Touched.

A little boy loses both parents, and all he wants to do is make others smile: http://www.cbsnews.com/news/after-losing-parents-6-year-old-embarks-on-mission/

A woman loses house in a foreclosure, and unexpectedly a stranger buys it back for her and her family: https://youtube.com/watch?v=THzi7O-W2AI

A man leaves his NYC job, returns to Philadelphia, and opens a $1 per slice pizza shop that allows/encourages others to pay it forward so homeless people can eat: http://rosasfreshpizza.com

Very touched by humanity sometimes.

Late Night Contemplation

In ninth grade I was signed up for a class in poetry. I thought I would enjoy it. 

What I did not realize was just what a class in poetry would do to any interest I had in it. I did not realize how little I would appreciate tearing apart the dynamics of a poem. Did I have to know what they were called to appreciate the poem? The fact is, it had quite the opposite effect.

I also did not appreciate the fact that there seemed to be only one way to interpret a poem, and often poems were filled with apparent metaphors. Was a cloud ever just a cloud, or was it always meant to be depression or sadness?

I found myself wondering what the poets would think of those who tore their work apart in such an analytical way. I also wondered if they'd agree with the interpretations.

Mid-course I walked away. I don't remember how it came about, or even why I was allowed to do it, but I did. I did not know what the repercussions would be, but I just really did not care.

One of the administration at some point asked me what we were going to do about it. I said I figured I'd get an incomplete. I was told they did not give incompletes. Well, then, I guess an "f," I said plainly and calmly. 

That moment with the administrator was one I never forgot. I never really thought about my reaction at the time (at least not that I remember). It just felt somehow right. Somehow I had felt like I had done the right thing, and I was completely Ok with it.

I am reminded of this tonight as I am reading a book by Wayne Dyer. He speaks of the many times he thought differently than others. He references a time he got a D in a class. In some ways, it was undeserved, but from what he learned from it, it sounds like he believed it deserved after all. The D was the only mark of its sort in his college career. The F I received was my only one in school. 

For both of us, even though the circumstances were different, it would seem the grade came from thinking outside of the expectations of others.

He says over and over how he resisted going with conformity. It sometimes got him into trouble, but it also seems to have been a significant piece of who he was, and his message. It seems to have been important to who he became on a grander scale.

It makes me wonder what my moments of resistance to things have meant. I haven't always had the courage to be who I wanted to be, but there were other times I just did what felt like what needed to be done...regardless of the consequences. Some times were harder than others. Some were calmer and clearer. Some times I just "knew" it was what I had to do, even if illogical, and made no sense to anyone else.

Even my life now is an example of that. I feel compelled to speak out on stuff in a way I never really see others do. I sometimes say things and wonder if I should really say "that," but I still do.

The idea of conforming to suit another does not work for me. It never really did before, either, but it didn't mean I didn't sometimes try to be some other way to suit another. It really never worked.

I no longer have the energy to try. And I would say that is probably a good thing. At least - for me. I know several people who are no where near as appreciative of this fact as I am.

Maybe there will come a time the pieces will all come together and make sense. Right now I just have pockets of things that mean something in the moment in which they lived. I have an occasional glimpse of what it all might mean as a whole, but a glimpse is all I seem to get

I, of course, see patterns. I see how if things had gone differently, my life could have looked a whole lot different. But how it all brings me to this me, this moment...well...I am working on it. Or maybe it is more accurate to say it's working on me?

There are things Wayne talks about that I am not so sure I believe. I had backed away from him and a lot of the kinds of things that I now question.

His recent death had me looking at him/his work again, and the book I am reading stands out. It stands out not so much for the you "create your own reality" stuff, but rather for what his sharing helps me to identify for myself. 

I also love that he is a huge proponent of people thinking for themselves, which is exactly what I do every time I question something someone else speaks as "truth." I think there is an irony, though, in how many approach his work, as it seems to be with a great acceptance, and without questioning.

It is late, and I am contemplating some deep thoughts. It is kind of like eating a big meal before bed. Although I am tired. Maybe I will get lucky, and be able to sleep any way. <huge yawn>.

Nighty night.

Am I Missing Something?

I have paid superficial attention to the woman in the south who will not provide marriage licenses, so I may be missing one, or more, pertinent details. 

