Bite Me!
Collection agencies suck.
I recently received one of those warm and fuzzy notices from my monthly credit monitoring service. It went something like this: “Dear deadbeat, you have been badly maligned by an inconspicuous collection agency that says you dodged your responsibilities and you owe billions”. Awesome (sarcasm).
These reports rarely give you contact information or full account numbers so you have to turn into the equivalent of .007 to find who it is that wants you to pay money you didn’t even know you owed. Thank goodness for Google.
I found the company in question who shall remain nameless (fine, you beat it out of me: West Asset) and noticed the many, many negative consumer reviews. It seems they have a pretty hefty reputation for harassing and belittling the consumer. I was sure it was probably just sour grapes.
I would have been completely compliant (not an offering I often make) if the man on the other end of the phone had not been so rude and obnoxious. Comments such as, “Do you always dodge your bills?” is completely uncalled for and hugely antagonistic. I’m a peace loving person but already in my mind I was slapping this man in the face. But I digress.
I’d like to say openly that I believe that many, if not most, of the people who owe money are good people caught in a bind. I’m thinking it’s good business practice to speak to people with a tone of respect and common courtesy (there but by the grace of God go you). If I owe it, I will pay it. If I don’t, I need you to listen and work with me. In the world of West Asset, this is a fairytale.
Unpaid debt pretty much covers all branches of office in our government; state and federal. Overdue debt pretty much covers all of Europe, America and many third world countries. And then there’s me.
The amount in question is a little over $700 and was incurred in 2009. Since I don’t even remember what I wore yesterday, I am not too hard on myself that I didn’t have the foggiest idea what this was for.
When I advised the gentleman (and I use the term loosely) that I had never once received a bill, he responded that it wasn’t his problem. When I advised him that I would get back with him once I could figure out the purpose of this alleged hospital visit, he challenged me by asking if I had made so many trips to the hospital that I couldn’t remember what this visit was for. To which I responded: “Bite me!” Not exactly my finest comeback.
I have never appreciated being talked down to, degraded or humiliated. I can do all those things to myself without anybody’s help. To have a third party, a man I’ve never met, talk to me the way this schmuck did (I call ‘em as I see ‘em) enraged me. If I could have reached through the phone I would certainly have ripped his heart out of his chest. That is if he had one.
After more than four hours of voice-mail hell, being transferred to a total of 7 extensions, two doc offices and one hospital billing company, I finally discovered that the debt was for a neck injury I had suffered in 2009. The doc I had seen uses the same billing as the hospital in question and was kind enough to fax me copies of my invoices which proved my account was paid in full. Whew!
This is information you would think the collection company would want to know. You would be wrong.
In speaking once again to the man from West Asset, I pointed out that my credit clearly demonstrates a person who pays her bills on time. To which he responded that it clearly pointed out that I was in fact a flake as I had not paid the bill which was now in collection.
Upon presenting my evidence, Mr. Jackass (probably his real name) advised me that my debt was to his agency and not the hospital or the doctor. They had purchased the debt and he would not honor any conversation I may have had with them regarding the owed monies. I was left speechless.
I tried for 10 minutes to explain that there was no debt and that I could prove it, that it was probably a simple bookkeeping error. The fact that the dates of service matched up as did the amounts owed along with the doctor in question meant nothing to this idiot.
His last response to me before hanging up on me was that it was my problem because they would not release the collection notice from my credit report until I paid them in full all monies owed. Bite me again!
Right about now I’m feeling way too nibbled on. It is now painfully clear to me that I’m dealing with a shyster organization that fronts themselves as a legitimate collection agency. How does this stuff happen (she says as she grinds her teeth)?
And so, I am at the letter writing, nail biting and credit reporting stage. I need this collection off my credit report if I am to refinance my home. I need it off my report just so I can sleep better at night. What I am thinking I really need is to feel this guy’s body under the tires of my car. But I digress … again.
What I’ve learned is this: when you are dealing with agencies that collect debt you should always ask them to validate the debt. If they can’t do it, you most likely don’t owe it. Also check out the statute of limitations of the debt. When all else fails, send a cease and desist letter to the collection agency (certified) with a copy to your credit bureaus.
I’m not really sure how or when this saga will end. If you have ever dealt with a collection agency, you know that it is frustrating at best. I am in the clear, yet my credit remains uncleared. I don’t get a warm and fuzzy feeling about it. It’s hard to fight stupid.
Times like this I wish I had a cousin named Guido. Where is the Godfather when you need him?
