I'm Mad as Hell ... and I think I like it!

I'm mad.  I am super, super pissed.  I am seething in anger.  I am so angry, it's making me laugh.

I am 43 years old.  I have brought children into this world who are extraordinary.  I spent the majority of my adult life raising these children.  The past five years have been spent working on my career. Currently, I find myself without a job, without a spouse, alienated from some family and friends, and mad as hell.

Why so angry little Girl?

I have always believed in fairy tales.  Their strong, magical plots, alluring characters, and scenes described with inspirational detail and painful beauty would transfix a young Glenda.  Being a romantic at heart, I took the death of my mother at her young age of 38 and created a beautiful story fit for Disney.  My Father and Mother had "true love", a never-dying love to supersede all loves.  Dad remarried a short year after my mother's death, but was never as happy (because she wasn't my mother).  My stepmother never loved us enough (because she wasn't my mother).  Every failure or disappointment in life was traced to losing my mother.  I crafted beautiful stories in my mind of what a glorious, happy, and perfect life I would have ... if only my mother lived.

As I grew older and had children of my own, I realized how childish my fantasies were; however, I also realized how amazing the creation of those stories were for survival through a fairly unhappy childhood.  My survival is also credited to my humor, my love for moments in time, and my ability to grasp those moments, wrap them in acid-free emotional parchment, and safely tuck them into the most protected recesses of my brain.

I realize how well I was taught to care for others.  Fighting for the comfort of anyone else above myself was the most important objective.  No one ever sat me down and told me to do this, but I witnessed it in those around me.  I learned well.  I witnessed self-denigration, sorrow, addictions, cruelty, oppression, resentment.  I learned well.

Seven years ago, I recognized these qualities within myself.  It made me angry.  My anger turned into outrage.  My outrage transformed into desire.  My desire morphed into selfishness.  My selfishness gripped hold of my heart and led me on a path which enabled me to encounter thrilling love, romance, disappointment, friendships, hatred, failure, success, loss of friendships, loss of hope, loss of time, huge success, and devastation.  The Path of Selfishness led me right back to anger.

As a child, when I had rare moments alone with my Father, I would become so overwhelmed with emotion I would cry.  He would ask, "Why are you crying?"  My response was always, "I don't know!"  Sadly, I was too embarrassed to tell him why I was crying.  I was crying because I missed him.  I missed feeling loved.  I missed being close to a parent.  I missed feeling understood.  I missed the feeling of feeling like someone saw "me".

Returning to anger felt a lot like my Father asking me, "Why are you crying?"  This time, I was asking myself, "Why are you angry?"  It hasn't taken me long to understand I'm angry because:  I miss me, I miss loving myself, I miss being a parent I'm proud of being, I miss understanding my talents, I miss inspiration, I miss living fearlessly, I miss ME.

An issue with being concerned for others more than yourself is the inability to look at yourself and identify what is important.  I think this happens a lot in abusive relationships.  When one sees or hears of a story of a battered woman who would not leave her abuser, the natural question is, "Why won't she leave him?!"  We are consumed with questions.  It seems so silly.  When a person is ravaged - verbally and physically, why don't they simply walk away from the abuse?

After 43 years, I have my own answer.  Comfort.  Even abuse becomes comfortable if that's all you know, if it's the only "consistent" throughout your life.  Being overlooked, out shined, unheard, unappreciated, blamed, kicked, taken advantage of, etc, etc, etc becomes part of your story.  It became part of my story.  At least it was until anger burst into my house and screamed into my face, "WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE????".

Why was I there?  Why was I content to fold myself into the fetal position and take the kicks again and again from people who didn't even deserve to share my personal space?  Why was I a willing participant?  Why was I CHOOSING to allow my life to transform into a story of woe?

So here I am:  43, single, mother, and laughing.  Somewhere inside, anger is transforming into hope, inspiration, fulfillment, strength, resolve, love, and understanding.

I'm taking stride along a new path, able to appreciate where I've been and excited about where I'm going.  Wanna come with?