Having said that, what I am not sure I understand is the reaction of those denied a license. My impression is as though they are acting like a license is not able to be obtained - at all. 

While I recognize that they want to be recognized, there just seems to be a disconnect for me around what is happening, and their reaction, considering a license is obtainable - just not there.

I recognize there are all kinds of issues here. A woman was hired to do a job. A facet of the job she was hired for changed. 

I saw an image that said a Christian Scientist pharmacist refused to give drugs. It isn't quite the same as this woman's scenario - and not likely a "fair" comparison. A Christian Scientist wouldn't likely become a pharmacist in the first place. 

I almost hesitate in writing about this, given how controversial the topic is. I am, however, writing more from a place of questioning, rather than from anywhere else.

As a person removed from the situation, I realize my perspective is going to be different. What am I missing?

I think things like this greatly challenge our ability to get along. This woman says she is standing up for her beliefs, and promptly gets attacked for her history.

While it isn't quite the same as the relatively mundane things that happen in our lives, it seems this is the way "we" operate. If we do not like what another person says, or stands for, and can't seem to budge the resulting situation, we seek to find ways to discredit the person/take them down in some way.

People may not say anything about my dealing with cancer itself, but seem more than willing to jump all over how I do things, or what I do, or how I seem to spend my money. They will judge me, find me lacking, and ignore the very thing that created much of my circumstances and dilemmas. The cancer is not "attackable," but *I* am.

It is still not the same, not exactly, but there are shades of our lives in many areas of our lives. We just think because we can't label everything, and match labels, it isn't the same. Other times we will make matches where there aren't  any, or where they barely exist. The difference, I think, is what suits us best/is most convenient at the time (although I don't know how many would recognize it and/or acknowledge that possibility).

In hot bed emotional situations I think there is a big mess of issues. Simultaneously there are those who know how "simple" the fix is.

It may be all too easy for some to say this woman's beliefs are "too out there" to respect, and yet, if we ever wind up in the "out there" position, we'd want to be respected. 

I am talking about much more about this situation than I wanted to/intended to. I am not sure that my getting into the fray about this is helpful in any way. It is why I often stay away from stuff like this.

I do, however, still have my original question. I also have the part of me that sees how we are so much more alike than we ever seem to realize/claim.

I tend to think if we saw more similarities than differences/conflicts we might just act differently. I certainly don't know what the answers are to things like this, but if they were truly that "simple," there are a lot of things we wouldn't be talking about because there would be no issue.

I wonder if any of this comes down to who/what we choose to give our respect? And if we pick and choose who and what we respect, there will be variances, unless we all agree to respect the same people/things. 

I don't know about you, but as I think about this, I cannot think of one UNIVERSAL thing/belief/idea/person that ALL humans would agree upon. Not one. It really is amazing to me that we can manage together to do as much as we do.

I think that says something...but I am not sure what. Those moments of coming together, though, they can be pretty darn amazing, can't they?

If You Are Contacting Someone Dealing with cancer...

I have found myself having to educate people on what to expect from me - or not expect. I have taken time to explain things in the hope that people will not feel slighted, offended, ignored.

That means that those closest to me hopefully "get it." 

But there is a class of people who are strangers who don't get that benefit. I have had people who are wanting to help me in some way who contact me, needing something. They often expect an almost immediate response.

Many days my phone is turned off. Many times messages are missed. There are times things slip my mind. Sometimes I am sleeping. Other times I feel just too crappy to deal with anyone or anything.

Yes. They want to help me. I understand that, and will do my best to get them what they need. At the same time, my best is sorely lacking, as compared to what one might expect from someone healthy. (Even then, healthy people might not be as responsive as one might hope for.)

But the point is that if you know you are dealing with someone dealing with cancer, it would be really great if you could be more patient, compassionate, understanding, and less demanding. The last thing that person needs is pressure or grief from someone pissed off because  they think they are somehow ungrateful, when in fact they may just be really miserable and overwhelmed.

Timetables and deadlines might not mean much to a person dealing with cancer. Their focus might just be on surviving, and it might be extraordinarily difficult to deal with the way the world works when in some ways they no longer are a part of it. And it is not a willful ignorance. It is not mean-spirited. It is not a lot of things people might label it. 