A tribute to Mom
The other day, a man yelled from his car window “you mother *&%*” as he waved his finger at me. I just smiled. It’s good to be somebody’s mother.
Where would the world be without us?
I agree that we can sometimes be bossy, overbearing and worry-warts. But I need to interject that it’s in the job description.
We are also our children’s biggest fan, loudest cheerleader, and life’s leaning pole. We love our kids endlessly and protect them at all costs. Nobody does it better. It is a blessing and a curse.
Anyone who knows me knows I love my kid. She has come first in my life since she entered it. She is my light and my pride and my joy. I love her with the breath of me.
Still, motherhood has not been easy.
You know that excruciating labor pain and delivery? The yelling, screaming, crying and cursing? The blood, the sweat and the terror? That was the easy part.
Being a mom is tough business. Once you’re there, nothing is optional. You’re in. You can’t change your mind, you can’t call in sick, and you can’t take a day off. It’s a lifetime gig.
There were a lot of different hats to wear, big decisions to make and curfews to levy. I confess that I didn’t always make the right decisions, but I always made them for the right reasons.
There were late nights sitting up soothing an upset tummy or calming a nightmare. That matured into waiting up for her to come home. The younger years were easier.
The sleepovers, the parties, the boys, the tears, the dances, the heartbreaks, the carpools, the shopping excursions, the drama! I wouldn’t trade a minute of it for a million bucks.
Teenage years were beyond challenging. I personally think that all mothers of girls between the ages of 13 and 21 should be given a medal of valor and a lifetime supply of chocolate brownie ice-cream. It’s only fair. They say boys are easier. I hope so, but I think it all evens out in the end.
I still don’t know why we don’t get paid for this job. I am venturing to guess that the pay level would be in the 6 figure range. Whatever it would be, it wouldn’t be enough.
Mothers are the only sure thing most of us can count on our entire lives.
I remember being with my boyfriend as we cleared out dozens of boxes that he had saved from his deceased parents. He had never gone through them and they had died a decade prior. We dove in.
I was not surprised to find that one entire box was filled with cards he had given his mother throughout the years. She saved every single one of them. That’s what mothers do. We preserve and we cherish. We save memories for when we are no longer here to hug and to hold.
Cherishing is a good thing and no one does it better than moms.
It would be a mistake to underestimate mothers. A mom will be the first to remind you that she brought you into this world and she can take you out. It would be foolish to challenge her.
I always said if my daughter didn’t fear me, then I was doing something wrong. She did. But what I later found out, was that she feared disappointing me most of all. What she didn’t know, is that she never could.
Mothers will always remind us of who we are, what we are worth, and how we should be proud of ourselves. Mothers see what others miss and what we forget about ourselves.
As mothers, we are proud to see our babies fly on their own, accomplish their goals, live loving lives. The fact is we were always proud of them no matter what they did … or didn’t do. What moms don’t tell their kids when they have left the nest … is that we miss them every single day.
At the end of the day, my biggest and best accomplishment isn’t the money I made, the businesses I ran or the big homes I lived in. It is that I am the mother of a beautiful little girl who grew to be a beautiful, responsible, funny and wicked smart young woman. That is my mother’s day celebration. That is my gift.
And so, I say thank you to all the mothers who have sacrificed so much, cried rivers, spent many a sleepless night worrying, cleaned up vomit, buried fish and hamsters, forfeited the vacation for fender repairs, went without so their kids could have. YOU are my heroes.
Happy Mother’s Day.
*this is an encore presentation … an oldie but a goodie!
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The art of embarrassment
We all make fools of ourselves every so often. Speaking for myself, it’s ‘more often’ than ‘every so’. It would be fair to say; I’ve made it an art form.
Misjudgments, mistakes and sheer stupidity account for many of my foibles. The truth is, being mortified is pretty much second nature to me.
I hang my hat on the notion that intent is everything. If only it were enough.
I remember back when I was 7, I was in catechism class and my tummy hurt so badly. Despite repeated acts of waving my arm and asking for a bathroom pass, the teacher was not sympathetic (nuns … don’t even get me started!) so there I sat. I thought that if I could eke out a tiny little silent fart, it would get me by. It was the only survival instinct I had and I went for it. Needless to say my attempt was far from tiny or silent. The sound and the smell ripped through the room like an atom bomb. It’s hard to bounce back from something like that when you’re 7. I still cringe and wince when I think about it.