I'm at a Loss

My life, like everyone else in the Universe, is ever evolving.

I've spent a lot of time figuring out exactly what I want out of life, what I want to accomplish, what I want to succeed in doing, what will bring me joy ... it's exhausting.

There are times I hate being me.  I hate being so driven.  I hate having the appearance of strength when I feel weak.  I hate waking up every day to more and more expectations from myself and others.  It's exhausting.

I am beginning to come to a few conclusions.

1. I miss making life beautiful
2. I miss organization in my home
3. I miss simplicity
4. I miss myself

What has occurred with putting agendas as my priority is a complete and utter loss of self and happiness.

I used to judge my Father for working so hard.  "Work isn't going to care for you when you're old, Dad."  I would think.  "Work isn't going to hug you as you sleep, Dad." I would judge.

What I didn't understand, what I wasn't mature enough to comprehend, was the importance of "work".  I had no concept of striving to reach a goal of ease and peace in one's existence.  I could not fathom the stress of providing for a family.  I had no idea the comfort in being lost in "work".

And so we arrive at this day.

Today was disappointing, enlightening, earth shattering, devastating, heart wrenching, educational, peaceful, new.

How can one day bestow so many emotions?  It was - ONE DAY.  I'm exhausted.

Let me be more accurate.  Two hours were devastating, hurtful, numbing, heart breaking, eye opening.  The remaining hours left me to deal with processing those emotions.  I am exhausted.

I am in the process of learning something vitally important.  Lessons continually teach themselves to you until you learn them.  I believe I'm to the point of getting a big lesson through my thick old head.

I tend to be vain ... and honest.  Vanity.  She's a mighty vixen that makes one puff up their chest, tease their hair, wear a "too short" skirt.  Vanity does not know when to stop.  She has caused one too many problems in my life.

I tend to say, "Yes" all. the. time.  Recently, I believed I'd improved; however, I find myself a day behind, over-booking every minute of every day, and just wanting to run away from it all.

I am mostly a happy girl ... or I was.

Currently, I am exhausted.

This happens to me, repeatedly:  People fall in love with me.  Oh, they go all smitten with thinking I'm the bee's knees ... and then, they hate me.  I have figured this out at last.

Here's how it goes:

Glenda:  I'll do anything you want!  That's the greatest idea & I can make it better!  Let's do this!

Person:  Great!!  I love you!!!

Time passes - Glenda is WAY too busy; however knows she will follow through on said promise. Person is a nervous wreck.  Person doubts.  Person places even MORE burden on Glenda b/c Person is now shutting down.  **Big Day Arrives**  It's perfect.  Person rode Glenda's ass about things that were happening & freaked on-site about making everything perfect.  Person enjoys Event.  Person realizes how much of an ass Person is.  Person decides to blame Glenda on their own ass-holery because it's easier than admitting Glenda just killed herself for Person's cause.

I am exhausted.

For four years, I have been killing myself to obtain a goal.  Today, my goal was taken away from me due to ass-holery.

My objective now is to get through it and learn the Lesson.

For most of my life, I have pushed and fought to get what I want.  I am exhausted.

Now is the time to instill the learning.  Now is the time to enact the Lesson.

People will think what they want.  People will act in either amazingly powerful, understanding ways ... or ... they will delve into ass-holery.

I'm rejuvenated.

I have an amazing talent.  I have many talents.  I love exercising my talents.  I love making other people happy.  I love creating beauty.  I love succeeding.

I am motivated.

From one of my greatest Lessons, I have learned how gratifying the unconditional love bestowed upon your children rewards one with an unconditional love bestowed upon oneself from said children.

I am fulfilled.

Treasuring morning chats, drives to the Grocery Store, watching a show together has provided belly laughs, exasperated sighs, and big grins.

I am joyful.

Tallying numbers, writing Reports, witnessing progress bring satisfaction.

I am successful.

No, work will not hug you while you sleep or care for you when you're old; however, work can be a means to an end.

