Conversing over Coffee with Crusoe

(Pre-Script: This poem is intended to be read as the song, " How To Save A Life," #33 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

If I have been rescued from a deserted island
by an unexpected hovering helicopter with a step ladder
(I was looking up at the sky as I climbed it's rungs,
I was noticing how bright the clouds were,
like no clouds ever before -)
If I sat on the flight and shivered, remembering;
If I was taken to the place from which I had been exiled
by choice or by happenstance,
-who can say how these things
come upon us-
(but I see now that it is a small inkling of both,
intricately woven together like a cruel cloth that covers you,
making you lose all sense of direction, "where's the compass again?"
and before you know it your raft is too far gone,
your cries are not heard above the noise of waves that crash
and crash and crash into the shore
of someplace you never thought you would be.)
If I have been rescued from that, would I
then go back to dig up my treasure
(I buried it carelessly in the sands of that desolation
I was careless with what was a treasure,
do you hear me?)
Should I now look back?
Would I choose to forget that as I climbed the ladder rungs of an unexpected helicopter rescue
how bright
the clouds hung, as I focused on the sky?
No,
I cannot go back and dig up what I left there, I have come too far
what is lost, I lost, I lost,
(beats my heart and my chest and my lungs- breath deeply-
scour the shelves of what is still inside, create-)
Time, space, water, good soil

will grow something new

that has never flourished before.
what I have is what is in front of me;

wait.

-XOXO,

Kanye Moments: "I'm going to let you finish..."

(Pre-Script: This post will hit you like a one-two punch if you read it as either the song,"Good Intentions," #19 on the playlist, OR the song, "Everybody's Changing," #56 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on one of those songs, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

There is a cultural phenomenon that happens every Sunday morning in churches of every size and denomination all over America .* It sounds like this:
"I didn't mean to interrupt"
this is most often said by a person who has just interrupted someone else;

it is horse you-know-what, and should be regarded as such.

Ahem.
Usually, the interrupter has approached two people engrossed in conversation before or after church and just started talking talking talking over whatever the current conversation is, or talking to the one party without acknowledging the other. The person addressed is then distracted from the first person he or she had been talking to, and the person not addressed is left standing there feeling irritated and slighted, but with a smile on his or her face as he or she waits for the interrupter to finish talking with the person he or she had been talking with first, then leave...although now the conversation will be different because who knows if they will remember what they were talking about, and the tone will be different, because it is always different after that, and because a little bit of the interrupted person's light has been quenched in that moment.
"I didn't mean to interrupt..."
"I'm going to let you finish..."
...the interrupter then says, with a smile or a nod in your direction, some sort of fill in the blank apology, some sort of "carry on," and blah blah blah good wishes.

horse you-know-what.
Of course you meant to interrupt.

Hello, has the wisdom and logic of Yoda** been lost to this generation? "There is no try, only do?" Because that's true, you know.

There is no "try," only "do."
If you interrupted me, you did not try not to interrupted me. You did Do interrupt me.
You did Do devalue me as a person.
The person who interrupts thinks that he or she is justified in this behavior; his inner dialogue probably goes like this:

"I am in a hurry."

"I have not seen this person all week."

"It is really important to me that I tell this person this thing."

"Everyone is waiting for me at Denny's, and I am starving."
Dude, your crispy hash browns are not more important than the people standing in front of you.

And also, guess what, the person you are interrupting's inner dialogue probably went something like this:

"I am in a hurry."

"I have not seen this person all week."

"It is really important to me that I tell this person this thing."

"Everyone is waiting for me at Denny's and I am starving."

Ahem.

So who's crispy hash browns are more important?
Let's review a little courtesy 101:

DO NOT approach two people engrossed in conversation and immediately start talking over them.

DO NOT approach two people engrossed in conversation and hug one, even if you are silent.

DO NOT stand awkwardly close to two people in conversation so as to let them both know that you are impatiently waiting to talk. Stand a comfortable distance away.
DO THEN let them acknowledge and approach YOU when they are ready.