Then there was the time when in an attempt to surprise my (then) husband, I wrapped myself in saran wrap, put a bow on my head and waited for him to come home. That was about the time I realized I couldn’t walk, I had wrapped my legs together and I couldn’t sit down. It was also the moment that we had a power failure in August in the Valley. By the time my husband got home (about an hour of waiting), I was a smelly ball of sweat that had swelled under the wrapping. We had to cut it all off as the moisture made it impossible to unwrap me (thanks for nothing Cosmopolitan Magazine!). We headed off to the emergency room for the prickly heat that covered 90% of my stinky body. I cling to the fact that my intent was awesome.
Later in years, I remember walking out on stage to deliver a keynote presentation to a room of 150 people only to later discover that the back of my skirt was tucked in to the top of my panty hose and there was a trail of toilet paper hanging from my underwear. Yeah. That wasn’t awesome.
Embarrassing moments are non-discriminating. Age, gender, financial status; we all fall into the pit of humiliation at one point or another. Another indisputable fact is that they help to mold us and define our limits and abilities.
I remember my 7 year old daughter choreographing a musical extravaganza in our backyard for the family and our neighbors. She and her best friends had practiced and planned for weeks. During the performance she took a hell of a tumble off the small trampoline and landed on her face. Stunned, she paused for a brief second then hopped to her feet, extended her arms above her head and yelled to the top of her lungs, “Ta-daaaaaah!” That’s what I’m talking about.
Eventually we learn a lot every time we do goofy things that we later realize we should have known better. All the instances I have had the bravery and insanity to share with you instilled in me an uproarious sense of humor about myself and a bounce back quality that has served me well throughout the years.
If you never venture out of your box, you’ll never humiliate yourself. I’d rather have the humiliation than the box.
I have found that there is tremendous value in the act of being embarrassed. If you can find your way through it to hold your head high, you’re way ahead of the game of life and anything that it can (and will) throw at you.
Fear of being embarrassed or humiliated is what stops so many of us from pursuing the careers, the people, the events we want in our lives. There’s a reason that public speaking is the second biggest fear (dying is the first) that most people harbor. We are so afraid of making a fool of ourselves that we don’t even try. What could be sadder than that?
In being my own best friend, I have found that I am often my own worst enemy. I think that’s true for most of us. Feeling the caution but not listening to the fear is an art form that embarrassment and humiliation teaches us very well.
I can guarantee that my days of doing stupid things are far from over. But I’m comforted by the fact that I have never allowed my failures, faux-paus and misjudgments to hold me down or keep me back.
Like my father always said: never let them see you sweat. They never have.
If you’ve got something to say …
Unzip and spit it out.
There are few things more damaging to any relationship than silence. That’s a fact.
Keeping things in has never been a problem I’ve had to deal with (a blessing and a curse). I wear my heart on my sleeve, my opinion on my lips and my mind generally out in left field. It all works for me.
But it doesn’t work for everyone. I’m not sure why people shy away from confrontation. It really is the most genuine way to resolve issues.
I, for one, welcome a sit down. I’m happy to share my mind’s view and my heart’s sentiments if you care enough to listen. I also welcome the opportunity to hear you out, whatever the issues may be. But I don’t think that anyone appreciates being ignored, talked badly about, or being resented without the opportunity to understand why and perhaps explain themselves. Besides, chances are pretty good that if you have a problem with me, I’d like to hear about it. These things should be easy to work out, right?
Therein lies the rub. It takes two to have an honest, viable relationship. One person willing to listen, talk and work issues out will never make the grade. Timing is everything, but while we wait for the right moment, it may well have already slipped by us.
Why do so many people go to such great lengths to avoid discussing their anger, issues and resentments? The price paid can be the cost of a valuable and loving relationship.
Now, granted, sometimes our liaisons aren’t worth much to begin with, and maybe sending those kinds of relationships sailing into the sunset isn’t a bad thing. Those of us who are “of age” have cleaned our house of useless and negative friendships and relatives along the way. It’s something we do when we realize the need for honest interactions, mutual acceptance and a positive re-enforcement to our life’s struggles along with our need for simple courtesies.
But if we have a friendship or a relation that we love and value, why do we hesitate to take the time and the effort to support that value with love and understanding? I don’t get it; can someone please explain it to me?
Whoever said silence is golden was deaf to reality. Deathbed conversations are filled with apologies and scrambled efforts to communicate everything that has been withheld. If you’ve got something to say, best you say it while it still matters.
