In rural Pennsylvania where I grew up, Game Night was a big deal. Whether or not it be football or basketball, folks came out to cheer on the local student star athletes. Like my brother and father before me, I was a natural born athlete. I was the 'star' player on the girls basketball team and the 'fastest' girl on the track.
Practice was two days a week, with games or meets two days a week, with one day for rest. Weekends were optional practices, special meets or games for which I was always involved. I lived, ate, breathed sports. It was really the only thing that my father and I could talk about.
You see, my mother had left when I was about 11 or 12 and my father was pretty depressed most of the time. Sports were the one unifying thing for our family. Our grandfather and my brother and father and I could talk sports. Who's in the playoffs, who sucks, who sold out, why was coach so and so such a dip-shit, etc...
My mother, who was going back to school and held down two jobs, was not really into sports. It kind of made it hard to relate to her at the time. I remember seeing her seated in the bleachers before a game. I would be such a bitch to her; ignoring her or casually approaching her like I didn't even care that she was there. She would probably drive at least an hour to come see me and I'd barely acknowledge her.
Worse, my father would work 8 or 10 hours and then drive the hour or two to wherever my game was. He'd sit and watch the game and cheer and cuss out the refs and then drive all the way back to town to wait for me to arrive separately on the bus. I could have driven home with him and made his trip home one hour less but I didn't. No, selfishly, I rode the bus home with my friends and then gave him the cold shoulder the whole ride home. I'd then go into my room and shut door and act like he was "bothering me".
I just passed my first rite of passage with my son. Valentine's Day. I have memories of sitting up with my mother making the Valentine's Day box and filling out the Valentine's Day cards. And here I am doing it for my son. It only signals that some day soon I will be staying up later than I really want to in order to cheer my son on at some game or meet and more than likely he will give me the cold shoulder.
There is nothing you can do at this point to make up for how you treated your parents, huh? I guess that is why kids treat their parents like crap. So that we finally know what it feels like to be a parent. Kind of a sick torture I think. But, for what's it is worth. Mom, Dad, I am sorry I was such an ass. I love you both. Thank you.
Monday, February 13, 2012
I Release and Let Go.....
There has been something that I felt that I have not been quite honest with you about. And for that I apologize. The truth is, that I've been hiding something from you for some time. It is not because I don't trust you. No, not at all. I think I held back out of embarrassment.
It is a deeply held, tightly guarded, lovingly protected secret which I know that I implied in some of my posts, however, it wasn’t fully forth-coming; instead it was sort of passive and for that I seek your forgiveness. Some of you know what I am talking about; those of you who saw me in my absolute worst.
So here it is: I am a survivor of domestic abuse.
And yet, why did I hesitate to name it outright?
Abuse, domestic abuse, is a silent disease that affects more than 74% of people in the US whether they know someone or are a part of the abuse. It directly affects roughly 25% the US of population.
I never, ever, ever in my wildest dreams would have suspected that I would become a victim of domestic violence. I mean I run triathlons and climb high Sierra peaks, I traveled abroad and speak two languages. I have a good education, a high-paying professional job. I mean, how did this college-educated, sassy, world-traveled, strong, independent woman become a victim of abuse? How did I allow it? What is wrong with me that I allowed this to happen to me?
The women I met in my group counseling sessions were just as flabbergasted too. They all seemed capable, smart, well-meaning young women. How????
Well, the simple answer is that, it's not that easy. The circumstances for which I entered into my relationship have little to do with the final series of outcomes. When he was in his particular state of rage, I was in my own particular state of lack of self-worth and dis-equilibrium.
There are a number of “reasons” for our stress. Citizenship status, financial needs, pity, mutual desire for something other than another Tahoe winter season, unplanned pregnancy, house remodel, unplanned c-section, post-partum depression, paternal resentment, debt, bad economy, historically bad fight with best friend, loss of our one functioning car, his family‘s pure dislike of me….the list goes on.
It was if “God” were against us. And I used to cry aloud to God, screaming how I hated him and that he had left me alone in this pure tragic misery of pain and regret. I used to say that I would never again be duped into believing in the supposed powers of universal spirit. What had God ever done for me?
It is in the absolute moment of despair that one can finally see the truth. There exists only one truth. If then, there is darkness, such as what I experienced, there must then also be light. For without one, the other cannot exist.
So, out of chaos, I found peace. Out of poverty, I found prosperity. Out of hatred and judgment I found unconditional love and acceptance. Out of pain and suffering I found joy and patience. Out of loss I found gratitude. Out of disaster I found strength and perseverance. Out of loneliness I found community.
And I know that I would not have ever appreciated any of these without having lost pretty much everything. I am like the Job of Ventura. Ha!
If you are a victim today, I urge you to take the necessary steps to get yourself to a safe location and begin to rebuild your life. Take it from me; it can be done. It isn’t “impossible”. Yes, it isn’t easy. And from experience, the services from the County or State are scattered and confusing at best. But, here are some resources that can help you get out of your current situation and into the life you were meant to inhabit.
It's time to let go of that story that you deserve this and begin to accept the truth that you deserve so much more...all that the Universe has to offer and more.
Cal Lutheran Community Counseling Center http://www.callutheran.edu/community_counseling/
Ventura County Project Understanding http://www.projectunderstanding.org/
Ventura County 211 http://www.icfs.org/211ventura.org/
It is a deeply held, tightly guarded, lovingly protected secret which I know that I implied in some of my posts, however, it wasn’t fully forth-coming; instead it was sort of passive and for that I seek your forgiveness. Some of you know what I am talking about; those of you who saw me in my absolute worst.
So here it is: I am a survivor of domestic abuse.
And yet, why did I hesitate to name it outright?
Abuse, domestic abuse, is a silent disease that affects more than 74% of people in the US whether they know someone or are a part of the abuse. It directly affects roughly 25% the US of population.