For many it may be about survival. And it really may just as simple as that.

We seem to have issues with things that are exceptions. But the thing is, if anyone was ever deserving of exceptions and rules being broken, or special rules or considerations, it is going to be someone dealing with cancer. 

If you've never been in cancer-land, odds are there is a lot you couldn't/wouldn't know. It is my hope that by me speaking up, the word will get out somehow. If you find my words helpful in some way, please share this message.

I will also add that this can apply to others, as well. There are some I know dealing with major health concerns who could likely also appreciate and benefit from a kinder approach. So please keep that in mind if you are contacting someone who you know has issues - whether you understand them, or not.

In general, I think we could all benefit if there was a shift in the way things were handled - but that's another topic.

Thanks for sharing.

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Just Walk

The other day I was talking to someone about how difficult it is to do things, and how I spend the better part of my day in bed. Their response was to do things. The implication was that things were hard to do because I wasn't doing them.

A part of me was a bit annoyed. But I tried to stay calm, and explain how there is a difference between what they thought, and what actually was.

If I genuinely find it difficult to stand, to move, to walk, it is not because my muscles aren't being used. And I know this because there are times that are nothing like those other disabling moments. 

There are times I move much more easily than others. Those times I may not be as strong as I like, or have the stamina I'd like, but there is a pronounced difference from the other times. These types of times, it might benefit me to get moving, and often I do try to. Unfortunately, though, these kinds of days are few and far between - especially these last few months. 

The other times it wouldn't matter how "strong" my body was, I'd still be weak. Chemo affects things, and the things people think they know aren't what they think.

At some point, the doc wanted to give me some pills for "energy." I asked if it would help with the weakness I felt. Her answer? She didn't know.

I am not keen on the medicine to begin with, but if it gave me energy, and I still was extraordinarily weak, that would be torture. I have yet to try the medicine. The fact is, I really don't want to. Medicine and me are not really the best of buds.

Maybe I will change my mind at some point. But I haven't reached "that" point yet.

I share this, as usual, for perspective. If someone who is close to me can be that far off base, then anyone can be. Perhaps you know someone going through something you have no clue about. 

The worst thing you could do is act like you know something you don't. You are not going to help that person, and you might just piss them off.

One of the things I have really come to hate is having to explain my limitations. Even worse, many times the explanations are because I need to "defend" why something is as it is. As a result, it reminds me of things I would rather not be reminded of. I wind up defending and supporting things I would rather not.

So why do I do it? Part of me wants people to understand. Part of me feels misunderstood.

I do it here and now as a way of trying to deal with how I feel about it, as a way of trying to let it go. Maybe a part of me just wishes and hopes that somehow, magically people who read my words will "get it," and then it gets to those who don't read my words through osmosis. And then it would cease to be an issue.

I know. Magical thinking. I'd be better off trying to find a better way to cope with it. I just don't know what that is. 

I thought about staying silent, but I don't think that will help anyone. Had I stayed silent, my friend would wonder why I continued to spend so much time in bed, and why I wasn't doing something so obvious to help myself. 

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She likely meant well

After the post with my picture, someone told me I was cute when I was younger. My reply? "I thought I was fat and ugly."

I have occasionally gone back and looked at photos of myself when I was younger, and I don't see the fat part. I don't have to go far to wonder why I felt as I did.

My grandmother would make comments about taking me to the "chubby girl's department." That, coupled with being made fun of at school for having a big butt (ironically by a girl who had a similarly sized one) was likely enough to get onto my psyche. The fact was, it certainly did seem like I was bulit differently than others I knew.

And maybe "different" was perceived to be, or at least labelled, "fat." 

If I look at my pictures, the weight came as I got older/went to college. I wonder if the deep, "I'm fat" programming helped to make me fat. For years I believed it - even when I apparently was not.

Not sure when "ugly" showed up. I know I thought I looked really ugly in my 7th grade picture. Not even sure I even have a copy of it. I hated it that much. It was a lousy, unflattering angle, among other things.

It was around that time, too, I found out who my father was (it had been a big secret). But prior to finding out, I was told I looked like him in that picture.