My friends know that if you ask for my opinion, you will get nothing but the truth. If you want my support, you will have it. And if I have a problem with you, well, suffice it to say that we will both have the opportunity to talk it over.
Life is all about give and take. I can give it and I can take it. My life is so much easier when this balance works as it should. I sometimes wish I wasn’t the only one sailing on the ship of sharing.
Life is short, love is eternal but resentments, anger and silence can be the death of both.
It kind of makes you wonder why hesitation instead of communication is so often the preferred choice.
If you know something I don’t; I hope you share it with me.
Right is Might
Or so they say.
I’ve spent the better part of a lifetime thinking that being right would render the ultimate satisfaction. I know what you’re thinking; what a pompous patootie!
As it turns out I was right far more often than I was wrong. But the satisfaction it brought me was short lived and in no way a victory.
In these years I’ve learned that being right isn’t the same as doing right; the latter far more important than the former.
This almost feels like a word from our sponsor: common sense, but there is no denying that pretty much every one of us either is “that person” or has to deal with someone who is. If you’re really lucky (sarcasm) you get to be both. Welcome to my world.
I’ve always equivocated being right with being informed, making good judgments and knowing more than others. Some of that may be true. But being right can also mean that we are judgmental, feel superior and sometimes live in a state of denial. None of these qualities are welcome in my day to day.
I do better now because I know better now. Something you learn as you get older is that you’re not nearly as smart and clever as you have often perceived yourself to be, which ironically makes you smarter now than you’ve ever been. Follow that?
We all know people who think they know everything or who need to have the last word. Those people generally strive to be proven right in any conversation or argument. It’s a classic case of winning the battle but losing the war.
Those of us who have an insatiable need to be right are generally good people. We want to bestow on you the knowledge that we have … or think we have. Aren’t we special?
Allow me this moment to share with you that small little detail that matters far more than the need to be right: respect. If you are able, and once you do, to replace the need to be right with the need to respect the other person, well, you’ve got it made in the shade. And speaking of shade, as it turns out there are many different shades of truth and right. Good to know.
Respecting and accepting the feelings, opinions, fears and uncertainties of others will take us all much farther in our quest for happiness than our need to prove ourselves right ever will. Happily ever after was never built from a road of self righteousness, but rather on the one with a foundation of respect.
The other piece of advice I would offer you is to get over yourself. Hard to do when you think you are all that. But try. Because you might be the cats pajamas (wow, I just dated myself big time) but you are not always right, you never will be always right and it quickly becomes obnoxious to witness the need. Besides, I can tell you from firsthand experience that the effort is truly exhausting.
It’s hard for me to know when confidence turns into arrogance. Maybe they are each a part of each other. I often feel confident but never quite enough to feel arrogant about it.
Learning to be flexible, respectful and open minded allows me/you to live life much more cohesively. It would have been nice if there were a manual to tell us all this stuff. Instead we are left to figure it out, sometimes the hard way and sometimes not at all. Pity.
Maybe one day I will sit down and write such a manual, but then, that would be me trying to be right again. The truth is I’m just now beginning to figure a lot of this stuff out myself. I’m not sure if that makes me one of the most stubborn people alive or just a slow learner.
There’s a lot of advice I’d like to impart to my daughter before I leave this earth (hopefully eons from now) in the hope that it won’t take her 40 years to learn some of life’s lessons as it often did me. But this tidbit, this morsel, this obscure piece of knowledge is golden and it is a game-changer in all of life’s relationships.
There are more heartbreaks that come from the need to be right than there are triumphs. That fact alone should deter us from pursuing it with such vigor.
Take it from one who knows.
Life can get pretty squirrelly
Someone is in the attic. He’s loud, noisy and an early riser. He’s also uninvited.
No, it’s not Uncle Al; it’s a resident squirrel.
A little over two weeks ago, we were awakened before sunrise by a loud thumping and bouncing noise in the attic space above our master bedroom. Clearly someone was having a good deal of fun and it wasn’t us.
Being the naïve humans that we are, we thought to ourselves, “whatever it is, it will find its way out and that will be the end of it”. Fat chance.
Days turned into two weeks and each and every morning began with the squirrel waking up the household. In the battle of squirrel vs. human, the squirrel was winning.
Picture this: at exactly 6:10 every morning, the noise in the attic begins. By 6:11, our two cats are going ballistic trying to climb the walls to get at him. By 6:12, the dog is barking and chasing the cats. By 6:13, there are two adults sitting up in bed with fur flying, a medley of barking and hissing, covers rumpled and loud noises coming from the attic. It’s no wonder that after two weeks of this we are exhausted. Something had to give.
