acceptance – Page 5 – My World With Words

April 28, 2016July 10, 2017

Keep Going

“If you are going through hell, keep going.”
― Winston S. Churchill

It hurts. It gets old. It’s a dull pain one day and a sharp pain the next. Getting through the bad times wears you down and shapes you at the same time. You can’t see your way out and you’re convinced it will never end.

I’ve been there, and it’s hard. There are those saying, get it together. And you think you should have more together than you do.

Several years ago I was the victim of a horrible injustice, the target of powerful people convinced of a truth that did not exist. It ruined my life, no doubt about it. I was in a shambles. There seemingly was no way out of my situation, no way around the binding realities.

Whatever my part had been in the events that led to my despair, it was disproportionate to the result. I didn’t know who my friends were, who I could trust and who trusted me. Who cared for me?

Little by little I came to realize that the people most important to me cared. Yes, I’d lost some friends who bought into the half-truths and manipulated stories, and there was nothing I could do about it. Some of those people were important to me, and I mourn the loss of their friendship to this day. But I had to move forward, and rely on those who proved themselves true and kind of character.

My family saved my life. If nothing else, these events brought me closer to all of them, and for that I am grateful.

As time went on, things changed. I got a job, one I’m good at with people who care about me like family. While I still live in a less than desirable apartment complex, I have a new car (well, it’s a year old now) that has given me the opportunity to visit my mom on several occasions, both for pleasure and to care for her when she needs it.

And the future doesn’t look quite as grim. There appear to be options that will end all of this when the time comes.

Are these good times? Actually, I’ll be disappointed if that turns out to be the truth. These are better times, and hopefully good times, joyous times lie ahead. But I don’t know. I’m content with what I have now.

I fear the return of bad times, likely not the same bad times but something else, before experiencing truly good times again. If that’s the case, so be it. I can only take what I’m given and seek what can be found.

For my friends who are suffering, it can last an eternity, I know. Some of what gets you out of the pain is your own spirit, some is good fortune and some is dumb luck. I have no magic formula. But believe in the future.

Keep going.

Photo Credit: © EcoView — Fotolia

April 20, 2016April 4, 2017

I Made Up My Mind … but Forgot What I Decided

Ah, life. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.

I finally figured out what I was going to do with the next ten years, and what do you know, a few other people had some input into those ideas…people whose input matters. So the figuring is starting all over again.

But these are people who love me, so not to worry, right?

Yes, I’ve figured out a few things. Life is going to get you, one way or the other. You’re going to have good times, bad times and a lot of everyday, ordinary times.

You’re going to learn and grow (or not). You’ll think you’ve made it, only to find the rug pulled out from underneath you. You’ll think all is lost, only to have it given back to you again.

Those you think are for you will betray you and those you think could not care less about you will save your life.

It’s not all that mixed up, to be sure, or unexpected. But I made up my mind.. and forgot what I decided. And realized, it’s all a process leading to a destination we can’t imagine.

So here I go again.

Image Credit: (Cat) © geosap — Fotolia

April 3, 2016April 4, 2017

Forgive, Forget, Phooey, Finally

I really want to forgive you. Maybe. Frankly, that’s a gift you don’t deserve. You turned a blind eye to even the possibility of the truth, and instead chose to believe weak stories given to you by others, people who had a clear motive to convince you of falsehoods. You used unprofessional conduct and gross abuse of power in an effort to raise your profile before others. You preyed on my weaknesses, and I’ve paid a high price for it.

Who are you to do this to me?

Justice is blind ( ... or maybe not )

The problem is, all that my anger is doing is making me unhappy. Yes, I revel in the thought of your undoing, but that’s not likely to happen. Is there karma at work in this world? Is it true “what goes around, come around”? As comforting as those thoughts are, I’m not sure the world is that equitable.

And if it is, what did I do to deserve what happened to me?

You’re not worth my thoughts, my passion anymore. Forgiveness isn’t a matter of grace from me, it’s a matter of moving forward. Of course I have constant, in-your-face reminders of what you did. It continues to jolt my life today.

It minimizes my life, and my future. It puts me at risk. That frightens me, and now I’m angry again at your arrogance in thinking you had the right to do this to me. Then I remember the people I respect think the same thing of you I do. They know who I am, and they know who you are.

I hope I’m truly able to forgive you soon, for it’s the best thing for me. It gives me back my power, and I plan to claim it. Soon. But by the same token, I hope you’re held accountable by the ones deemed proper to do so.

Since originally posting this I’ve come a long way. Yes, there’s still some anger, but it’s a tiny pest now, not a hulking monster. Time and a desire to move forward help. I won’t say forgiveness is easy, especially when the unwarranted damage has such serious and long-term consequences. And I stand by my last sentence above.

Image Credits: (lady justice) © Kanvag – Fotolia; (key to forgiveness) © Ksishchenko – Fotolia

March 17, 2016April 4, 2017

If Only By Example

One of the legacies that has carried from my great-grandparents to me was a respect for all people. All people.