I never, ever, ever in my wildest dreams would have suspected that I would become a victim of domestic violence. I mean I run triathlons and climb high Sierra peaks, I traveled abroad and speak two languages. I have a good education, a high-paying professional job. I mean, how did this college-educated, sassy, world-traveled, strong, independent woman become a victim of abuse? How did I allow it? What is wrong with me that I allowed this to happen to me?
The women I met in my group counseling sessions were just as flabbergasted too. They all seemed capable, smart, well-meaning young women. How????
Well, the simple answer is that, it's not that easy. The circumstances for which I entered into my relationship have little to do with the final series of outcomes. When he was in his particular state of rage, I was in my own particular state of lack of self-worth and dis-equilibrium.
There are a number of “reasons” for our stress. Citizenship status, financial needs, pity, mutual desire for something other than another Tahoe winter season, unplanned pregnancy, house remodel, unplanned c-section, post-partum depression, paternal resentment, debt, bad economy, historically bad fight with best friend, loss of our one functioning car, his family‘s pure dislike of me….the list goes on.
It was if “God” were against us. And I used to cry aloud to God, screaming how I hated him and that he had left me alone in this pure tragic misery of pain and regret. I used to say that I would never again be duped into believing in the supposed powers of universal spirit. What had God ever done for me?
It is in the absolute moment of despair that one can finally see the truth. There exists only one truth. If then, there is darkness, such as what I experienced, there must then also be light. For without one, the other cannot exist.
So, out of chaos, I found peace. Out of poverty, I found prosperity. Out of hatred and judgment I found unconditional love and acceptance. Out of pain and suffering I found joy and patience. Out of loss I found gratitude. Out of disaster I found strength and perseverance. Out of loneliness I found community.
And I know that I would not have ever appreciated any of these without having lost pretty much everything. I am like the Job of Ventura. Ha!
If you are a victim today, I urge you to take the necessary steps to get yourself to a safe location and begin to rebuild your life. Take it from me; it can be done. It isn’t “impossible”. Yes, it isn’t easy. And from experience, the services from the County or State are scattered and confusing at best. But, here are some resources that can help you get out of your current situation and into the life you were meant to inhabit.
It's time to let go of that story that you deserve this and begin to accept the truth that you deserve so much more...all that the Universe has to offer and more.
Cal Lutheran Community Counseling Center http://www.callutheran.edu/community_counseling/
Ventura County Project Understanding http://www.projectunderstanding.org/
Ventura County 211 http://www.icfs.org/211ventura.org/
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
What Does My Body Have to do With My Gratitude?
Every time I hear that song from Ani DiFranco, I stop what I am doing and listen to her words. Soft yet confident and so, oh so truthful. With some shame and reluctance I share with you that I've been put into a similar situation as well. ;More than once before, I have been trusting, believing the best in the other and honestly quite unbelievably I have had my innocence violated.
In high school, in the front seat of a car, rain pouring down, and he's on top of me, entering me and the pain is excruciating and within minutes, the whole experience is done and he's kicking me out of his car in the pouring rain outside the school dance. I am embarrassed and confused.
In college, after a long night of partying, falling asleep in a friend's bed only to be awoken in the early hours of the morning with them taking off my t-shirt, forcing their tongue down my throat, telling me to be quiet. Me, wriggling out of their grasp and running out of the house loaded with the guilt of "I must have done something to deserve that". Yes, I was plenty self destructive at the time in my life. But, really?
While traveling abroad, I found myself without a place to sleep one night. I had been traveling with a supposed business associate, assisting him with investigating real-estate options abroad. He was supposed to have set up separate sleeping arrangements, but upon arrival, after 17 hours of travel, I discover, he in fact, had ulterior plans. I fled, in anger and shame again, believing somehow I had brought this upon myself. And I had no where to stay. The first night I slept in the bus station. I made friends with a group of Aussies who lived in town; ex-pats living the along the Adriatic. One offered me a place to stay on his couch. But, alas, again, upon entering the apartment, only to discover no couch; just a double bed. And just like in Ani's song, he said, 'we can sleep here like brother and sister.' But I know that my brother never asked me to do the things he asked me to do that night. Again, another cold, sleepless night in the bus station. Guilt and shame. Fear and doubt. Traveling alone isn't as glamorous as it is portrayed.
Someone asks you out on a date and you feel obliged to kiss them. When they pressure your for more, perhaps a little violently, you appease and give in. Guilt and shame.
Women who find themselves in this situation are not whores. They are not 'asking for it'. But, yet, there is a certain group of women who repeatedly find themselves in similar situations. I know this, because I have had this experience more than once.
Finally, in my last relationship, when I as a result of escalating violence, I got myself enrolled into an awesome an awesome counseling program. There, I met 10 other women, who like me, had fought men off of them their entire lives. Self esteem rock bottom, guilt, fear, and shame of it repeating itself again and again. Confusion over what we've possibly had done to deserve this. In this 12 week program, I was able to finally break the cycle of violence. And with the support and insight gained in classes at my church, I am able to say, with confidence, that I know I never deserved this and I certainly have the power to prevent it.
I honestly don't know how you get over it. It hurts really bad inside of me. It's a hole, burning deep, painful place within me. I think sometimes the emotions are fanned or fueled by my repeating thoughts of unworthiness and the whole thing starts to consume my inner sanctuary. It's been crumbling down and there are cracks where the light comes in. I am burning from the inside out. Saddened by a life lived with openness, trustworthiness and general belief that people are not out to hurt me. Did they hurt me or did I allow them to hurt me, in a passive way to hurt myself? Is my self hatred that deeply ingrained into my inner psyche? Is it possible to heal?
I've been meditating lately on this one idea that when thoughts and emotions are combined they sort of cycle around and around. This can be harmless, say, for instance if it's a thought and emotion about love, peace, goodwill; but, when the thought is one that is destructive, such as "I am not worthy of love" or "I deserve this abuse" it can not only destroy one's self esteem, but it can also start to take down the entire facade of life that you've created around this belief.