Now, let me make it clear that I’m a big fan of wildlife and I care about preserving their environment and welfare (PETA, are you listening?). After all, they were here first and as the superior species it shouldn’t be too difficult to outsmart the varmint. Good luck with that.
While investigating pest control companies and their policies of getting rid of unwanted rats, squirrels etc., I was advised that the way they treat the problem is to bait them with poison and let nature takes its course. That’s nature taking its course?! I’m sorry, but where I come from, its murder. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but murderer has never been one of them. I’d like very much to keep it that way.
I rescued a squirrel once that was hit by a car and had a broken leg. The vet bill was over $320 and that didn’t include rehab (no snickering). I wasn’t about to take a squirrel out on purpose.
Besides, I can’t bring myself to kill something that stops by our bedroom window every evening on the way to our roof, twitches his whiskers and winks (he’s either winking or giving us the stink-eye). I mean we are technically casual friends and neighbors.
Still, we never invited him into our home and I have asked him politely to leave. He is undeterred. That makes two of us.
As consistent as clockwork, this little squirrel pops in to our attic at exactly the same time each morning and proceeds to rearrange the ‘furnishings’: dragging, thumping, thrashing and gnawing. Wait … gnawing? Oh, that can’t be good.
Mr. Peanuts (clearly we have already lost the battle since we’ve actually named this wild animal), has a mind of his own. We have taken to pounding on the ceiling with a broom and shaking the entry to our attic to scare him. It works … for about 5 minutes. After that we swear we can almost hear a high pitch squealing that sounds a lot like laughter.
Here we are; two grown adults (up for debate) being outfoxed by a squirrel. I get the feeling we are not the first home he’s visited and probably won’t be the last. It was time to get serious.
We got up on our ladder to view the roof to see if we could spot his point of entry. We repeated this effort all around the house until we noticed a vent and could not detect if it had a screen on it. We deduced that this was the access point. I’m sure my eyes deceived me but I thought I saw a tiny little welcome mat at the mouth of the vent. Nah. That’s impossible.
So I started the deluge of calls trying to find a service that would come to our home, go into our attic, lay a civilized trap (that’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one) and come back the next day to take our guest outside and free him into the wild, but not before we screened his entry point. This would be where we stand (hands clasped together) and sing “Born Free”.
Awesome! We had a plan and it couldn’t fail. The cost of this fail proof plot: $150.00 assuming the removal did not become extensive. Extensive? It’s just a little squirrel. This was going to be a cakewalk.
When our “wildlife trapper” arrived I was less than impressed. Before me stood a young man with large loop holes in his ear lobes and over 50% of his body covered in tattoos. He was rough around the edges and my first impression was not the best. Still, he was polite and I was desperate.
Two traps were set (just in case there was a Mrs. Peanuts). Skippy peanut butter was its lure. It was a sure thing.
And so yesterday morning at 6:10 we heard him enter the attic. We heard his little feet jumping around, our cats going ballistic, then our dog chasing the cats, then silence.
When our wildlife expert came to collect his prey, we found the trap empty, the peanut butter gone and the trap door sprung. I stood tiptoed on the ladder looking into our attic in complete shock and confusion.
Truth is I immediately had a new found respect for this little guy. He was smart, fast and not easily intimidated. All traits I long to be in my day to day. I’ve had relatives with far less determination than Mr. Peanuts. No, this squirrel was admirable because not only did he defy the trap but he ate all the peanut butter.
Our second attempt was successful. There he sat in the cage chittering away at us. He was a very unhappy camper. I wasn’t thrilled either. It was a relief to know that his morning visitations had come to a halt but now I had to face having him ostracized from the neighborhood. But wait … what if his family was here? What if it was a Mommy Peanuts and there were little peanuts depending on her? The trapper said he would take him far away and release him. By the looks of the man I thought that it was far more likely that he would take him home and put him on the BBQ (so much for not judging a book by its cover).
That’s when the debate began. I proposed that we drive Mr. Peanuts to our local park where we could be sure he had lots of space, a water source and about a billion trees. No one was thrilled with this brilliant idea. I would not take no for an answer as I simply needed the peace of mind of knowing that Mr. Peanuts wasn’t going to end up in a redneck casserole because of me. After some argument we placed the cage in the back of the truck and headed off to the park. He was released running into the creek area and never looked back. Sadly, no one was in the mood to sing “Born Free” so I hummed it to myself.