Hey, maybe churches should have that posted on signs in their lobbies. I mean, the gym I go to has a sign that says "please allow others to work in between sets on weight machines," which is a common courtesy, so why not signs in churches?

"But Michelle, what if it is an emergency?"
-so says my Dear Imaginary Reader.
To which I say, It never is, Gentle Imaginary Reader. It never is.

I have been attending church my entire life, and have been both the interrupted and the interruptee, and trust me...it is NEVER an emergency. It is just inconsiderate immature rudeness.

-XOXO,

*This does not only happen at church, but church is the most common place where I have witnessed this particular violation in common sense good manners.

**Of Star Wars. I am not a Star Wars girl, but I know a good bit of wisdom when I hear it.

As God is my stylist, I will never wear ugly again.**

(Pre-Script: This post cleans up nicely when read as the song, "Unwritten," #5 on the playlist, plays in the background. So go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (....still waiting...)

Living free is not just a destination, but a moment by moment choice to be consciously owning and making the best choices which lead to freedom, freely living in a wide and spacious place in which to run freely...

"But Michelle,"

Oh, there is my Dear Imaginary Reader, interrupting my freedom train.

"Michelle, you have used the word 'free' in some form way too many times in that last sentence."

Gentle Imaginary Reader, I am so glad you picked up on that. I did that deliberately to embed the word 'free' into the mind of the reader. Free is the word on the streets. Free is the word of the day.

"Word."

Now, Gentle Imaginary Reader, if you don't mind, I will now continue where I left off.

Ahem

...because you got there every second of staying awake and choosing the better thing. Every heartbeat of a moment, choosing the best way. Even when it goes against what everyone else is screaming at you in your face that you are supposed to do.

"You are now free to move about the country."*

But humanity is so greasy and so grief-y, too. Sometimes we identify with our pain and grossness too much. Instead of acknowledging it and doing what needs to be done in spite of, around, and through it, we pull it close like a shawl, our shoulders droop under the weight of it, we burrow our heads in as deeply as we can. "Cover me. I am not living life. I am covered in my greasy grief-y shawl. I am going to just lay here and roll around and around and moan and groan until I fall asleep."
Folks, how do we deal with grease in a pan?? We don't rub it all over the pan, we don't say "This is the pan's natural state, so let it be, let's all ignore the stench and be sympathetic towards it. Let's send it to a workshop or a class." No, we squirt dish soap and hot water into the pan, we scrub it. We get that grease OUT. We leave the pan clean smelling, dry it, put it away, and the next time we need to use the pan, it is ready to be used.
Then, delicious, nutritious things are cooked in the pan. Warm things are served out of the pan. The entire kitchen is enlivened by the smells that emerge from a pan properly used.

-XOXO,

*Airline commercial. However, I have forgotten which airline.

**This title is my own little inside joke with myself. You are free to wonder about it.

Alice In Wonderland

(Pre-Script: This post turns itself right side up when paired with the song, "Cornflake girl," #36 on the playlist, plays in the background, so go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

We are living in a backwards world, as though through a mirror. The landscape looks so good from here, even while it is backwards, and awkwardly upside down.

What funny white rabbits we chase down holes that take us deeper and deeper into places we never meant to go...

It's a very confusing way to live.

It is confusing because it is backwards.

Here's how it was originally designed: There are constructs in place, unshakable and sure, and within the confines of these constructs, we are meant to be free, to run, to breath, to laugh without fear, to hope and dream and accomplish much.

What happens instead is that society bashes and kicks at the constructs sturdy base, almost on accident and innocent seeming at first, but with ever increasing determined violence and volition. They try to knock down every construct, they say this leads to freedom, and then they nitpick the areas where we actually are supposed to be able to think and be creative and free.

Go back and read that again.

If our understanding of freedom is backwards, then we will be running full speed ahead in the wrong direction, we will only be gaining momentum, never slowing down until it is too late and we are trapped. The more entrenched we become, the more we will believe we are free, even as the opposite is true.