Which, ironically, actually ends up working in your favor if you allow it to crumble. Because it is in the rubble where you find your truest self. It's when the light sneaks through the cracks that one finally begins to see the truth.
And it is so true, that my body has little to do with my gratitude. Gratitude is a feeling that wells up from inside of a whole, loving, peaceful person. Gratitude is not an obligation. It springs forth uncontrollably when love is reciprocated unconditionally. When the giver is the receiver and the receiver is the giver and neither one cares which one is which because the gratitude is such a beautiful feeling. I know now that if I feel obligated to give someone something in return for their favor, then I am not coming from my heart center.
"thank you
for letting me stay here
thank you for taking me in
thank you
for the beer and the food
thank you
for loaning me bus fare
thank you for showing me around
that was a very kind thing to do
thank you
for the use of the clean towel
thank you for half of your bed
we can sleep here like brother and sister,
you said.
thank you
for letting me stay here
thank you for taking me in
I don't know where else
I would have turned.
But I don't come and go
like a pop song
that you can play incessantly
and then foget when it's gone
you can't write me off
and you don't turn me on.
So don't change the rules
in an hour or two
I don't know what you and your
sisters do
but please don't
please stop
this is not my obligation
what does my body have to do
with my gratitude? "
In high school, in the front seat of a car, rain pouring down, and he's on top of me, entering me and the pain is excruciating and within minutes, the whole experience is done and he's kicking me out of his car in the pouring rain outside the school dance. I am embarrassed and confused.
In college, after a long night of partying, falling asleep in a friend's bed only to be awoken in the early hours of the morning with them taking off my t-shirt, forcing their tongue down my throat, telling me to be quiet. Me, wriggling out of their grasp and running out of the house loaded with the guilt of "I must have done something to deserve that". Yes, I was plenty self destructive at the time in my life. But, really?
While traveling abroad, I found myself without a place to sleep one night. I had been traveling with a supposed business associate, assisting him with investigating real-estate options abroad. He was supposed to have set up separate sleeping arrangements, but upon arrival, after 17 hours of travel, I discover, he in fact, had ulterior plans. I fled, in anger and shame again, believing somehow I had brought this upon myself. And I had no where to stay. The first night I slept in the bus station. I made friends with a group of Aussies who lived in town; ex-pats living the along the Adriatic. One offered me a place to stay on his couch. But, alas, again, upon entering the apartment, only to discover no couch; just a double bed. And just like in Ani's song, he said, 'we can sleep here like brother and sister.' But I know that my brother never asked me to do the things he asked me to do that night. Again, another cold, sleepless night in the bus station. Guilt and shame. Fear and doubt. Traveling alone isn't as glamorous as it is portrayed.
Someone asks you out on a date and you feel obliged to kiss them. When they pressure your for more, perhaps a little violently, you appease and give in. Guilt and shame.
Women who find themselves in this situation are not whores. They are not 'asking for it'. But, yet, there is a certain group of women who repeatedly find themselves in similar situations. I know this, because I have had this experience more than once.
Finally, in my last relationship, when I as a result of escalating violence, I got myself enrolled into an awesome an awesome counseling program. There, I met 10 other women, who like me, had fought men off of them their entire lives. Self esteem rock bottom, guilt, fear, and shame of it repeating itself again and again. Confusion over what we've possibly had done to deserve this. In this 12 week program, I was able to finally break the cycle of violence. And with the support and insight gained in classes at my church, I am able to say, with confidence, that I know I never deserved this and I certainly have the power to prevent it.
I honestly don't know how you get over it. It hurts really bad inside of me. It's a hole, burning deep, painful place within me. I think sometimes the emotions are fanned or fueled by my repeating thoughts of unworthiness and the whole thing starts to consume my inner sanctuary. It's been crumbling down and there are cracks where the light comes in. I am burning from the inside out. Saddened by a life lived with openness, trustworthiness and general belief that people are not out to hurt me. Did they hurt me or did I allow them to hurt me, in a passive way to hurt myself? Is my self hatred that deeply ingrained into my inner psyche? Is it possible to heal?
I've been meditating lately on this one idea that when thoughts and emotions are combined they sort of cycle around and around. This can be harmless, say, for instance if it's a thought and emotion about love, peace, goodwill; but, when the thought is one that is destructive, such as "I am not worthy of love" or "I deserve this abuse" it can not only destroy one's self esteem, but it can also start to take down the entire facade of life that you've created around this belief.
Which, ironically, actually ends up working in your favor if you allow it to crumble. Because it is in the rubble where you find your truest self. It's when the light sneaks through the cracks that one finally begins to see the truth.
And it is so true, that my body has little to do with my gratitude. Gratitude is a feeling that wells up from inside of a whole, loving, peaceful person. Gratitude is not an obligation. It springs forth uncontrollably when love is reciprocated unconditionally. When the giver is the receiver and the receiver is the giver and neither one cares which one is which because the gratitude is such a beautiful feeling. I know now that if I feel obligated to give someone something in return for their favor, then I am not coming from my heart center.
"thank you
for letting me stay here
thank you for taking me in
thank you
for the beer and the food
thank you
for loaning me bus fare
thank you for showing me around
that was a very kind thing to do
thank you
for the use of the clean towel
thank you for half of your bed
we can sleep here like brother and sister,
you said.
thank you
for letting me stay here
thank you for taking me in
I don't know where else
I would have turned.
But I don't come and go
like a pop song
that you can play incessantly
and then foget when it's gone
you can't write me off
and you don't turn me on.