I know we did what we had to do. I know we did the best we could. It is survival of the fittest after all. I just can’t help but feel that all species have a right to live; a right to have a roof over our heads (or a tree), food on the table (or nuts in the ground) and a future to be lived.
One thing Mr. Peanuts was not entitled to was a rent free situation in our attic without so much as a lease agreement.
I find myself wondering if he is okay, if he misses his family or if he is in utter wilderness bliss. I’m hoping it’s the latter.
It’s obvious that I’m a pusher over when it comes to animals. It is a kindness that I appreciate about myself. Still, I wouldn’t mind having a heart that was just a little bit harder.
I’m quite sure life would be easier that way. It also would be more cost efficient.
Total cost to relocate Mr. Peanuts: $325.00.
A good morning’s sleep in: Priceless.
The proof is in the pudding
Or in my case, a bar of soap.
Not too long ago, I slipped on a bar of soap and broke my foot. Little did I know how much that bar of soap would teach me.
The day it happened, as I lay there writhing in pain, I screamed out for help. Steven, of course, came running and found me sprawled on the floor in a crumpled heap rocking back and forth.
My first thought was: oh, thank God, help was here! My second thought was: wait … I’m naked and my little fat rolls are exposed! Oh the humiliation!
As soon as he entered, I saw his mortified face. I began screeching, “Throw me the towel, throw me the towel!” Not my finest hour.
Let me tell you that there is no panic like that of a wounded naked woman who feels she has something to hide.
I think that our instincts are challenged daily. Do we take care of our realities or do we try to preserve whatever dignity we have left?
Hiding our flaws is something we are all pretty good at. Whether we are hiding our lies, our faults or our shortcomings, we all have a collection of things we’d rather not share with others.
I have to wonder if all the effort is worth the outcome.
I get the humiliation aspect of being seen for what we truly are (it doesn’t get more bare than naked on the floor). But I wonder if we are being fair to ourselves.
My ex husband spends a boat load of money going to a hair club that glues new hair on his head every two weeks. Few people know, not even his new squeeze. Is it doing any harm?
I have friends who live their lives buying things they can’t afford so they can appear more successful than they are. Is it hurting anything other than their pocket book?
We know a couple who refer to their children as entrepreneurs to gloss over the fact that their kids are once again unemployed and looking for work. Does it really matter?
And I would hugely prefer to cover up my crumpled, naked, fluffy body so that the man of my dreams doesn’t see it in the stark light of day. What’s the harm?
I’m a big believer in full disclosure but I also understand not everyone is entitled to know or see everything about us. Privacy is reserved for those closest to us.
Take my shower incident for example. Steven is a man who has seen me naked about a billion times. I’ve always hoped that it was a positive experience for him. I also own up to having impeccable posture and sucking in my gut when I know he is looking. Is that wrong?
My pin-up days are clearly over. I’ve got C-section and hysterectomy scars that prove I gave birth and survived menopause. Not exactly an unblemished body. On top of that, I’m 25 pounds (okay fine, 30) fluffier than I should be. Suffice it to say, I’m not vacuuming naked.
Still, I feel every bit the saucy minx I once was (and still believe myself to be). Yes, I might be a legend in my own mind, but it’s my mind and whose to judge?
So I’m thinking if it makes my ex feel better to lie about being bald, let him. If our friends have a need to feel successful, who am I to disagree? And if people want to think of their unemployed children as entrepreneurs, well, hey, maybe they will be some day.
Maybe the real damage of our lies and deceit happens at the end of the day when the lights go out and the room goes dark. When there is no one else there, what do we really think of ourselves?
There in the dark the deceits disappear and the truth stands alone.
My truth is that I’m loved by a wonderful man who knows I’m fluffy and clumsy. I’m not yet ready to prance around the house naked, but I’m getting there.
Self esteem runs deep. So does self loathing. We should respect both as the line that divides them is fragile.
Best we all remember that none of us is perfect. So what if we go around hiding our imperfections? There are moments that in order for me to maintain a level of confidence in my life I have to keep an ideal of myself in my head. It doesn’t always match what I see in the mirror but it doesn’t mean it’s not who I really am, want to be or once was.
The naked girl crumpled on the floor begging to be covered is also the same girl who can stand before hundreds of people delivering a knockout keynote presentation or successfully coach a fledgling apprentice towards a new life. She’s also the same girl who single handedly ran several successful businesses, raised a great kid who is now 26 and has forged a midlife career in writing.
