Knights were young men in the age of chivalry. In medieval times, they were, above all else, protectors. Ladies trusted them implicitly. From an era long gone, they are the stuff charming stories and colorful movies are made of.
Have you ever felt you've been here before? That feeling of "deja vu?" Do you know a very young child some might refer to as an "old soul?" How about that new friend, the one you connected with immediately as if you'd been friends forever? Some folks believe that we have had past lives, or at the very least that we existed in some other form, perhaps in some other dimension before we were born into this life. That perhaps some people in our lives today were in a past life with us. Neale Donald Walsch suggests we have been here hundreds of times before. Louise L. Hay tells those of us with flawed parents, that our parents are actually the perfect ones for us because we chose them before we were born. These ideas were startling to me at first, but I have discovered many groups have these kinds of beliefs. I don't know what to believe about all of it, but I am entertained just pondering it.
I have a knight. A present-day knight. A girl. The Pink Knight. Now on the surface, she is my seven-year-old granddaughter. She, her older sister and I visited an amusement park and brought home souvenirs. She chose a pink foam shield and matching sword, each decorated with girly swirlies and ruby red jewels. She set out to protect me. Now, on the surface, I am a modern day, independent woman who needs no protection. Apparently the Pink Knight knows something I don't know.
She cleansed my home of spirits. She was quite serious about it, and on the surface it seemed to be an imaginative little girl playing make-believe. What she had no way of knowing (?) was that there were some unhealthy circumstances there recently. I would never tell my little granddaughters about adult problems, because I want to protect them from that. My dear friend/roommate and I handled the situation, the two of us working as a very effective team. Relieved that things were resolved, we had been enjoying the peace and happiness of our home for a few weeks. Apparently the Pink Knight knew something we didn't know. Some of the things she told us as she went about her knight business were nothing short of amazing.
My granddaughters and I had a wonderful time together. I love those little girls, and I would do anything for them. I would protect them with my life if it came down to that, and not even give it a second thought. They are young and innocent and vulnerable and deserve to be protected. That being said, it is abundantly clear now that Grandma needed protection, too. And I do feel safe and cared for and protected. I trust the Pink Knight implicitly, because apparently she knows some things I don't know.
Susan
Monday, July 25, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
They Want Your Soul
Bob Dylan penned the words, "I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul." Giving his heart should have been enough, but the theoretical woman in the song had to have more.
There is plenty of love in our hearts to go around. Love for spouses or significant others, family, friends, our fellow human beings. There is no scarcity of it, so there is no need to be stingy with our love. In fact, it seems to me the more love we give away, the more we get.
But those people who cross sacred boundaries and want to steal your soul? Beware of them and guard against them. When you give something, they always need a little more. When you offer something freely, they always want something else. When you are happy, they swoop in with their doom and gloom and try to drag you down. When you are at peace, they swing by with their drama and try to shake you up. When you are positive, they throw their negative catchphrases at you, and you have to expend precious energy counteracting their attacks. When your self-esteem seems stable, they come at you with their questions and innuendos, causing you to question yourself. You love them. You really do, but if you allow it, they will take away your very soul and leave you as a pathetic shell of the person you once were.
Beware the soul robbers. They are easy to spot, really. If you feel you are less yourself whenever you're around someone, chances are good that person wants your soul. Don't let it happen. They're the reason we have to just keep traveling on.
Susan
Self-Respect
"When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you." Lao Tzu
"I have never met anyone like you before," she told me. I get that a lot, and for the most part it is meant as a compliment. She went on to say, "You don't give a s*** what people think about you." I laughed. I do care what people think about me. I like it when people like me. There are some folks whose opinion is quite important to me, but I understand what she meant. I am not a people pleaser.