We are now free- to run into the chains and addictions and heartaches that clench tight. Yet when chains are all you know, and all you see in the lives of those around you, you don't even recognize them as chains, you are numb to muscles you never knew you had, since they have never felt what it was like to be unleashed and exercising.

"The sky's the limit!"

Some may say, but then as you are looking at the sky, society encloses you behind it's own thick glass window, stale and tight.

We are now free-to run straight off of what was meant to be a protected and flourishing land, into the trap that has been deliberately set. The chains get tighter and tighter, even rusting on individual lives.

We are now free- to pay through the nose for keeping up with everyone else around us, yet so long have we been enclosed that we don't even feel it any more. This is not freedom. We are backwards, running towards our own demise.

It looms large.

It is right in front of us.

-XOXO,

Adequately Lashed

(Pre-Script: This post will open up to you like a secret crypt when read as the song, "Big Yellow Taxi," #28 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

Be wary when you see a commercial that suggests that something about you may be inadequate, but when the term "inadequate" is not actually defined.

Blink
Blink
Let's define the term "Inadequate Eyelashes," which appeared in a recent commercial for a product that supposedly causes your eyelashes to grow longer than they already are.
Blink
Blink
An inadequate eyelash would be one that does not keep dirt and dust particles out of a person's eyes. An eyelash that does what it is meant to do, i.e., keep dirt and dust particles out of a person's eyes, is adequate. There is nothing wrong with it. But when a commercial starts off by saying "If you have inadequate eyelashes," it sends a deliberate message:

"You are inadequate."

and yes, that message was deliberate. Insecure people buy more things.

the word "Inadequate" makes a woman feel that there is no choice in the matter...

But.

(wait for it, this is a very big "BUT.")

In this particular commercial, the term "Inadequate Eyelashes" is never defined. They just say "IF you have inadequate eyelashes," the lack of definition makes a woman wonder if she has this malady, makes her assume that yes, she most likely does, and she just never realized it before. Then she feels she needs the product, there is no choice in the matter, she had better sign up today. She becomes one of the cattle who must silently not ask questions, but must stand in line and take a number and buy the product, just buy it already.

-Someone wants to stop me here to tell me that my logic is becoming circular.

I already know. It's a good point though, and was worth repeating.

"Just moo and don't ask questions. You do not need to ask. Just assume the worst about yourself."-says the beauty industry, which is controlled by...

"But Michelle,"

(interrupts my Gentle Imaginary Reader),
"Who do you mean by 'we?'"
Great question, Dear Imaginary Reader.
"We" is the little person (or people) behind the curtain who pulls (or pull) strings and makes (or make) a lot of noise...

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

I would have no problem with a commercial for the same product that simply said:

"Use our product if you want longer eyelashes."

This statement does not assume that anything is inherently wrong with the woman, and it gives her a choice. What if a woman does not want longer eyelashes?

But see, if we lose all of our choices, if we all look the same, we cease to be individuals, we start to seem like stereotypical robots. If we start to believe this about ourselves, start to dress for it, talk and act like it, too, we will begin to restrain our natural impulses and question and quench our own original thoughts and ideas, especially if they differ from what we see happening in the world around us. This is very convenient for certain types of governmental systems, systems which no one says they want, yet everyone secretly wants. They want it because they want to sleep walk through life and not have to think or be responsible for personal choices. When personal choices are taken away, people have no one to blame but everyone else.
The buck stops at Big Brother's door, the same Big Brother who vowed to protect and nurture you.
But you see, I am getting way ahead of myself and talking goofy talk now.
Silly me, I'm just a girl...a girl who's eyelashes may or may not be adequate...what do I know? .

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

-XOXO,

What's wrong, honey?

(Pre-Script: The natural beauty of this post is enhanced when the song, " Closer To Love," #54 on the playlist, is playing in the background while it is being read. So please go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

Who has the strength to be a woman anymore?