I’m aware that amid our confidences lurk insecurities. Things we know we could or should be better at. I’m willing to bet that you, my readers, have them too. I’m hoping they never stand in your way.
It took a bar of soap to give me a reality check. Not being proud of something doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re ashamed of it. While I’m not perfect, my vulnerable moments should not be confused for weakness.
Perfection does have its place. I’m just not sure that real life is one of them.
The greatest virtue of all is ….
Okay, I’m not sure; but if we had to choose from life’s virtues, which would prove to be the most valuable?
I’m usually uncontrollably humorous in my posts. It’s generally something I can’t help; it’s a blessing and a curse. This week, I’ve been contemplative. What? (I’m sure it won’t last long.)
I’ve been coaching this amazing young woman and after nine months of tutelage, she is ready to fly the nest to pursue her dreams. She will succeed, of that I have no doubt. She is a deep thinker (a little too much so) and we began a conversation about which of the many virtues was more important for a happy successful life. Good question.
Obviously the top four virtues are faith, hope, charity and love. I’m thinking that perhaps I could survive in this world without love and faith and maybe make it through without charity. But I’m not at all convinced I could make it through the day without hope.
Where would we be if we couldn’t hold on to the hope that our marriage will get better, that our sickness will heal, that a job will be found or that a child will be safe?
Hope seems to stave away fear. Who doesn’t want less fear?
It’s strange to say that hope is so strong, but I think that it is. When it has been absent in my life I have felt helpless and drifting. Hope is the key to the knowledge that tomorrow just might be better. I definitely could not do without hope.
My gut response was Love. But love feels more like a grace to me, one I pray I will always be blessed to have. They say that love makes the world go around, but if that were true, our world wouldn’t be so ravaged by war and savagery. Love has its place but it is also fickle and does not share itself with everyone. I believe in love but I’m not sure I can depend on it.
Faith is known as the strongest of all virtues. I’m not sure we could be without faith if we tried. Whatever it is that you believe in; faith in your God, your spouse, your family, your parents, yourself, it is all so deeply instilled in our inner being, as if it was given to us with our very soul.
Charity is touted as the most congenial of virtues. Not everyone possesses it. Too bad. I’m not talking about the kind of charity where we donate our money. I’m talking about the charity we live everyday by giving to our family, co-workers, friends, relatives. Charity is help; and it is part of our daily fiber to help those we care about, those we love and those who matter. A kind gesture, a reassuring word, a trust bestowed, it’s all charity. It is a blessed virtue but I doubt it is the most indispensable.
My answer is none of the above. For me the greatest virtue is purpose. Those times in my life when I lacked it, were probably the darkest times I’ve known. I am also happiest when I know exactly what my purpose is. I think that’s why we mothers have such a hard time when our children leave home. They were our purpose for so long and when they leave, we are left to flounder until we find another. When my 27 year marriage ended I no longer had the purpose of being a Mrs. Somebody. And when my father died, my purpose of being a daughter vanished. Purpose has a lot of power and the lack of it can destroy us.
Trying to select a most valuable virtue is like trying to answer the question of which force of nature is more powerful; earth, wind, fire or water. I never could answer that one.
There are so many virtues to choose from; prudence, courage (one of my favs), temperance, fortitude, justice, and of course, grace. I’ve always wanted to think of myself as having grace. I’m still working on it.
With all the virtues at hand, I can only wonder why we don’t use more of them all the time. Life is hard and full of disappointments, setbacks and crossroads. Decisions every day call upon us to make them and our hesitation often comes from not possessing enough virtue to do so.
Life without virtue is a life less lived and far less worth. And so it is often asked: what will you do with this, your magnificently wonderful life?
I shout my answer: I’m giving it my best shot. I choose a life of virtue, the courage to stand by it, the kindness to share it and the daring to live it.
That’s my plan. Perhaps with a little grace a lot of courage, a dash of temperance and a good deal of prudence … I just might make it.
I have hope that I will.
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So you want to be a writer when you grow up?
Yeah, me too.
Wow, there must be something special in the air for you to hear from me twice in one week….and there is.
I want to send a shout out to my readers about two awesome things that are going on.