I am preparing my means to an end.  It is time to stop fighting.  It is time to stop shouldering the burden.  It is time to stop making magic happen for people whom have no appreciation.

It is time for

• joyfulness
• reflection
• action
• care
• love
• did I mention "joy"?!

I am completely and utterly done beating myself up over tiny details that were not "100%" perfect.  I am prepared to accept "very good".

This is a step in the right direction.  After a day of tears and sobbing, I am taking away from this day a gift which was extended to me.  A lovely man reminded me, "You are an amazing, graceful, and strong spirit.  Your presence is something people can FEEL.  Remember who you are.  You are a strong, small, and Delicate Spirit.".

I cried.

Thank you for the Lessons, Universe.  Please use me as an instrument any time!

Depression - Sneaky Little Scank

I had a regular visit with my regular doctor a few months ago.  I complained of restless nights, anxiety, weight gain, and basic exhaustion.  Then, out of nowhere, I burst into tears.

"You're depressed."

She said it so calmly, I almost gave her a hug.  But what I really wanted to do was smack her.

How dare she???  Me?!  Depressed???  I'm magical.  I'm happy.  I'm strong.  I can get through anything and smile.  I make other people happy.  I give almost four dozen couples the happiest & most perfect day of their lives.  I make Executive Assistants and Corporate Planners happy for a few hours while their Bosses and Coworkers enjoy a nice evening.  I am anything ... except ... depressed.

Wait.

What had slowly transpired over the past few months?  What had come over me?

The scab came off of my heart - actually, it was more of a callous.

Each and every time I sent a beautiful girl down the aisle, another layer came free from my heart. After 40 or so "Happily Ever Afters", I was exposed.  My heart was free of my hard earned callouses. Damn.  It's so much easier not to care about anyone deeply.  I had accepted my fate.  I had embraced my future.  I have the most perfect children who are growing into amazing adults.  We would have family dinners and holidays.  I would forever be single and content with my lovely career and my lovely children.  These god forsaken emotions, strings tugging at my heart, undying romanticism began to gnaw at my newly exposed heart.  Damn.

When you least expect it --- double damn.  My Achilles heel, my Prince Charming, my never ending, ever enduring, ever lasting, undying (am I going overboard?!) LOVE walks back into my life.  Super duper double triple DAMN.

Of course it's complicated.  It's always a little complicated.  I'm pretty mature.  I handle things well, I think ... and then I don't ... and neither does he.  There's a lot of hurt going on here.

Then ... depression gets me.  Really gets me and makes me irrational and stupid.  Super stupid.  He needs a break.  I realize I'm relieved.  Of course, I pout and mope.  Yet, I am relieved to be alone for the first time in a month.  I am happy to do laundry, Facebook, watch 48 Hours Mystery, and do all those pesky updates on my long abandoned laptop.  I also went through some of my old things.

I took a look at myself.

Here's the deal:  keeping up with my life is like running a marathon - every. single. day.  Nothing could have prepared me for the dedication my current position demands.  I feel like I have a new born - over and over again.  Just when I was feeling content and ready to shift to neutral and begin to regain time for myself, another baby comes along and with it no sleep, long hours, exhaustion.  Read: Depression.

She's a nasty little demon lying in wait to steal all your joy.

He said something to me last week that keeps going through my head, "You have a really good life. You have three great kids at home.  You live in a cute little house.  You have so much."

I've been really foolish.

I've never been so trusting, so forthright in advancing a relationship.  I've never been so determined in establishing myself in a position and fighting to get even further.  I've never been more focused, but I'm depressed ... or I was ridiculous and giving in to depression until tonight.

Tonight, I looked at the big picture by thumbing through pictures of days gone by.  I feel so tired.  I feel so worn out all the time.  My worry, my caution with my Mr. Right & my job have consumed me.  If anyone knows better, it's me.  Never live by fear!  Never!  I've never been one to run away out of fear, but I did.  I quit.  I tried to destroy everything because I let those awful, yet familiar companions settle in to stay a few weeks.  They made a mess of my head, ate all my good thoughts, took all my warm, comforting sentiments, and really mussed up my psyche.  Quadruple damn.