It doesn't help that the man who turned out to be my father was someone I did not think physically attractive (in his younger days, though...) and someone else I knew thought he looked like a troll.

Is it possible it started then?

Is it possible it was reinforced by the fact that I was not a popular girl? While everyone else was rotating boy and girl friends, I was always left off the ride.

And that was my experience both through high school and college.

Imagine my surprise when people start telling me how attractive and beautiful they thought I was?

It did not compute.

These days I can't feel uglier. Chemo has made me so pale, given me circles under my eyes, left me with "Heat Miser" hair, had me gain weight, given me rashes, and dry peeling skin, lost eyelashes and eyebrows. I am sure there is more to the list. But that is more than enough to convey stuff I am dealing with...

I know there is more to beauty than physical looks. But liking what you see when you look in the mirror certainly helps. I find I don't look that much these days, and when I do, I am not sure I even see me.

I look back in some of my pictures from the last few years. It is amazing how much a wig and make up can cover up. Many times when I took those pics I felt and looked like crap. It is why I took the time to do what I did. It made me feel better.

I think about doing that sometimes now. But I just don't have the energy. And it is coupled with, "why bother?"

So, while my grandmother might have meant well, between her comments, the bullying I received, and the fact that I always felt different (and likely was), it seems I may have some unconscious conditioning that left me in a less than empowered place when it came to how I viewed myself. And, that, it would seem, might even be just a slice of what all might be rattling inside of me. 

Uncomfortable stuff.

But I am guessing there is a reason it is showing up yet again. Maybe I can find a way to change it, or let it go, or do something with it that helps me. 

That would be nice.

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Revisiting Stuff

Lately I have been dreaming about high school a lot. Not sure why. Although dreaming about it is not unusual, having had many dreams about the place over the years.

High School for me was not just a place I went to every day. It was my life. I lived at school 7 days a week. What started as a way of dealing with "Liz" (quotes, as I no longer like to be called that) during a particularly difficult part of my life became something I valued tremendously.

Oddly, though, my one time really good feelings got slightly tainted at some point. My school closed, and has since become a Foundation. They needed people to work for them, and I thought it would be awesome to give back in a way, for all I got while a student.

There was a problem, though. I was no longer in "the religion." In order to be considered, it seemed I still needed to be a part of the religion the school had been founded on.

It did not seem to matter that my heart was in the right place, or that I was a good person. It only seemed to matter that I was no longer a part of the "club."

I suppose they can do whatever they want to, but I still came away with an icky feeling.

There are times I am not sure that place was all that my mind made it out to be. I have questioned it more than once - before and after the above incident. 

I guess because it was such a big part of a key part of my life I will never "shake" it. Not that I am trying to, though.

The picture above is me on my 8th grade graduation day. It was the end of my first year at that school. The next picture is of my grandparents. It is one of the only pictures I have of them. 

As a child I never saw the unhappiness of my grandmother. As an adult, all I see is her unhappiness in her pictures. Interesting how perspective can shift. 

I loved my grandparents. They did so much for me - things they never HAD to do. And I know they loved me back. Sadly, my grandmother died only a few years after this was taken, and my grandfather only a few years after that.

I don't know that I have felt the feeling of unconditional, steady love since then. Thinking about this...it is a whopper of a realization.

The sadder thing is I may not have realized just what I had and lost back then. But then again, we rarely ever do realize what we have until it is gone.

Hopefully they know how much I loved and appreciated them. The aunt who died a couple years ago believes that my grandmother taking care of me and my sister is what kept her alive. So I can only hope that means she felt the love, even as things were miserable and tough. 

I had also been told that when my grandmother was in the hospital the last time she kept asking, "When is Liz coming home?" She was waiting for me to come home for Spring Break.

My aunt took me to see her, and spent most of the visit in the bathroom, crying. She knew something I didn't. She knew that many people live long enough to see someone, only to pass away a short time later.

My grandmother died within a day or two of my visit.

I wish I had known that would be the last time I would see her. No one said anything about how bad she was. She had been in and out of the hospitals many times. How was I to know this time was different?

"Funny" the things that stick with you. Not sure what to do with this stuff. I have thought about it many times, but this time is different. Tears are streaming down my face.

I certainly did not expect this.

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