to not care so much about what other people may think of me.  I think as I get older, I am slowly gaining an attitude of "So what?".  I just wish I could flip a switch and be there.  

I'm sure I have many other areas in which I am selfish.  This is likely just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. But I've got to stick with one battle at a time.