New day.  New start.  No fear.  The best way to accomplish anything is to do a little each day and be satisfied.  As Roy Montierth would say, "Better than it was."  That always made me laugh; however, I see wisdom is those words.  Better than it was.  Yes, I will take that.  Each. And. Every. Day.

I'm still me after all.  If I'm not running a race, I'm bored.

And ... what do I have to lose?  I'm in love after all ... if he'll still have me.  

Turn, Turn, Turn

I haven't posted in over a year.  I have reasons; however, tonight I need to write.  I need to document some of my experiences.

What does a year bring?  What can transpire in (well .. more than a year) fourteen months?  A whole heck of a lot, that's what.

Fourteen months has brought tremendous change for this gal.  I was at a point of despair last February.  I really had no idea how everything was going to work out in the end, but I had a feeling. I had this odd sense of well being that is incredibly unusual for my stressful self.

Here's what I was faced with:  I had taken a position at a company that seemed too good to be true.  I loved who I was working with at so many levels.  I found a freedom in thought and spirit I hadn't known previously.  I was so in love.  I was so accepted ... and then I wasn't.  All that I was enjoying and loving seemingly disappeared within an instant.  Luckily, I possessed the maturity to understand circumstance.  What occurred wasn't about me, it was something else, yet, it affected me and I was unhappy.  I saw the writing on the wall.  I understood something else must be done, but I had no idea how that would happen.  I was at a complete loss.

That's when I was contacted by a Head Hunter.  Initially, I blew her off completely.  Finally, she asked for a phone conversation.  I submitted my number, talked with her, and agreed to an interview with another company.

... and here I am.  One year later.  Here I am.  Astounded.  Amazed.  Grateful.  Understanding.

Life is comprised of anything other than coincidence.  Life is a series of occurrences and decisions which lead to our glory or our fall.  We must decide our character.  We must decide our strength.

I have the ability to see the "big picture" and choose accordingly.  Do I make mistakes??  Do I make a mass amount of mistakes?  Ummmmm ... yep.  Do I care?  Absolutely.  Is it necessary for growth?  100%.

Possibly the best thing has happened to me.  What has transpired is this:  I allow myself to be imperfect.  There are times I, like a dog, roll in my mistakes and relish in the stink of imperfection.  It feels good.  It's liberating.

At the end of the day, being a caring, loving, accepting human is much more precious than being perfect.  Screw perfectionism.  Screw it.

Where am I going with this?

Let's touch on a few points:

1) Parenthood:  I sought out to be the BEST parent. E.V.E.R.  I mean - ever.  What I learned is this:  it's intangible.  No parent is perfect.  No person is perfect.  Allowing your children to witness your imperfection allows them to shoot for something higher.  Allowing yourself to be imperfect before your children allows adoration.  Being "real" is essential and enduring.  I like it.  I cringe at my imperfections; however, I embrace my children for their own imperfect beauty.  To me, they are the most gorgeous, talented, amazing people ... and I grew them!  Together, we are amazing.  Together, we have a bond which can never be severed.

2) Friends.  Time alone doesn't make a friend "good".  People who are precious to you are precious.  Nothing can alter a true friendship.  Nothing.  I am so fortunate to have found two soul mates in friends.  SO FORTUNATE.  I've been hurt by shitty friends.  Super hurt.  Life is about love and acceptance. I not only adore my true soul mates in friendship, I adore their parents as well because those parents cultivated amazing women whom are capable of the highest love and acceptance.  I am eternally grateful for Dayle & Robin.  They are fabulous examples to me.