So don't change the rules
in an hour or two
I don't know what you and your
sisters do
but please don't
please stop
this is not my obligation
what does my body have to do
with my gratitude? "
Friday, December 23, 2011
I am sorry
It seems the holiday season brings out the best (and worst) in all of us. I recently spent 6 hours in a car driving from Norcal to Socal and instead of road rage and listening to awful Christmas music, I spent about 3 of the hours forgiving. Forgiving both myself and others who I've really not let go of for days, months, perhaps decades. It was one of the most freeing experiences of my life. I basically followed a short recipe:
I forgive you for ___________________________________________ because I know you didn't realize what affect it had on me. I release __________________________________ (my fear of unworthiness, my fear of wrong-doing, my fear of not being worthy of love, etc...). I release ______________________________ (my need to control the outcome, need to put up a facade of "worthiness", put up a facade of "perfection", etc...). Because I know that I am perfect, whole and at peace right where I am in my connection to the Infinite Spirit.
And you know, it worked. It really was quite powerful. I invite you to try your own meditation of release and see what happens.
When we release our binds to the past a whole new world opens up to us.
Finally, I'd like to close this post with a few "forgive you's".
I forgive the guy who for with whom I thought the date went well and yet he did not call me back
I forgive the woman who drove on Ocean today as if she owned the roadI forgive myself for not being enough
I forgive myself for thinking that I am not enough, when clearly I am all I ever need
I forgive friends and family who did not send me a Christmas card even though I sent them one
I forgive my mother
I forgive my mean friends in school who made fun of me
I forgive my friend's child for hitting my son
I forgive my father
I forgive the guy in college
I forgive the court and the mediator
I forgive my appearance, for even though I've been good about what I eat and exercising more, I still don't like the way my body looks in the mirror
I forgive myself for riding in the car more when it's cold when I know perfectly well I could ride my bike
I forgive my ex for being violent and then asserting that he never was
I forgive my ex's mother for creating drama
I forgive my ex's sisters for they know not what they do
I forgive Ziggy for his tantrums, even the ones at the store
I forgive Newt Gingrinch for being such an ass, even though he should really know better
I forgive the US economy for sending almost all of the jobs overseas
I know that where I am right now has nothing to do with those interactions. I know that where I am right now is perfect. I am at peace. Everything that happened, already happened and I don't need to carry it around with my anymore. I can drop all those stories and be free.
See, when you release these things. You let them go. They literally go away. Yes. It's kind of scary to let go of your 'story' because without, who might you be? But I assure you, the levity that occurs far outweighs the doubt that may linger. Fears, doubts, and insecurities no longer define who you are. They no longer control the outcome of your day. They no longer have power over who you ARE. These are just thoughts. They are just reactions to what is. But what is really is what is inside of you. You are not what happens in your life just as you are not what someone else says that you are. You are YOU. You are beaYOUtiful just are you are. Know that and embrace that.
Peace.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Laughter is a Natural Health Tonic - Drink it Up!
So, I was having lunch with a good girlfriend the other day when in the middle of our intensely engaging girl-talk an older woman walks by with a cane and walker and starts fussing with something on the floor near my friend's chair, and we both realize at the same time that it is a pair of thong panties!!! The older woman looks back at me and then at my friend and asks, "is this yours?" as she pokes at it with her cane. My friend at first disregards this elderly lady for insane and then suddenly realizes that those are, in fact her panties!!!!
We both assess the damage and then immediately bust into laughter. My friend cautiously picks up the panties and stuffs them in her pocket. And I subsequently burst into laughter. We begin to surmise a vast array of opportunistic scenarios in which the panties provided a good laugh for the passersby for the last hour or so. It was, in my opinion, one of the finest comedic episodes I've experienced in recent years.
What a good laugh does for the soul. So, I wanted to find a little bit more about laughter and healing. Here's what I found.
Laughter actually shows reduced cortisol and adrenaline levels (which is an indication of reduced stress) and increased levels of interferon, t and white blood cells, (which help with heart conditions).
What is soap to the body, laughter is to the soul. ~ an old Yiddish proverb.
There's a new rage: laughter yoga. Cool, eh? And when I've gone to see Amachi, she has asked the audience to laugh and keep laughing because it is key to good health and happiness. Isn't that what we are all seeking? Is it that simple?
We laughed for about 20 minutes from this one episode. It was hilarious to think of the elderly lady's reaction, those seated around us and our general interpretations from what by-passers thought and overall how it must look to have a pair of thong panties sitting next to you in a public place.
I love laughter as a medicine for good health and well being. We should all be more apt and willing to laugh at ourselves, as was my gracious, but obviously embarrassed friend.
If you could have seen how beautiful she was when she threw her head back; you'd all agree that she and the laugh were a beauty of a thing....
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Foundations 2011
This is a presentation I prepared for one of my classes at the VCSL.
I’ve only been coming to VCSL since roughly March of this year. I remember the first time I went into the social hall. I had come maybe three or four times prior and bawled every sermon. I braved entry into the vast Stanley’s Hall and was immediately overcome by the energy of love, community and acceptance. Needless to say, I panicked. I began to cry. I ran into Elisa and Ian’s momma, Claudia. She caught my eye and grabbed me. She confided in me immediately. “it would get better…this place changes lives” she said. She was soon caught up in a conversation with someone else and then I was enveloped in the sea of chattering people again.
I was drawn to Bonnie’s loving eyes. But I knew that to ‘bother her’ would be remiss. So I approached, a tall, wonderfully jubilant man who stood to her side; Bill Seale. I asked if he provided some kind of assistance to folks seeking guidance. With my eyes welling up with tears, he grabbed my hand and gently guided through the crowd to a private room and there, calmed me, transformed my fear to hope and doubts to acceptance in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t more than a few weeks that I started to feel “accepted”, “loved” and “genuinely home” for the first time in my 38 years of life. Not ironically, one of my memorable services here was Testimonial Sunday and Greg Luce gave his talk about how being a bad guy didn’t keep him from finding peace in his life. I vowed right then to become friends with this man.
But yet it‘s not all been a Fairy Tale. I’ve been though both hard and good times. Nothing different from you all really but it was, of course, my own journey, and so it was unique in its own way.