You have probably known a people pleaser or two in your time. She is never simply herself. In fact, you aren't even sure who she is, other than a pretzel who tries to twist herself around to accomodate everyone else. She is almost desperate in her attempt to please. She rarely expresses an unpopular opinion, and she hates to say "no." If she must say "no," she explains and apologizes and bows and scrapes to the point where you are vaguely embarrassed for her. People may like her, but they don't respect her. And if this people-pleasing behavior is chronic, she gets to where she has no self-respect either. Maybe one follows the other. Why should anyone respect you, when you don't even respect yourself?
Virtues such as kindness, friendliness and courtesy make this world a much more pleasant place. We should try as much as possible to treat others as we would like to be treated. There is nothing gained by being rude and abrasive. But if we are simply who we are, if we have a healthy self-respect, people are not always going to like us. They will not always be pleased. They won't like taking "no" for an answer. But they will respect us, even if it is a kind of grudging respect.
While it is possible to be both liked and respected, sometimes we must make a choice. I don't know about you, but I'll choose respect every time. It means a lot to me to look in the mirror and respect the person I see looking back.
Susan
"I have never met anyone like you before," she told me. I get that a lot, and for the most part it is meant as a compliment. She went on to say, "You don't give a s*** what people think about you." I laughed. I do care what people think about me. I like it when people like me. There are some folks whose opinion is quite important to me, but I understand what she meant. I am not a people pleaser.
You have probably known a people pleaser or two in your time. She is never simply herself. In fact, you aren't even sure who she is, other than a pretzel who tries to twist herself around to accomodate everyone else. She is almost desperate in her attempt to please. She rarely expresses an unpopular opinion, and she hates to say "no." If she must say "no," she explains and apologizes and bows and scrapes to the point where you are vaguely embarrassed for her. People may like her, but they don't respect her. And if this people-pleasing behavior is chronic, she gets to where she has no self-respect either. Maybe one follows the other. Why should anyone respect you, when you don't even respect yourself?
Virtues such as kindness, friendliness and courtesy make this world a much more pleasant place. We should try as much as possible to treat others as we would like to be treated. There is nothing gained by being rude and abrasive. But if we are simply who we are, if we have a healthy self-respect, people are not always going to like us. They will not always be pleased. They won't like taking "no" for an answer. But they will respect us, even if it is a kind of grudging respect.
While it is possible to be both liked and respected, sometimes we must make a choice. I don't know about you, but I'll choose respect every time. It means a lot to me to look in the mirror and respect the person I see looking back.
Susan
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Who Do You Think You Are?
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I, to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?" Marianne Williamson
Her humor crosses the line from self-deprecating to self-loathing. She defends it by saying that it's her family's humor, and her parents emphasized humility above all things. I think her mom and dad had some very strange kind of dictionary at their house, because hating yourself is not humility. Of course, parents don't want to raise children whose heads are so big they no longer fit in the front door. No one enjoys being around a cocky, arrogant person. We want to strike a balance between a healthy self-concept and bragging.
My brother has told me I should share my writing with a local newspaper. After fellow blogger Loudmouth Birdie read my Betty Ford post from yesterday, she said the same thing. So I quickly went online and found the email address of the editor of a small community newspaper, and sent him a short email with a link to my blog. Unlike a paper envelope that can sit on your counter while you debate whether or not to drop it in the mailbox, an email is instant. I hit the "send" button, and it was out there. No turning back. It was exhiliarating, then I heard a voice inside my head that asked, "Who do you think you are?!" The audacity! The unmitigated gall! It threw me for a loop, mostly because I so rarely hear those little demeaning voices anymore. Once I got my bearings, I remembered that this is who I think I am: I am Susan and I am a writer. My Betty Ford post is some of my best work. When I was done with it, I read it another time and thought, "Oh, I am getting really good at this." Maybe that was bragging, or maybe it was the truth. Actually, that post was so good it kind of scared me. Scary in a good way, like the biggest, baddest roller coaster at the amusement park. Now I wouldn't be scared if I was just a mediocre writer, if my little blog was just a little hobby I shared with family and friends, so they could pat me on my little head and say, "That was nice."