3) Love with Men:  I have had a great love.  An amazing love.  I have had so much heartache associated with said love.  I have desired, sought after, and attempted to force love.  It doesn't work.  It.Doesn't.Work.  End of story.  Forcing, coercing, or manipulating anyone doesn't work.  Ever.  I met someone about six months ago.  I completely adored him from moment one.  I've only seen him a handful of times in six months.  I'm absolutely crazy about him.  Not in an "I'm going to do everything in my power to make him crazy about me" sort of way, but in an "I'm willing to take a step back to see how this all plays out" sort of way.  It's unsettling to me.  I control things after all. I don't want to control this.  I want to tend it.  I want to cultivate it.  I want to feel it.  I want to subject myself to hurt.  I want to be vulnerable.  I want to feel every stinking feeling, insecurity, joy. I want to embrace this veritable rose bush - thorns and intoxicating beauty.  That, after all, is living.

4)  Self:  It's hard to find yourself.  I have such a love/hate relationship with Glenda.  She really pisses me off a lot.  She's also amazing.  I adore her.  I hate her.  She can't say "no" to peanut butter and chocolate, black coffee, or bourbon, but ... she's so freaking creative.  She loves beauty. She has a great eye for design.  She can charm the pants off just about anyone, puts all at ease, and can make miracles reality --- yet, she gets depressed, lonely, demanding.  She can be impossible, insecure, and moody.  After so many years with her, I've decided she's okay.  Those dark times bring about incredible sun.  The sadness never lasts very long.  Her strength overpowers weakness.  That's as much as I can reveal about my feelings for myself.  The third person thing was feeling corny.

What is the next year going to bring??

I'm nervous & I'm not.

All I request is this:  More laughter than tears, Stability,Well-Being for the kiddos, Evenings with Neil Young as my soundtrack, and as Brenda put it, "A Great Love".  I would enjoy a great love. After years of tumultuous, albeit necessary, experiences - I am ready.

The Importance of Grandparents

I haven't blogged in a looooong time.  There's a reason.  In truthfulness, there are many reasons.  I've been insanely busy with life.  Insanely busy.  Establishing my career.  Taking care of three children, who are quickly becoming adults.  Maintaining my home.  Taking care of myself.  There do not seem to be enough hours in the day, especially for a woman with high expectations of herself.

What does this have to do with Grandparents?

Well, with all of this "busyness" there has been a lot of change.  Change = Stress.  I have had a bus load of stress in the past three years or so (let's make that seven).  With a job change, shift of stress, and chance at personal realization, I've had moments of clarity about loss and importance.  Long story short - I've had time to mourn.

The picture above is incredible, heart breaking, and encapsulating for me.  I took it while my Pop Pop was dying.  He had been disappearing into dementia for years.  One morning Grandmother found him surrounded by blood.  After a rush to the hospital and a slew of tests, the doctors discovered he had such an advanced case of Bladder Cancer that he couldn't be expected to live longer than a few days.

Immediately, I flew to Nashville.  I spent a week taking care of my Grandmother. I made her breakfast, dressed her, drove her to the hospital, sat bedside her with my Father and Judy, and waited.  We waited for him to die.  We waited for him to know where he was.  We waited for any sign of recognition.  My Grandmother would lean over him and say, "Give me a kiss."  He always responded.  With loss of memory, loss of ... everything, he would take every ounce of strength he had to raise his head, pucker his lips, and give her a kiss.  I will never forget that.  I will never cease longing for a love that strong.  I will never be able to erase that image from my mind.

Pop Pop was an enigma to me.  I recall memories with scent.  His memory is a combination of hot, clean sweat, whiskey, and tobacco.  He didn't smoke later in life (I don't think), but he raised tobacco.  The clean, hot scent of hard work and outside seemed to seep from his pores.  I loved the way he smelled.  I loved how his skin was so dark and tan.  I loved how he wore coveralls and sensible shoes.  I loved the hat he wore whenever we went "to town".  I loved the frozen water bottles in the trunk, his dry sense of humor, his inability to maintain a straight face at my dry humor (while Grandma sat slack-jawed in confusion), and his habitual flossing during the Evening News while sitting in "his" chair wearing nothing more than his wife beater and baby blue boxer shorts.  I love my Pop Pop.