First off, I have been asked to guest blog this week for the outrageously famous Scott Morgan over at his site, www.Write-Hook.com. If you haven’t visited his site, you’re missing out big time. If you are a writer or a wanna be writer, this is a can’t miss read. Join me and trip over to http://tinyurl.com/7tr9e3h for some refreshing nonsense about how to be a successful writer. Comments always welcome and a sassy answer is always waiting in the wings; just sharing the knowledge.
That’s not all that’s happening on the block today. A mentor of mine, Judith Briles, is a hugely successful author and marketer. She presents programs that lead the writing and marketing industry. I don’t have the space to give you her accolades but I will tell you that both she and her programs are amazing. Judith is hosting a magnificent Authors Extravaganza in May; and attending could very well change your life. Yeah, I’m serious.
Hop on over to http://authoru.org/extravaganza-2012.html and you’ll see what I mean; you won’t believe the line-up. Eleven top notch speakers will lead the way on topics like publishing, promoting, marketing, social networking, video promotion and tons more. Her programs are always hugely affordable and produce results like nothing I’ve seen anywhere else (no, I don’t get any kickbacks for sending you there, but that would be awesome). A weekend in the Rockies in May is pretty much the perfect place to be.
That’s it. You’re welcome. Have a great weekend everybody!
Death by Bacon
After reading a recent study in the Los Angeles Times, I’m petrified.
I love my In-N-Out and Tommy’s burger fix, my Rosie’s rib night, and my steak at Morton’s. Few things sound better for breakfast than my favorite BLT. Clearly, I don’t have long to live.
A recent study featured last week in the Los Angeles Times advises all of us that according to a 20 year study involving 110,000 people, it concluded that any type or amount of red meat in our diet significantly increases our risk of premature death by 17%. It gets worse, (can it really get worse?). The study states that even adding an extra daily serving of processed red meat such as 2 slices of bacon or a hot dog is linked to an additional 20% higher risk of death.
There is death written all over this survey. A cheerful little read.
I couldn’t help but think about all the things I’ve done that were sure to kill me.
For starters, I rode in my dad’s car standing up in the front seat from the time I was 2 years old. No seat belt, no infant seat. I was just running all over the place. I could have been killed.
Do you remember a time when we all rode our bikes without helmets, drove in cars without seat belts, ate very rare hamburgers, and drank coffee when a survey indicated that anything over 2 cups a day would severely stunt our growth?
We have seen our way through the saccharin scare, the food dye threat, preservatives, deodorant with lead in it, the Millennium bug (which was going to destroy civilization as we knew it), asbestos, salmonella in eggs, global warming (okay, I am starting to believe there is a little something to this one), SARS and the swine flu. I’m still waiting for the killer bees to reach America along with the African ants and the bird flu. But I believe the most dastardly imprint left by the surveyors was the one about 15 years ago that advised us that chocolate was bad for us (how dare they). Now we are encouraged to eat a piece of dark chocolate every day for its health benefits. Few of these scares had merit.
So many of them were ridiculously overblown, irresponsibly reported and propagated by overzealous “experts”. Of course, the media took it and ran with it. Fear mongering should be out-lawed. It’s hard to tell the difference these days between irresponsible reporting and the truth.
I’ve heard the scares about red meat for years. Lately, mostly from my daughter who refuses to eat red meat all together. She is also gluten free (I seriously still don’t know what that means), but she swears by it.
I believe that too much of anything is a bad thing. I am trying to cut down on my red meat, my sugar intake and my carb fascination, but that’s because I’m 58 and would like to live to be … well, to be older, and, dare I say, I wouldn’t mind losing a pound or twenty.
I agree that we all should be watching our health, make good choices and be accountable for what we put into our mouths (there’s a joke here, but I digress). Healthy eating these days is easier with all the information we have on hand. Red meat is here to stay. Moderation is the name of that game, not scaring the hell out of people. I wonder how long it will take before this survey is de-bunked like so many others before it.
There is a lot about meat that doesn’t suit me very well. I’ve seen too many documentaries that show us the cruelty with which the cows, chickens and pigs are raised and kept. It’s very hard to reconcile that. I think that fact more than any other one has contributed to my declining intake of meat in general.
I’m sure there are quite a few “scares” I can’t quite remember, but I’m betting some of you will.
Who are these people who are telling me that by eating 2 slices of bacon I’m increasing my chances of an early death by 20%? That’s just bad form. Come on guys; go hang out with the people that are predicting the world will end December 21st because that’s when the Mayan calendar runs out.
I’m going to fix myself a juicy BLT and we can talk about this subject again on December 22nd.
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