So...What's Next?!?

The See-er

(creative writing piece)

I always thought is was a trait that was passed down through my family, from mother to daughter. It was both a blessing and a curse. I knew it was a curse long before I learned to see such a trait as a blessing.

I recognized the curse in the sadness in my mother's eyes and in her long drawn out sighs of exhaustion. My mom knew things, saw things, and always knew what the end result would be.

The family rented a home that was not well kept. It was a home they could afford, but not a home they could live in. Finally  dad was promoted, the pay would allow my parents to buy a home of their own. As they packed up the last box and locked the door behind them mom declared "I hope the house burns down."

The next day they got the news. It had something to do with faulty wiring in the furnace. The house burned down to the ground.

It was that day dad began to call her a witch. Not in a bad way, he was just amazed about how she knew things or was able to make things happen. 

She always knew when dad was doing wrong by her. It hurt her - of course. But I think what hurt her most was knowing the damage he was doing to himself. She knew his talents, she knew his heart, she knew the goodness, no the greatness that was inside of the man. She also knew he carried many, many demons. Demons that tore him apart, that caused so much pain. Demons that he did not know how to control.

What I have learned to understand is that there is a real balance in this Universe. When the demons are tearing you apart, you are driven to find that balance. For every source of pain you MUST find a source of pleasure. Mom wanted to be that source of pleasure. She wanted the family to be the source of pleasure and place of stability unlike dad had ever known. But to dad the family was a responsibility, an obligation, and perhaps a concept that was simply too unfamiliar for him. He found his comfort in a bottle of whiskey, in friends who had an unlimited amount of praise for him, and in women who adored him. I knew dad loved his family, but he also had to get away from the family.

My mom, she knew things. She knew he would die a lonely man. She was sad that he would die a lonely man. She knew his close friends were addicts in their own way, each escaping reality, each enabling the other. When it came down to the end, they would not be there. She knew things, and she carried the burden of a knowledge she could do nothing about.

The funeral was nice. It was nice to have the family together for Christmas. I wondered about dad's friends. Had anyone tried to contact anyone from his past? Did anyone know how to get in touch with all those friends he once held so dear, the people he did so much for when he was able. No one had been in touch with dad for years. Would they even care that he died?

I would be different. I too was a "see-er." I saw things and could see how patterns would progress. But I would use my gift as a blessing. I would not let myself get involved with someone heading down the wrong path.

My gift was truly a blessing.  I knew things and was able to avoid the wrong path before too many steps were taken. I saw potential in others before they could see it in themselves. I was able to make a significant difference in the lives of many people because of what I could see.

I was a "see-er" just like my mom, but for me it would be more of a blessing than a curse.

Or not.

A see-er can see the path, but they can not change the path. It was my mom's curse to have to stand by and watch. She tried to change the path my dad was on, but it was not her path to change.

At least I learned that early on. We each have our own path. It is my job to walk along my own path. To be a see-er that can use my gifts to make the decisions that are right for me. It is my blessing, but there are days when I experience that it can also be my curse.

Being a Writer

Over the past week every person I would care to read a list of 25 things about has posted the 25 things about themselves via the Facebook meme. What has struck me is every single one I have read has listed that they would like to write.

It makes me proud to read that because I can and do consider myself a writer. It is not just something I want to do anymore, it is something I do. It was a long journey to get here. A journey that started when I was in the 3rd grade and everyone seemed to be praising my older brother for a few poems he had written (he was in the 11th grade). I was inspired to try out my own creativity and I began writing. I wrote a lot of poems, and shared them on occasion with friends and family. It became my escape, writing as well as reading. I read everything I could get my hands on. I am still an avid reader and long to absorb the insights and inspiration that can be found in books.

Early in college I had decided I wanted to be a high school English teacher. My brief career as a substitute teacher killed the desire to be part of the school system, but I still wanted to develop my own skills and talent. In college I chose the writing track of the English program and received my BS in English with and Emphasis in Writing (as well as a BS in Business with an emphasis in Markeing). I had the most amazing Writing professors. Many of my professors praised my writing in Articles and Essays, but there was one professor who challenged me. He actually gave me a B! (I had straight A's up until his class). Mr. Clarke, my fiction writing professor, told me that my writing lacked life experience. He told me perhaps after I experienced more of life's challenges I would be a better writer. Mr. Clarke did not know me or my story. My story was something I kept very private. Being determined to keep my story private meant that I could not find any real depth for my fictional characters.

My personal story was rich with charcters though and had many interesting twist and turns. I was in college taking 18 credit hours, working 2 jobs, married with a 2 year old son. Believe me I was facing life's challenges. My dad was a wonderful, intelligent, giving man who also was a troubled alcoholic. My parents divorced each other TWICE before I was 11 years old. When I was 8 my mom almost died from her hysterectomy that she needed to remove cancer. At the age of 12 my dad was diagnosed with MS. I grew up in the part of Miami that is known for the historic 1980 riots - I was a minority. I had stories.

But I kept them buried deep inside. I believed no one really wanted to hear my sad stories, my drama.

But this instructor pushed my buttons, accused me of being a typcial college student who had not yet experienced life and then gave me a B!

I decided to take a road trip. I drove and I thought. I drove and I explored what richness was in my life that I was willing to share. The result was a fictional story titled Big City in a Small Town. It was fictional, but the charcters were based on my family, the emotions were based on when I moved from Miami to Indiana in the 7th grade. It was the first time I shaped my history into a piece of art.

It was therapuetic. Through my own creation I was able to see the richness of my experiences. Oh - and I got an A and lots of praise from the instructor.