I spent every summer with my Grandparents on their farm outside of Nashville.  My Grandparents were characters.  Grandma - a neurotic volcano of emotions and expectations.  Pop Pop - quiet cannon of emotions and thoughts.  I only wanted to know more about him, wanted to spend time with him, and was therefore completely terrified of him.  Making Pop Pop smile or seeing his pride burst forth were my goals.  I love my Pop Pop.

He was a fisherman.  I remember him taking the time to pull the boat out of the Basement to take me fishing. I was so quiet the entire time.  I absolutely loved the peaceful serenity of Pop Pop, the lake, and waiting for a bite on the line.  I will hold that moment with me always.  Years later, as a young woman camping with a group of friends, I set out early in the morning with my girlfriend in a Canoe. I caught a fish within minutes, but was too chicken to knock it silly and remove the hook.  We feverishly rowed back to shore, screaming for the manliest fisherman of the bunch whom, upon seeing me in tears, swiftly relieved the fish of his hook and gently placed him back in the water.  I was the only one to catch a fish that day, but no fish was eaten. Pop Pop would have been proud and disgusted.  He would have put the fish back in the water as well.  He couldn't stand to see one of  "his" girls cry.  I still love to fish, but I better have a manly fisherman with me to take the dang things off the hook!

My other favorite memories of Pop Pop occurred at the end of each Summer visit.  Pop Pop would call me down to the Basement, his haven of hoarding, dust, secret stashes of hooch, and privacy.  I loved the Basement.  There were man made aisles among rusty, broken, cast off office chairs and other awesome industrial looking relics.  I absolutely loved being down there.  Pop Pop would take me from file drawer to various and sundry other file drawers, pulling out fabulous pens, paper, pencils, and markers.  To a writing, drawing child like me, this was pure heaven.  I received a year of art supplies my parents would never buy me.  Pop Pop probably spent pennies on the stash he bestowed upon me.  To me, the stash was worth millions.  I love my Pop Pop.

As I grew older, went to college, had my own apartment, got married, and had children, I always made time to visit my Grandparents.  Their home became "home" to me.  Bringing my children to the magical farm which held so many memories, became both painful and necessary.  I NEEDED to go home often.  I NEEDED to be in such a comfortable place.  I NEEDED to be taken care of by the people who had cared for me for so many years.  Then ... they started to change.

Grandma and Pop Pop became older.  They looked tired.  It was difficult to understand how much energy little children had.  It became more and more taxing on them for us to visit.  I started making breakfast during my visits and suggesting we go out for dinner (at 3pm).  I made plans with cousins so the Grandparents could have a rest.

Sooner than I could have ever imagined, the day came when Pop Pop didn't know who I was.  He tried to hide it.  He attempted to act as if he knew what was going on around him, but his face gave him away.  Fear replaced his glimmer and playfulness.  Gone were the questions about my drive in and various routes I could have taken.  I love my Pop Pop.  I begin to mourn the man I've admired and loved my entire life.  I become incredibly protective of him.

I don't completely understand my shock when I learn Pop Pop is dying.  He is never supposed to die.  He is an enigma.  He is above death.

After a week of waiting, I had to return home.  My children were starting school.  I have responsibilities.  I am torn apart.  I don't want to leave.  I walk over to Pop Pop's bed at Hospice.  I gently touch his arm and lean over him.  He looks up at me.  He sees me.  For the first time since I've arrived, he sees ME and says, "Heeeeyyyyy!!!!" with a glimmer in his eye.  I am so happy.  I feel his recognition.  I feel his love for me.  I look at him through welling tears and respond, "Heeyyyy!!! I sure love you!!!" and lean over to kiss his cheek.  The moment is gone.  I have been given my good bye.  I love my Pop Pop.

He passed away two days later.

I love my Pop Pop.