I am not strong enough.

The short story is that I have decided to stop reading magazines. They are not for the faint of heart. My heart is not strong enough to withstand the grief with which they bombard me. They make me feel bad about myself, and discontent when I realise that I want a whole bunch of stuff I cannot afford...on way more than financial terms. Why would I want to subject myself to that type of torture daily, weekly, monthly, when I was not feeling discontented or bad about myself before I opened the magazine? I dream of a world where make up and products are FUN, where experimenting with hair color and outfits is FUN, an expression of whim or whimsy, of how I am feeling that day, not something that affects my value as a human being from one day to the next.

One problem with the magazines is that the girls pictured therein are either 15 or airbrushed, or most likely, both, with every possible flaw edited out, and this is to what real world women are comparing themselves, even as each year they are growing another year past 15, another life experience past airbrushed.

...but wait, there is Botox, honey.

...but wait, there are things you can inject into your lips, darling.

...but wait, you can be cut open and have anything you don't like removed, anything you wish for added, my little love dove.

My hackles start to stand on end when purely cosmetic procedures for cosmetic sake are becoming more and more clinical and medically stale. When what was once fun and artistic starts to become standard and medical, it is no longer seen as a fun and artistic option, but is now seen as a necessity. The more women who have medical procedures done to them for cosmetic reasons, the more it becomes unacceptable if you are a woman who has not had a procedure. It does not always matter what the procedure is, but you surely have to have SOMETHING done, even a chin implant or SOMEthing, because no one is born with perfect everything, and perfection is becoming more and more not just a lofty ideal, but a necessity, the only acceptable way the world can stand to look at you. Oh, and This Makes Me Angry! (Said she, with a frown line marring her otherwise unruffled brow.)

It makes me angry when I see a commercial for eyelash growth, in case my eye lashes are "inadequate." (I believe this is the word they use) A commercial is telling me that yet another thing might be wrong with me that I had not yet considered.

...BUT, dear, it's okay, because we have this product here, and yes, it is medical, so see your doctor about it, YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT YOUR INADEQUATE EYELASHES, DO YOU HEAR ME, PEOPLE??? And then get this procedure done, oh, even though it may cause blindness. It's a small price to pay on your own personal road to perfection. WHERE DOES IT END??? IT doesn't ever end.

I dare you to find one woman who is content with herself, comfortable in her skin, not striving, striving, striving, not feeling inadequate in at least a lot of ways, when nothing is really wrong with her. All of her parts are working just fine. All of her eyelashes are the length they have always been. Her body type is the type it has always been. Her bone structure is the same one that has supported her frame for her entire life.

Here is what I think: I think that having yourself cut open and having unnatural things placed inside your self is not a good thing. Silicone does not grow naturally in or on a human body. Having your bones shaved down to fit a certain size ideal in a certain society or time period is not a good thing.

Botox injections are actually a form of a toxin that can kill you. My baby daughter was infected with Infant Botulism and hospitalized in the Intensive Care unit at the hospital for 8 days. When we brought her home, she had to be fed through a tube in her nose for a month. She was 2 months old. It's the same stuff that is in Botox injections. It's a muscle relaxant. But guess what, people, your muscles were meant to move. Even the muscles in your face. It is the purpose for which they were created.
It's one thing to brush on make up that you wash off at the end of the day. Elective cosmetic surgeries and injections are self mutilation in one of it's most highly applauded and socially acceptable forms.

With these standards getting higher and tighter the closer you get to perfect, each woman is an island on her own, against each and every other woman in the world. It's lonely. You can never rest, you can never rest because you must stay on this formula, this plan, to spend more and more and more money and time on being less and less and less okay.
So let's all keep trying to look more and more like each other, let's all keep correcting the things that were never wrong with God's design for your face or body, let's keep getting these things done to us, and let's see what it does to the next generations, how it weakens them. What messages do they receive when their noses do not grow to match the perfect noses that their mothers have had surgically fitted, but are instead the noses that their DNA said she was supposed to have? How can you love on your daughter what you determined was not okay on yourself? Better set up the fund now, the Forever For Every Generation Paying Through The Nose For The Nose Jobs Of All Of Your Descendants fund. (or, FFEGPTTNFTNJOAOYD.)That's what life's all about, right? RIGHT?