I brought my bike here tonight because it symbolizes so much for me in terms of identity, self reliance, and strength. Many of you know that I recently completed about 170 miles in 3 days in a Tour de Pink, to raise money for young fighters of breast cancer, but you may not know that bicycling has been a HUGE part of life since as far back as I can remember.
I’ve ridden more miles at the seat of a bike than I can remember inside of a car. I began riding when I was a young girl of a single father in Pennsylvania. He worked long hours and of course I was too young to drive. So, during the summer months, when he was at work, I’d ride my baby blue Sear’s and Roebuck ten-speed, 9 miles to town to meet up with friends, play tennis, practice basketball, go to the movies, and swim until my father would come through town with his work truck. He worked for the electric company. So, he’d lift my bike up onto the huge orange bucket truck and we’d ride off and unload the work truck, grab some pizza and ice cream and return home. Sadly enough, after HS graduation, I didn’t really ride much until later in my life.
It wasn’t until 2000 when I went to Europe with my ex-ex-ex to do a self-supported ride through Europe. We rode over 700 miles in 20 days through France, Germany, Italy. It was, of course amazing. We did 3 such tours through Eurpoe. One year, we rode the Le alp duez and followed the 2003 Tour de France. We were labeled as the crazy American cyclists by the crazy Belgium cyclist fanatics.
I’ve done century rides, long rides with girlfriends all through Tahoe and the upper Sierra. It wasn’t uncommon to ride 50 mile mountain bikes and then hang out all night and play music. It was awesome. I never considered how the bike defined “me” but as I look back, I didn’t have a friend in Tahoe who didn’t bike. So, in a way, it did define me. I had 7 different types of bikes at the time.
After I left my ex-ex-ex in 2004 I decided to leave the US and travel solo to Argentina. I took my bike. I did two small self-supported trips before giving up due to the awful condition of the roads. I ended up trading my rode bike in for a city cruiser and joined the thousands of cyclists that braved the 19-lane Avenidia de Nuevo de Julio in central Buenos Aires. So many amazing stories I don’t have time to share. But the point being, that I was again defined by my local group of friends as the ‘chick with the bike’. It became my identity, yet again.
When I came back from Argentina I had a lot of angst that needed flushing out. Riding in upstate NY where I lived with my big brother allowed me time, space and freedom to work out all my issues. I rode and rode. When I moved back to Tahoe, again in 2005, it was the bicycle that defined me. My Dad was unrelentingly pragmatic in his pursuit of relinquishing at least one of the four bikes as we loaded them atop my Toyota Corolla for the third cross-country trip in four years. I kept the bikes and got rid of some clothes.
I mean I was commuting to the VISTA bus stop up until I was 6 mths pregnant and put on disability for a ‘high-risk pregnancy’. My first great memory was riding my bike with trailer and 4 mth old son to Earth Day in 2009. I never really lost a second worrying about how I looked or how I appeared when on the bike. I just rode and loved it.
I left my ex-husband after he threw a bike at me and, yes, I left him via bicycle.
Throughout all of this, I have, unabashedly had a sort of unrepentant self loathing and total lack of self confidence. Of course, everyone who knows me would be surprised at that statement. But the truth is that I have always wanted to be prettier, thinner, with darker skin and olive shaped eyes and sexier hair and slenderer fingers.... I have always hated my body and tore myself down because of it.
It wasn’t until Bonnie asked me to do a Testimonial Sunday in February that I really began thinking about biking and me and spiritually. When she asked me, at first, I was very much willing to speak. I, in fact, jokingly said to Bonnie when she asked me, “you want the truth, right?” and she, of course laughed and I think she understood my sarcasm…but I was kind of serious. I mean, sure I can stand up in front of 100 people and speak about pretty much anything. I do that for a living. But to be honest, real, and whole, that was a different thing. I could be a politician if you wanted it…but if you want me to be authentic, well, that takes a bit more energy and work. You know?
So, I thought about it some more. And I got really nervous. I thought, well shit, I’ve not become “Enlightened!?” yet. I can’t speak in front of the congregation if I’ve not ‘discovered’ something insightful to share with them. “I better get cracking” was my next thought. I need to ’achieve’ something and fast. I needed to climb that hill and see the view that inspires. I needed to push through the difficult technical section for the glory ride back to the trailhead. I needed to freaking put it in gear, NOW!!! And that brings be back to the bike.
Many of you know Greg Luce, no? Well, he was my partner in the Tour de Pink. He is amazing and he’s a pain in the ass. But, he just recently gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve received in a long time. He said, that despite the fact that I have a shitty bike, that I didn’t train, and that I am out of shape, I kicked ass on the hills and was generally well ahead of him in terms of physical strength and he was rather jealous. I was stunned by his compliment and didn't know how to respond. It meant a lot to me to hear him say that. I climbed pretty well despite not training and was ahead of him by at least 30 minutes on average and just a few minutes behind the “elite cyclists”. Yet, that certainly didn't translate into “me being whole” in my own opinion. During the ride I ended up splitting up blood and had to forgo riding ten final miles the second day.
Yet, to be honest, it’s just kind of how I roll. I've always been that way. I push through the shit in life.
So, it brings me to two major points in the SOM philosophy.
First, it is, like Dennis Merit Jones said last week. Our bodies are nothing more than biodegradable, disposable vessels for our souls to live out our experience here on Earth. And it’s funny b/c as often as I criticize my own body, or hair, or clothing, or job, or house or whatever for “not being enough”, yet, I rarely criticize my bike. Although the bike has always been seen as separate from ME I never equate it's deficiencies with my own personal strength. It’s old, crappie and very much the laughing stock of the elite cyclist circles. I freaking love that bike and can kick most anyone’s ass; given time to train. I never doubt the bike.
But…. I always equate my body as if it is ME. But, I think, like the bike, it’s what’s inside of me, not outside of me, that carries love, inspiration and strength. And like Lance said, “it’s not about the bike, it’s about the rider.”