While we are living, we might as well live large, right? Why even have a dream if it is not a huge, colorful, wonderful dream? Why even have talents if you don't use them, if you don't keep developing them until you step back and say to yourself, "Oh, I am getting really good at this."
Now I have a question for you. Who do you think you are?
Susan
Her humor crosses the line from self-deprecating to self-loathing. She defends it by saying that it's her family's humor, and her parents emphasized humility above all things. I think her mom and dad had some very strange kind of dictionary at their house, because hating yourself is not humility. Of course, parents don't want to raise children whose heads are so big they no longer fit in the front door. No one enjoys being around a cocky, arrogant person. We want to strike a balance between a healthy self-concept and bragging.
My brother has told me I should share my writing with a local newspaper. After fellow blogger Loudmouth Birdie read my Betty Ford post from yesterday, she said the same thing. So I quickly went online and found the email address of the editor of a small community newspaper, and sent him a short email with a link to my blog. Unlike a paper envelope that can sit on your counter while you debate whether or not to drop it in the mailbox, an email is instant. I hit the "send" button, and it was out there. No turning back. It was exhiliarating, then I heard a voice inside my head that asked, "Who do you think you are?!" The audacity! The unmitigated gall! It threw me for a loop, mostly because I so rarely hear those little demeaning voices anymore. Once I got my bearings, I remembered that this is who I think I am: I am Susan and I am a writer. My Betty Ford post is some of my best work. When I was done with it, I read it another time and thought, "Oh, I am getting really good at this." Maybe that was bragging, or maybe it was the truth. Actually, that post was so good it kind of scared me. Scary in a good way, like the biggest, baddest roller coaster at the amusement park. Now I wouldn't be scared if I was just a mediocre writer, if my little blog was just a little hobby I shared with family and friends, so they could pat me on my little head and say, "That was nice."
While we are living, we might as well live large, right? Why even have a dream if it is not a huge, colorful, wonderful dream? Why even have talents if you don't use them, if you don't keep developing them until you step back and say to yourself, "Oh, I am getting really good at this."
Now I have a question for you. Who do you think you are?
Susan
Monday, July 18, 2011
Betty Ford
"Power is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't." Margaret Thatcher
We were still raw from the Vietnam War when the Watergate hearings were televised that summer of '74. President Nixon and Vice President Spiro Agnew resigned in disgrace, and Gerald Ford became the 38th President. When he made the immensely unpopular decision to pardon President Nixon, Ford termed the scandal a "national nightmare." Some believe that every cloud has a silver lining. If Watergate was the cloud, First Lady Betty Ford was our silver lining.
She was a divorced ex-dancer and model. I guess she wasn't the conventional prim and proper "lady" that some believed a president's wife should be. She was refreshingly honest and funny. Mrs. Ford's detractors called her "No Lady," but most Americans adored her.
In 1974, our First Lady told us she had breast cancer and went on to explain about her masectomy, at a time in history when such words were foreign to many people, and perhaps vaguely shameful to some. Women sat up and took notice, and today self-exams and early detection are quite routine. In 1978, the Ford family had an intervention for their mother and wife, at a time in history when the average person on the street had no idea what that was. Mrs. Ford was characteristically open when she told us she was addicted to both prescription painkillers and alcohol. This was at a time in history when the media would have looked the other way if she wanted "privacy." Her candor about her problem and her courage to get treatment enboldened countless others to seek help. Suddenly addiction had a face: a woman's face. She died July 8 at the age of 93, but the Betty Ford Center lives on.
Mrs. Ford danced the "Bump" at the White House, adored her husband and loved her children. She left this world a much better place than she found it. No other First Lady has done so much good for so many.
Betty Ford was a real woman who dared to let us see who she was. She taught younger women like me that there is grace and beauty in being honest. I doubt she went around trying to convince people she was a lady. She didn't have to.