The perfect ideal of looking exactly completely just like everyone else?*

-XOXO,

*Have you noticed that in the financially wealthiest circles, the women tend to look the most exactly alike? Doesn't it ever get boring?

My First Autumn

(Pre-Script: This post turns a whole new leaf when read while the song, " Everybody's Changing," #56 on the playlist, plays in the background. So go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

When I was ten, I met a girl named Autumn. Before this, I had never known that girls with names as exotic (to me) as "Autumn" existed. When you are a ten year old girl, and you meet a girl named Autumn, instead of hearing it as a beautiful, artistic name with a nicely flowing rhythm, your thoughts tend to veer to the left, and go something like, "How unfortunate for her. What a weird name." Most 10 year old girls do not appreciate variations in the names of their peers. Fitting in is the ultimate. Being status quo and just like everyone else is the epitome of everything, to a ten year old girl, or at least it was to the ten year old girl who was me.
As grown ups, we appreciate variations and rhythm in names. We appreciate the flow and sound and meaning of a name, and if anything, when naming our own children, we probably tend to steer away from the most popular names of the year. You don't want your kid to be one of the 10 with the same name in his or her Kindergarten class. But we forget that to a Kindergartner, it's FUN to be one of the 10 with the same name. It's like you are a part of a special club. At least, it was to the Kindergartner who was me. I used to make mental lists of all the Michelle's or Michele's I had ever met. Spelling didn't matter so much, as long as pronunciation was the same. I was always pleasantly awed to have a new Michelle to add to my list.
So when I met a girl named "Autumn," I felt for her, in a "Sucks to be you" sort of way. understand, the empathy of a ten year old only goes so far, in certain instances...at least, the empathy of the 10 year old who I was. In other areas, my empathy was off the chats. The sight of an old man crossing the street could make me weep, for example. So I guess there was a trip in the wiring of my brain's empathy system...But gosh, I was only 10 years old, I was not half as mature as your 10 year old child, my Dear Imaginary Reader...For I am sure that you are reading this, thinking to yourself, "Not MY 10 year old son or daughter. MY precious little angel is ALways completely empathetic and sympathetic towards others."

Well, good for you.

But I am not your 10 year old.

Ahem.

To be fair to myself, though, let me back the truck up for a moment and explain that even as a 10 year old, it would never have occured to me to tease this girl. Make fun of her in any capacity?

No.

Deny her friendship or kindness?

No.

Feel sorry for her and SO SO glad not to be her?

Yes, yes, sure.

Blink.

Blink.

Here's what I remember about my first "Autumn": She had reddish hair. She lived in a house with a lot of cats. She ate brown sugar out of a little dish as a snack. She ate it by dipping one finger in, then licking the brown sugar off of her finger. She ate brown sugar for a snack because her Grandmother told her that it was good for her. That sounded fine to me. In fact, it sounded down right revolutionary to me. I have always been a big fan of brown sugar, so I was all in favor of this non conventional way of enjoying brown sugar that did not require a bowl of Malt O Meal or Grape Nuts. I was ready to launch a campaign for brown sugar snack time in my own home. My ten year old self was, anyway. My 33 year old self is more suspicious of these things, and will stick to happily eating brown sugar on Malt O Meal. But let's not forget, folks, that a certain percentage my 33 year old self is made up of my 10 year old self, that certain percentage being roughly just under a 3rd.

My 33 year old self wonders what Autumn is doing now, if she likes her name, and if she feels that she has grown to inhabit it. I also wonder if she still eats brown sugar off of her fingers, if she ever got rid of all of the cats.

-XOXO,