And yet, I don’t train for life; just as I don't train for rides. Instead, I barrel ahead, drudge forward; stick it out and I wonder why sometimes I flounder. I wonder why I am coughing up blood.
I mean, I climb mountains, I rush through rest stops in pursuit of “the leaders of the pack/pelaton”. I work days and nights on end in pursuit of the pleasure of my bosses. I gave up my own identity for un-attained acceptance of my ex- Mother-in-Law; and sadly I’ve done the same for with the same result with my own mother. And I never cut myself from feakin' slack.
It's like I should be saying to myself, as I do about the bike, hey, Jill, it's your body, not you that isn't perfect. And you can still kick some ass without the "perfect body"; it's not about the body, but the person inside.
A second SOM philosophy I see with me and the bike is this:
I often comment to my friends and others how I feel as if I am a hamster in a wheel constantly running and running without a real end in sight. I always feel like I am late. Arriving at the rest stop after everyone else important has moved on. I am always out on the road alone, fighting the wind alone. Even when I fled the abusive relationship with ex all I had was my bicycle, my trailer, my son and some extra clothes. And then everything was stolen and then my grandmother died. I felt like God had turned on me. I was so sad and lonely. Without the bike, who was I?
I kept saying, when am I going to come into a group of others and draft in the warmth and love of community?
All my life, it was always the bike, the accessories, the trips, the experiences, the friends, the family, the body, the eyes…that which defined me. But, now, I see that it never was all those things. I was always ME. And I never had to have any of that stuff to “be some part of a community”.
When I walked into VCSL, I showed up with nothing, alone and vulnerable and yet I was loved, accepted and supported. So, like the bike has given me an identity, VCSL has given me a place to call home, perhaps to stop running and riding in pursuit of that which is always going to leave just another valley apart from the pelaton.
I’ve only been coming to VCSL since roughly March of this year. I remember the first time I went into the social hall. I had come maybe three or four times prior and bawled every sermon. I braved entry into the vast Stanley’s Hall and was immediately overcome by the energy of love, community and acceptance. Needless to say, I panicked. I began to cry. I ran into Elisa and Ian’s momma, Claudia. She caught my eye and grabbed me. She confided in me immediately. “it would get better…this place changes lives” she said. She was soon caught up in a conversation with someone else and then I was enveloped in the sea of chattering people again.
I was drawn to Bonnie’s loving eyes. But I knew that to ‘bother her’ would be remiss. So I approached, a tall, wonderfully jubilant man who stood to her side; Bill Seale. I asked if he provided some kind of assistance to folks seeking guidance. With my eyes welling up with tears, he grabbed my hand and gently guided through the crowd to a private room and there, calmed me, transformed my fear to hope and doubts to acceptance in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t more than a few weeks that I started to feel “accepted”, “loved” and “genuinely home” for the first time in my 38 years of life. Not ironically, one of my memorable services here was Testimonial Sunday and Greg Luce gave his talk about how being a bad guy didn’t keep him from finding peace in his life. I vowed right then to become friends with this man.
But yet it‘s not all been a Fairy Tale. I’ve been though both hard and good times. Nothing different from you all really but it was, of course, my own journey, and so it was unique in its own way.
I brought my bike here tonight because it symbolizes so much for me in terms of identity, self reliance, and strength. Many of you know that I recently completed about 170 miles in 3 days in a Tour de Pink, to raise money for young fighters of breast cancer, but you may not know that bicycling has been a HUGE part of life since as far back as I can remember.
I’ve ridden more miles at the seat of a bike than I can remember inside of a car. I began riding when I was a young girl of a single father in Pennsylvania. He worked long hours and of course I was too young to drive. So, during the summer months, when he was at work, I’d ride my baby blue Sear’s and Roebuck ten-speed, 9 miles to town to meet up with friends, play tennis, practice basketball, go to the movies, and swim until my father would come through town with his work truck. He worked for the electric company. So, he’d lift my bike up onto the huge orange bucket truck and we’d ride off and unload the work truck, grab some pizza and ice cream and return home. Sadly enough, after HS graduation, I didn’t really ride much until later in my life.
It wasn’t until 2000 when I went to Europe with my ex-ex-ex to do a self-supported ride through Europe. We rode over 700 miles in 20 days through France, Germany, Italy. It was, of course amazing. We did 3 such tours through Eurpoe. One year, we rode the Le alp duez and followed the 2003 Tour de France. We were labeled as the crazy American cyclists by the crazy Belgium cyclist fanatics.
I’ve done century rides, long rides with girlfriends all through Tahoe and the upper Sierra. It wasn’t uncommon to ride 50 mile mountain bikes and then hang out all night and play music. It was awesome. I never considered how the bike defined “me” but as I look back, I didn’t have a friend in Tahoe who didn’t bike. So, in a way, it did define me. I had 7 different types of bikes at the time.
After I left my ex-ex-ex in 2004 I decided to leave the US and travel solo to Argentina. I took my bike. I did two small self-supported trips before giving up due to the awful condition of the roads. I ended up trading my rode bike in for a city cruiser and joined the thousands of cyclists that braved the 19-lane Avenidia de Nuevo de Julio in central Buenos Aires. So many amazing stories I don’t have time to share. But the point being, that I was again defined by my local group of friends as the ‘chick with the bike’. It became my identity, yet again.
When I came back from Argentina I had a lot of angst that needed flushing out. Riding in upstate NY where I lived with my big brother allowed me time, space and freedom to work out all my issues. I rode and rode. When I moved back to Tahoe, again in 2005, it was the bicycle that defined me. My Dad was unrelentingly pragmatic in his pursuit of relinquishing at least one of the four bikes as we loaded them atop my Toyota Corolla for the third cross-country trip in four years. I kept the bikes and got rid of some clothes.