My next essay in the Essay class turned out to be much more personal - How I Know God. Beyond getting an A, I was asked to publish it. I chose not to.

As I started my career journey I stopped writing. It was only after I was inspired by my oldest son's writing, 7 years later, that I took it up again. I wrote my first performance piece, again drawing on my personal emotions and insecurities. The piece was called It is She, Not Me.

After I performed the piece for some drama friends, I was asked to run a writing workshop. I was still very insecure about my own abilities. I had never officially published my work, but took the task on anyway. It was that experience that led to so many other things in my life today. The courage to take on new projects, the strength to be open and a little bit exposed, and the friends who continue to encourage me to develop the leader within me.

Being a writer has helped me to explore who I am, what I have experienced, and where I want to go in ways that can become a wonderful creation of art that others can share. It has become a part of who I am.

Recently I read a piece from someone I know. It was one of his first "writing" pieces, and it was really good, but more than the voice and style, I identified the depth he went into himself to create, and I was proud. I know the journey that writing can take a person on and I am proud to see that he is taking that journey.

I am still looking for you

Who am I looking for? I suppose you could say I am looking for Pandora.

What am I talking about? Have I completely lost my mind finally? Maybe.

I was  listening to Dan Carlin's Hardcore history podcast this morning and he made a comment about how by studying the ancient civilizations of Greece and Rome and such we can learn so much about humanity.

I am fascinated by humans. I am fascinated with lies, deceit, addictions. I am fascinated with how we lie and deceive ourselves to serve our own needs.

It is said that Pandora was given the gift of curiosity which caused her to open the box. Yeah....I have gotten myself in trouble because of that particular trait.

But if Pandora was curious, she would have done more than just open a box - release these evil traits and then close the lid as quickly as she could. Once she realized that the damage was done and could not be undone I am betting she began to study the affects of her actions. I bet people became much more interesting as well as disturbing.

People never cease to amaze me. I look for patterns, I looking for motivations, I look for the underlying spirit of people. There are so many layers, so many surprising layers to each person. What still amazes me the most is how many people will hide their best qualities, will bury their spirit and will actually seek out experiences that will add more scars for them to display as though they were unique and artistic tattoos.

I love watching good history documentaries. I love watching what my husband and I refer to as TV for aliens, which are documentaries about people's habits and traits - what makes us tick. I think part of why I love what I do is because ultimately I spend a lot of time looking at what people are doing and how they are sharing it to the world.

But I am still looking for Pandora. Why? Because I am curious. For so long we have had the opportunity to observe the affects of these evils on people, I am curious on what that last trait  that was left in the box will do to us. What would happen if we released hope?

So - I hear you finally believe in yourself...an open letter to a friend

So, I hear you finally looked in the mirror. Took a real good look. I bet I can guess what you saw.

You saw the ugliness that others pointed out to you as you were growing up. You saw the failures of past efforts when you tried but lost or lost because you could no longer try. You saw the pain from years of abuse by those who were supposed to love and protect you. You saw the scars from various addictions that you cling to in spite of the pain they cause you and those you love.

I am thinking you might have caught a glimpse of what I see when I look at you. The dreams of who you want to be. The strength that has carried you through the lowest times in your life. The love and goodness in your heart that you long to share with so many. The light in your eyes that can never be denied. I am praying that you saw the you that you are meant to be, if you can just accept  a little help a long the way.

I am hoping you saw behind you the many wonderful people who have always stood behind you. I am hoping you know they will never leave you and can and want to support you. They have always seen the person you are trying to be.

You are strong and you are brave and you are stubborn always wanting to get your way. You can walk this path to find the real you.

Perhaps you are wondering why I wrote this blog about you - and for that I laugh a little laugh. Because maybe this blog post was for someone else and not you - but if it touched your heart - maybe it should have been for you.

What is Your Story?

That is a book I have wanted to write since high school. My "vision" is to walk around and ask random people "what's your story...any story" and create a book. We all have stories, and what I have realized as I have gone through the years of this life is that our stories, especially our dysfunctional stories, are a thread to our commonalities.

So...for the last few months I found myself looking at the world as so aptly described by Shakespeare as being a stage. I find myself creating " characters" out of the people I meet. I by no means suggest any disrespect, it is just the writer in me wanting to express itself.

More recently I started thinking about all the characters that have passed through my life.

I am very fortunate to have met and gotten to know a whole variety of people. My dad was the type of person who opened his door to anyone - seriously...ANYONE.

I have known a homeless man who was studying to be a truck driver. In fact it was because of him that I read the first book that influenced my life, Living, Loving and Learning. It was in one of his few boxes of stuff. I grabbed it to read, and do not think I ever returned it...so I guess I stole from a homeless man. I was 12..so hopefully all is forgiven by now...

I have known strippers and girls who dated much older men and women who sought out much younger men. I have known professors who became good friends and successful business men who thought I was "fascinating." I have known "dirty old men" and dying young men.

I have known alcoholics, gamblers, cheaters, bigots, liars, drug addicts, sex addicts, and freaks...all of whom I found a reason to like.

I realized I already have lots of stories to tell and perhaps a few stories that need to be told.

So tonight, as opposed to writing the book, I started a new creative writing category for exploring Character Development. No real names will be used, and oftentimes the stories will be written with a very liberal creative license, but my hope is that they will all be motivational. I plan to write a story a night - and would love feedback. but more importantly, you never know when you might be the character of the evening story :)

Tonight's story is about a young mom who lost herself trying to serve others until she found herself betraying the people she loved the most. It is called "Close Your Eyes" - Enjoy...

“Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean.”

Ryunosuke Satoro