I Made Risotto

... and here's what I've learned:

1. Start with a base of Homemade Stock and warm it, but be careful not to bring it to a boil.
2. Dice your mushrooms to bring out the full flavor
3. Use the best ingredients to maximize your results (just get the Shallots - I stood debating spending an extra few cents on Shallots for about five minutes and then thought, "Seriously?!" and bought the Shallots)
4. Slow and steady with a moderate temperature.  Stir.  Stir.  Stir.
5. It's okay to ask someone else to stir for a few minutes.
6. Test for doneness.  Add more stock if you need to.
7. It'll take a lot longer than you expected, but it's worth every moment.

Risotto.  Risotto taught me a lot about life tonight.

I thought about making the Risotto weeks ago.  I had ordered some at Abacus a few months ago and haven't been able to forget it.  There was my first lesson:  I had to try it, desire it, think of it, plan for it, and finally - decide to do it.  I was worried my version would fail.  I thought it would take too much time.  I wondered if the kids would like it.  Tonight I decided my desire to do something outweighed my worries regarding it.  I decided to take the plunge and cook - over an open flame ... dicing, measuring, and stirring to my heart's content.

Guess what?  I was prepared.  I had all the ingredients.  It did take longer than I thought, but I didn't care.  I was giddy with anticipation.  I was accomplishing something I'd been thinking about for weeks.  I felt - successful.

It was wonderful.

You know the best part?  Noah was right there in the kitchen with me.  He made Pesto for the Salmon.  He started the charcoal on the grill.  He was my first taste tester with the Risotto - and he loved it.  I felt proud.  Accomplished.

This is what cooking does for me, though.  I feel this sense of worth and accomplishment few other actions bring me.  Writing does it as well, but I don't make enough time for it. 

Accomplishment and cooking.  My two best friends.   

Joy Revisited

The last time I spoke of joy, I was in a sad place.  My heart was torn to shreds. I had no idea how I was going to make my way out of the sorrow and pain I was feeling, but I had hope that I could.  That hope is what encouraged me to write about what I was feeling.  That hope kept me going.

Each day, I would wake up and think "Joy" then I would count in my mind a few things I was grateful for.  It works.  Centering yourself on good always works.

Don't get me wrong, I had some CRAZY bad stuff happen during that time.  I also had CRAZY good stuff happen during that time .. and when I talk about "that time" you must understand that my life moves very fast.  I'm a quick study.  So ... we're talking a few weeks here.  Anyway, I stopped trying to control what was happening for once in my life and I just went with it.

This is what I've learned:

When you stop thinking about the "how" and instead consider the "whats" in life, things fall into place.  For instance, instead of thinking about HOW to mow the lawn you merely consider all those feelings you'll have after the lawn in mowed, mowing the lawn gets done quickly and feels GREAT.  I had to stop thinking about HOW I was going to maintain joy, have a relationship, make enough money, etc.  I started thinking about WHAT I was going to feel like when all that fell into place.  I started feeling the WHAT right then ... and it brought me joy.  I stopped "spinning".  I stopped being "Agenda Glenda" as someone who knew me better than anyone coined me.

For Type "A" go getter's like me, this was really fucking hard.  REALLY hard.

I'm still working on it.  I'm still looking each day in the face, being grateful, feeling joy ... and you know what?  Today, I laughed at something silly Lily did.  That in itself isn't unusual.  What was unusual was that genuine, bubbling laughter that came from me.  I FELT that funny moment.  I savored it.  I had JOY.  Typing that makes me want to cry because I am so grateful.

It's not just that.  I've also started seeing someone.  He is ... wonderful to me.  He's funny, realistic, has the same silly sense of humor I have, he sings (well), is affectionate, generous, and does not hesitate to tell me he adores me.  And yet ... I hesitate.  I wonder if I should be getting involved.  I talk myself out of seeing him about ten times a day and then ... joy.  He will text me a silly pic or say something sweet or insist on seeing me because he can't take being away for one more minute and at that moment ... I stop trying to control what's happening and I get on the ride.  There are times for caution and there are times for unabashed throwing caution to the wind.

I am seeking joy.  I am giving up control.  And it feels great.