I mean I was commuting to the VISTA bus stop up until I was 6 mths pregnant and put on disability for a ‘high-risk pregnancy’. My first great memory was riding my bike with trailer and 4 mth old son to Earth Day in 2009. I never really lost a second worrying about how I looked or how I appeared when on the bike. I just rode and loved it.
I left my ex-husband after he threw a bike at me and, yes, I left him via bicycle.
Throughout all of this, I have, unabashedly had a sort of unrepentant self loathing and total lack of self confidence. Of course, everyone who knows me would be surprised at that statement. But the truth is that I have always wanted to be prettier, thinner, with darker skin and olive shaped eyes and sexier hair and slenderer fingers.... I have always hated my body and tore myself down because of it.
It wasn’t until Bonnie asked me to do a Testimonial Sunday in February that I really began thinking about biking and me and spiritually. When she asked me, at first, I was very much willing to speak. I, in fact, jokingly said to Bonnie when she asked me, “you want the truth, right?” and she, of course laughed and I think she understood my sarcasm…but I was kind of serious. I mean, sure I can stand up in front of 100 people and speak about pretty much anything. I do that for a living. But to be honest, real, and whole, that was a different thing. I could be a politician if you wanted it…but if you want me to be authentic, well, that takes a bit more energy and work. You know?
So, I thought about it some more. And I got really nervous. I thought, well shit, I’ve not become “Enlightened!?” yet. I can’t speak in front of the congregation if I’ve not ‘discovered’ something insightful to share with them. “I better get cracking” was my next thought. I need to ’achieve’ something and fast. I needed to climb that hill and see the view that inspires. I needed to push through the difficult technical section for the glory ride back to the trailhead. I needed to freaking put it in gear, NOW!!! And that brings be back to the bike.
Many of you know Greg Luce, no? Well, he was my partner in the Tour de Pink. He is amazing and he’s a pain in the ass. But, he just recently gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve received in a long time. He said, that despite the fact that I have a shitty bike, that I didn’t train, and that I am out of shape, I kicked ass on the hills and was generally well ahead of him in terms of physical strength and he was rather jealous. I was stunned by his compliment and didn't know how to respond. It meant a lot to me to hear him say that. I climbed pretty well despite not training and was ahead of him by at least 30 minutes on average and just a few minutes behind the “elite cyclists”. Yet, that certainly didn't translate into “me being whole” in my own opinion. During the ride I ended up splitting up blood and had to forgo riding ten final miles the second day.
Yet, to be honest, it’s just kind of how I roll. I've always been that way. I push through the shit in life.
So, it brings me to two major points in the SOM philosophy.
First, it is, like Dennis Merit Jones said last week. Our bodies are nothing more than biodegradable, disposable vessels for our souls to live out our experience here on Earth. And it’s funny b/c as often as I criticize my own body, or hair, or clothing, or job, or house or whatever for “not being enough”, yet, I rarely criticize my bike. Although the bike has always been seen as separate from ME I never equate it's deficiencies with my own personal strength. It’s old, crappie and very much the laughing stock of the elite cyclist circles. I freaking love that bike and can kick most anyone’s ass; given time to train. I never doubt the bike.
But…. I always equate my body as if it is ME. But, I think, like the bike, it’s what’s inside of me, not outside of me, that carries love, inspiration and strength. And like Lance said, “it’s not about the bike, it’s about the rider.”
And yet, I don’t train for life; just as I don't train for rides. Instead, I barrel ahead, drudge forward; stick it out and I wonder why sometimes I flounder. I wonder why I am coughing up blood.
I mean, I climb mountains, I rush through rest stops in pursuit of “the leaders of the pack/pelaton”. I work days and nights on end in pursuit of the pleasure of my bosses. I gave up my own identity for un-attained acceptance of my ex- Mother-in-Law; and sadly I’ve done the same for with the same result with my own mother. And I never cut myself from feakin' slack.
It's like I should be saying to myself, as I do about the bike, hey, Jill, it's your body, not you that isn't perfect. And you can still kick some ass without the "perfect body"; it's not about the body, but the person inside.
A second SOM philosophy I see with me and the bike is this:
I often comment to my friends and others how I feel as if I am a hamster in a wheel constantly running and running without a real end in sight. I always feel like I am late. Arriving at the rest stop after everyone else important has moved on. I am always out on the road alone, fighting the wind alone. Even when I fled the abusive relationship with ex all I had was my bicycle, my trailer, my son and some extra clothes. And then everything was stolen and then my grandmother died. I felt like God had turned on me. I was so sad and lonely. Without the bike, who was I?
I kept saying, when am I going to come into a group of others and draft in the warmth and love of community?
All my life, it was always the bike, the accessories, the trips, the experiences, the friends, the family, the body, the eyes…that which defined me. But, now, I see that it never was all those things. I was always ME. And I never had to have any of that stuff to “be some part of a community”.
When I walked into VCSL, I showed up with nothing, alone and vulnerable and yet I was loved, accepted and supported. So, like the bike has given me an identity, VCSL has given me a place to call home, perhaps to stop running and riding in pursuit of that which is always going to leave just another valley apart from the pelaton.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Where is Our Big Brother??
I have an older brother, Johnny, as I call him, who, for most of my life has been well, the most awesome big brother any younger sibling could ask for. He's kind, smart, handsome, successful, a loving husband and father, funny, open to have a good laugh, easy to talk to... the list goes on. Many people I know have expressed envy, and even jealousy over the closeness and ease of our relationship. We really are blessed. But, he doesn't live near me. He lives all the way across the country in New York. So, I don't get to see much of him any more.
John was always looking out for me, even when I wasn't aware that he was. When I was a teenage girl, just coming of dating age, he was a Senior and I was in 9th grade. I couldn't figure out why no one, NOBODY would ask me out, until one day a friend confessed that Johnny had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that anyone would 'date' his little sister. He finally relented and allowed me to date a fellow team member of the football team (a few years his junior) but would, essentially monitor our dates like a chaperon from the 18th century.