Susan
We were still raw from the Vietnam War when the Watergate hearings were televised that summer of '74. President Nixon and Vice President Spiro Agnew resigned in disgrace, and Gerald Ford became the 38th President. When he made the immensely unpopular decision to pardon President Nixon, Ford termed the scandal a "national nightmare." Some believe that every cloud has a silver lining. If Watergate was the cloud, First Lady Betty Ford was our silver lining.
She was a divorced ex-dancer and model. I guess she wasn't the conventional prim and proper "lady" that some believed a president's wife should be. She was refreshingly honest and funny. Mrs. Ford's detractors called her "No Lady," but most Americans adored her.
In 1974, our First Lady told us she had breast cancer and went on to explain about her masectomy, at a time in history when such words were foreign to many people, and perhaps vaguely shameful to some. Women sat up and took notice, and today self-exams and early detection are quite routine. In 1978, the Ford family had an intervention for their mother and wife, at a time in history when the average person on the street had no idea what that was. Mrs. Ford was characteristically open when she told us she was addicted to both prescription painkillers and alcohol. This was at a time in history when the media would have looked the other way if she wanted "privacy." Her candor about her problem and her courage to get treatment enboldened countless others to seek help. Suddenly addiction had a face: a woman's face. She died July 8 at the age of 93, but the Betty Ford Center lives on.
Mrs. Ford danced the "Bump" at the White House, adored her husband and loved her children. She left this world a much better place than she found it. No other First Lady has done so much good for so many.
Betty Ford was a real woman who dared to let us see who she was. She taught younger women like me that there is grace and beauty in being honest. I doubt she went around trying to convince people she was a lady. She didn't have to.
Susan
Saturday, July 16, 2011
And All the Time I Know
I know how to give love, and I know how to receive love. The people I love, without a doubt, know I love them. And the people who love me? Sometimes my heart feels like it is about to burst out of my chest, it is so filled with all the love that others pour into me. Without fail, every time I spend time with one of my sons, I cry afterwards as I think about all that love. My love for them and theirs for me. I am crying as I type this. I am extraordinarily blessed to be able to give love and to receive love. I am both proud and grateful that whatever my mother did to me, she did not rob me of that ability. My life's journey has had some other rough patches in it, but no one has ever taken that away from me. I know that I am lucky because I look around and see people who don't know how to give love or to accept love. They are broken people. For whatever I have been through and whatever I have done in life, I am not broken.
Sometimes I make things too complicated. I think too much and try to figure things out. I try to solve problems. I am an INTJ, after all, and it's what we do best. In the words of Mr. Clapton, I stand there trying to find a sign when all the time I know what to do. Love.
My previous post about loving people without wanting to rescue them started me thinking about this. The roots of my craving to fix damaged people can be found with my parents, two very troubled people. Of course, a little girl can't fix the adults in her life, but as young children we inherently think we can and we try. My mother and my father chose to never get help. I couldn't help them, but I did love them. My mother killed my love early on. Or perhaps it was that she treated me so cruelly I decided not to love her anymore. It doesn't matter which it was. But I loved her when I was small. And I loved my father. So I gave them what I had, my love. It's all I really have to give. And it is enough. I think I knew that all along.
Susan
Lesson Learned
"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." Buddha
Friends come into our lives. Some stay and others go. Perhaps it's your college roommate. You become close, then after graduation you go on to jobs in separate cities and sort of lose touch. Maybe it's that other mom you serve on the PTA with. Then your kids move on and so do you. My oldest, best friend and I have been at it for thirty-five years now. For the majority of our friendship, we have lived across the country from each other. There have been literally years we haven't seen each other, but we always seem to just pick up where we left off. She is one of the most loyal people I know. If I was in trouble, all I would have to do is tell her and she'd be on the next plane to California. I would do the same for her.