My mom’s cousin, my great-aunt’s son, was as white as I am, a heritage that traces back, some of it, to New York in the 1790s, and from there we aren’t sure which European country our ancestors emigrated from in their search for a new life.

Anyway, he was raised without prejudice, meaning, it didn’t exist in his world.

Then he married a Hawaiian woman. By this point, Hawaii was a state in our nation, and had been for more than a decade. She was as American as he was. But they weren’t allowed in some restaurants because she was Hawaiian. That was how they worded it, even. Now I don’t know anything more specific about her ethnic background; I’m guessing it may have been Filipino. I was a little young, so to me, she was Lena, she crocheted beautiful purple vests for me and my sister, and she served us 7-Up when we visited.

It was a shock to my mom’s cousin to see his wife treated in such a humiliating manner. He was an intelligent, educated man, not generally naive, but this was foreign to him. I’m proud to be related to someone for whom prejudice was that unknown, and I hope the heart of that nature can be found in me.

I know the people who follow my blog by and large are people who respect others, who empathize with anyone in pain, and who ache for the hurt of those who are persecuted, even in our country, by those who should know better. So I’m preaching to the choir and saying thank you at the same time.

I don’t know what it’s like to be black, Mexican or Muslim, or any of the other minorities treated so poorly by so many these days. I stumble and fumble in my efforts to understand the humiliation and anger, and every once in awhile something gets through.

A few years ago I was listening to a woman speak at a conference for those who worked with people with disabilities, as I did at the time. She has disabilities herself, is black, and was a prominent figure in Washington D.C. some time back. I apologize I don’t remember her name. At the end of her speech, I was surprised to hear her say when she’s asked how she wants to be identified, as an African-American, a woman, or a person with disabilities, it’s African-American first.

It put something into perspective for me. When you’re white, you don’t identify yourself by race. It isn’t an issue. When you’re black, it’s an issue every single day. Of course race is first. I’m embarrassed now it surprised me then.

A friend of mine, who’s black, bought a very nice camera, and was struggling to get the settings right so he could take decent pictures of his family. Why? The default settings are for caucasian skin. It says that right in the manual.

I live in an apartment complex with a large Hispanic population, and many of my neighbors speak little English. For my part, I speak little Spanish, but I do know these two words: los gatos. The cats. One of my neighbor ladies was delighted at my response when I caught her once speaking, in Spanish, to my two cats as they sat in the windowsill. Embarrassed, she stopped, but I said, “It’s okay. Los gatos hablamos espanol.” I have no idea if that’s grammatically correct Spanish, but she understood me.

She’s probably my age, maybe a little older, and who knows when she moved to this country. Likely it was as an adult, and likely she’ll never know a lot of English. I had ancestors like that who came over from Poland, and they faced their share of prejudice. Even my dad experienced the mockery and disdainful attitudes a notable amount, and I grew up hearing Poles and Italians were invariably less intelligent. You’ve all heard that sort of thing before, and you get my point.

To my black friends, Hispanic friends, Indian, Middle Eastern, Asian, and any ethnic group I’m forgetting friends, I see your race, religion, ethnicity, and anything else that clearly identifies you as you. I don’t always know what it means. I don’t live it. But I respect it as part of you, and I will do what I can to teach others to do so as well. If only by example.

Photo Credits: bee-eaters © : panuruangjan — Fotolia; young swallows sitting on a branch © nataba — Fotolia; three titmouse birds in winter © Vera Kuttelvaserova — Fotolia

January 23, 2016January 24, 2016

Let’s Face It

We’ve all seen them, men and women alike, who one day appear ten years older than they did a month before, and the reason is obvious.

The tell-tale curve at the corner of the lips, the eyes that just aren’t sitting right. I’m as vain as the next person, well, probably smack dab in the middle of that scale, but what I’ve seen tells me to stick with the face I’ve been given, as much as I may think it’s betraying me at times.

That betrayal goes both ways, and it’s more costly when it comes from my brain.

I was getting carded well into my 40s (which embarrassed the bejeebers out of my then-boyfriend, something I always appreciated about him) and looking at this picture, taken when I was 36, I can kind of see why. The little guy sitting next to me, my cousin Bobby, just graduated from college, by the way.

I’ve still got an advantage. I continue to look younger than I actually am (although the gap seems to be narrowing), which makes disavowing plastic surgery seem easier.

(She says as she writes this post between Googling the latest procedures available — and their cost. Anything that comes with a potential $500 discount if you call today! is so far out of any price range I can dream of I may as well…stick with the over-the-counter lotions and such.)

Of course I don’t have a career that depends on youth and good looks, so I’m not as susceptible to that trap of false hope. But I have to wonder. When Britney Spears looks in the mirror (oops! that name slipped out!), does she realize she looks 45?

Hopefully, so do I. Look 45, that is.

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