One time some boys were making my life hell, teasing me and making me cry and Johnny scared the daylights out of them. They eventually came to me and apologized. What I realized from that experience is that even-though I am the little sister, I am worthy of respect. I ended up becoming friends with those boys. John solved almost every problem with this uncanny wit and charm.
When John went off to college I was secretly devastated. Our mother had left our father a few years prior and while there wasn't any abuse or neglect to speak of; I was always well cared for; there was, however, a lot of sad silence. I lived with my father and he was very sad for many years. It wasn't a happy home for a young teenage girl. John had always been the moderator between me and my mother. Without him around I think our relationship deteriorated faster without intervention.
I was accepted to the same university as John and eagerly followed my big brother to WVU. There we started off where we had left off and enjoyed an uninterrupted five years of keg stands and backyard BBQ's. Not only did I have my big brother to watch out for me, I now had a whole house full of John's roommates who took on the responsibility of making sure I was safe.
I remember this one occasion when I was having a particularly hard time my freshman year. I literally walked over to his house, in the freezing cold December night (about 2 miles), across this huge, scary bridge (I called it the troll bridge) and for protection I had taken a fork from the cafeteria. He woke up, groggily answered the door, not saying a word, gave me his bed and went to sleep on the couch. Just being there with him calmed me down.
When I left my abusive home this past spring, it was John that I called right away. He wired me money and arranged for me to get a car. He called me every day, sometimes twice a day.
I think he's having a hard time right now. See, he works for this company that makes parts for the automobile industry. You can imagine that the last few years have been challenging in that economic sector. Moreover, the fate of his company hangs in the balance. It may be sold and all of the jobs moved overseas. This is the first time in my life that I've seen my brother struggle to fix the problem with wit and charm. No amount of charm can save middle class America I fear.
I just saw some clip with Newt Gingrich saying that black kids don't have to only grow up to be pimps, hookers and drug dealers. Instead, he suggested, that we could give them jobs at the inner-city schools cleaning toilets. And I saw another quote where he spoke of the "Washington Elite" as if they were some other sector of the Congress with which he, himself, wasn't a part.
I think it is pretty sick that we've allowed our country to take some of our best, brightest, most dedicated citizens and stripped them of their dignity, inalienable rights and hope. It is true that my big brother can't beat up the bullies in Washington like he could beat up the bullies in PA.
I had always thought that government was like a big brother: there to protect you, to kick the bullies butts, to take care of the little guy or gal. I thought that our government was charming and full of wit and ingenuity. A source of pride for the American people. And yet, we should be no less ashamed of our "Washington Elite" as the Italians are embarrassed about Berlusconi. And it is really sad to think that our government has gone away and left us, abandoned us in a quiet, lonely house and we've only got this useless fork we had to steal from the cafeteria to defend ourselves.
John was always looking out for me, even when I wasn't aware that he was. When I was a teenage girl, just coming of dating age, he was a Senior and I was in 9th grade. I couldn't figure out why no one, NOBODY would ask me out, until one day a friend confessed that Johnny had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that anyone would 'date' his little sister. He finally relented and allowed me to date a fellow team member of the football team (a few years his junior) but would, essentially monitor our dates like a chaperon from the 18th century.
One time some boys were making my life hell, teasing me and making me cry and Johnny scared the daylights out of them. They eventually came to me and apologized. What I realized from that experience is that even-though I am the little sister, I am worthy of respect. I ended up becoming friends with those boys. John solved almost every problem with this uncanny wit and charm.
When John went off to college I was secretly devastated. Our mother had left our father a few years prior and while there wasn't any abuse or neglect to speak of; I was always well cared for; there was, however, a lot of sad silence. I lived with my father and he was very sad for many years. It wasn't a happy home for a young teenage girl. John had always been the moderator between me and my mother. Without him around I think our relationship deteriorated faster without intervention.
I was accepted to the same university as John and eagerly followed my big brother to WVU. There we started off where we had left off and enjoyed an uninterrupted five years of keg stands and backyard BBQ's. Not only did I have my big brother to watch out for me, I now had a whole house full of John's roommates who took on the responsibility of making sure I was safe.
I remember this one occasion when I was having a particularly hard time my freshman year. I literally walked over to his house, in the freezing cold December night (about 2 miles), across this huge, scary bridge (I called it the troll bridge) and for protection I had taken a fork from the cafeteria. He woke up, groggily answered the door, not saying a word, gave me his bed and went to sleep on the couch. Just being there with him calmed me down.
When I left my abusive home this past spring, it was John that I called right away. He wired me money and arranged for me to get a car. He called me every day, sometimes twice a day.
I think he's having a hard time right now. See, he works for this company that makes parts for the automobile industry. You can imagine that the last few years have been challenging in that economic sector. Moreover, the fate of his company hangs in the balance. It may be sold and all of the jobs moved overseas. This is the first time in my life that I've seen my brother struggle to fix the problem with wit and charm. No amount of charm can save middle class America I fear.
I just saw some clip with Newt Gingrich saying that black kids don't have to only grow up to be pimps, hookers and drug dealers. Instead, he suggested, that we could give them jobs at the inner-city schools cleaning toilets. And I saw another quote where he spoke of the "Washington Elite" as if they were some other sector of the Congress with which he, himself, wasn't a part.
I think it is pretty sick that we've allowed our country to take some of our best, brightest, most dedicated citizens and stripped them of their dignity, inalienable rights and hope. It is true that my big brother can't beat up the bullies in Washington like he could beat up the bullies in PA.I had always thought that government was like a big brother: there to protect you, to kick the bullies butts, to take care of the little guy or gal. I thought that our government was charming and full of wit and ingenuity. A source of pride for the American people. And yet, we should be no less ashamed of our "Washington Elite" as the Italians are embarrassed about Berlusconi. And it is really sad to think that our government has gone away and left us, abandoned us in a quiet, lonely house and we've only got this useless fork we had to steal from the cafeteria to defend ourselves.
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