A friend recently taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. My childhood was dysfunctional, and both my parents were messed up people. Like many kids who grow up that way, I developed a pattern of playing those relationships out over and over in life. It's what Freud called "repetition compulsion," a subconscious way of trying to right those wrongs. I am at heart a compassionate person and I enjoy helping other people, but I took it to new heights as I found damaged people and tried to rescue them. My rational mind knew it was hopeless. Of course, those people would have to fix and change themselves. I couldn't do it. But still I tried. I failed and in the process hurt myself, but I tried. Then I got sick of doing it and decided no more. I was going to stop rescuing people. Well, this student must have been ready, because within a few months, the teacher appeared.
My new friend and I hit it off immediately. We laughed and talked and laughed some more. With a couple of other "girls," we had a great trip to Las Vegas. I love her and she loves me. For a long time I didn't connect the dots, but as she told me more and more about herself, I began to guess that it's likely she was hurt very badly as a child. She has bipolar disorder, and when we first met she was taking medication that successfully treated it. Then she made the decision to go off her meds and stay off them. Her health went from okay to bad to worse, and when she hit rock bottom, a third friend got in touch with her family. She is with them now, and it would be wonderful if she would take this opportunity to help herself get better.
One day when she was somewhere between worse and rock bottom, I looked at her and had the most amazing realization. I had no desire to fix her. None at all. My lifelong craving was gone. How did it happen? I really don't know. I imagine it was a progression that as time goes on, I'll begin to see clearly. I don't think it even matters. I had learned to love someone without wanting to fix her. Lesson learned.
I don't know what I was to my friend. I tried as much as possible to make it be positive. But I definitely know what she was to me. I was the student and she my teacher.
Susan
Friends come into our lives. Some stay and others go. Perhaps it's your college roommate. You become close, then after graduation you go on to jobs in separate cities and sort of lose touch. Maybe it's that other mom you serve on the PTA with. Then your kids move on and so do you. My oldest, best friend and I have been at it for thirty-five years now. For the majority of our friendship, we have lived across the country from each other. There have been literally years we haven't seen each other, but we always seem to just pick up where we left off. She is one of the most loyal people I know. If I was in trouble, all I would have to do is tell her and she'd be on the next plane to California. I would do the same for her.
A friend recently taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. My childhood was dysfunctional, and both my parents were messed up people. Like many kids who grow up that way, I developed a pattern of playing those relationships out over and over in life. It's what Freud called "repetition compulsion," a subconscious way of trying to right those wrongs. I am at heart a compassionate person and I enjoy helping other people, but I took it to new heights as I found damaged people and tried to rescue them. My rational mind knew it was hopeless. Of course, those people would have to fix and change themselves. I couldn't do it. But still I tried. I failed and in the process hurt myself, but I tried. Then I got sick of doing it and decided no more. I was going to stop rescuing people. Well, this student must have been ready, because within a few months, the teacher appeared.
My new friend and I hit it off immediately. We laughed and talked and laughed some more. With a couple of other "girls," we had a great trip to Las Vegas. I love her and she loves me. For a long time I didn't connect the dots, but as she told me more and more about herself, I began to guess that it's likely she was hurt very badly as a child. She has bipolar disorder, and when we first met she was taking medication that successfully treated it. Then she made the decision to go off her meds and stay off them. Her health went from okay to bad to worse, and when she hit rock bottom, a third friend got in touch with her family. She is with them now, and it would be wonderful if she would take this opportunity to help herself get better.
One day when she was somewhere between worse and rock bottom, I looked at her and had the most amazing realization. I had no desire to fix her. None at all. My lifelong craving was gone. How did it happen? I really don't know. I imagine it was a progression that as time goes on, I'll begin to see clearly. I don't think it even matters. I had learned to love someone without wanting to fix her. Lesson learned.
I don't know what I was to my friend. I tried as much as possible to make it be positive. But I definitely know what she was to me. I was the student and she my teacher.
Susan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)