about hope

I have a problem with hope.

Mainly, I don't have a lot of it. Sounds tragic and pessimistic, I know. But it's deeper than that.

Most people who know me would call me an optimist. I find beauty and goodness in things when others can't. I appreciate the blessings life gives me and honestly believe good things will happen most of the time. But I've realized that's not hope. I believe good things will happen because I believe in my ability to make them happen. I believe things will mostly be okay because I believe believe people are mostly good.

So much of what I have in life is because of my own making. I either fought really hard against the circumstances, or I jumped on opportunities when luck or whatever else you might call it brought them my way. Things that are completely outside of my control are harder to grasp. Grit and determination - I've got those in abundance. Hope that things I can't achieve through my own hard work will happen - that's much more rare.

I feel both proud and lucky that I know exactly what I want out of life. I spent a lot of time exploring, trying new things, trying other people's things...and I know now what I really need to be happy. I want a family. I want to live in the country with some land and some animals. I want to make enough money to feel financially secure. I want to serve my community. I want to spend as much time outside as possible. I want to love with abandon.

I know what I want, but I don't know exactly how I'm going to get from here to there. There are definitely things I can control, but there are tons of barriers and things take time and sometimes it just all feels so far away. I know I need to believe it's going to happen to make it happen, but in the face of so many experiences that knock you back, it can be hard to see how to go forward.

That's where hope comes in, and that's where I have to admit that I just don't have a lot of it.

And then 2019 said, "Hold my beer".


*       *       *       *       *


In early December I stopped at Larson Family Winery to pick up the wine club packages I had left sitting there for months. It occurred to me that it was an unusual choice for me, and I found myself thinking back to why I had even gone there. The sound of a goat bleating reminded me exactly why I chose Larson, and I started reflecting on just how much has happened in the year since that first visit.

It was all about the goats.

But come to think of it, even that had so many more layers.

In 2018 my best friend from kindergarten chose to visit me in SF for Thanksgiving. I took her wine tasting and chose Larson because they had goats on the property. Anyone who knows me well knows how much I love goats. I grew up with them, I've always thought they were super cute, and I was into hanging out with them long before goat yoga was a thing. I have proof.

I love goats.

But really, goats are just a representation of the life I want to live. Goats mean farm life. Goats mean animal cuddles, muck boots, and hay falling out of your bra at the end of the day. Goats mean hard work cleaning pens and fixing fences, scrapes and bruises from hooves and broken doors, and responsibilities that are more important than responding to that email or checking facebook. Goats mean understanding life and death in a way that I find most kids who grow up in cities don't. It means watching for signs of illness, giving shots, cuddling a sick animal through the night hoping he'll make it, and grieving if he doesn't. To me, goats represent a version of me that I miss.

Several years ago I realized that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in the city. I want acreage, a barn, animals, and kids who know what it means to wake up and do chores to keep it all going. I am so happy with my life and have loved living in SF and traveling the world, but it's just not who I really am day to day. I want a modest home that benefits from the time and energy I put into it. I want enough space for a real kitchen and a place where people can join me for dinner. I want a small town community in the country where neighbors know each other. I want a farm truck and a garden and horses and chickens and goats and dogs and kids and a porch swing even if I don't have a real porch. I want grass and stars. I want something that really feels like home.

Living in a studio in San Francisco where I hear street noise all night and my neighbors steal my packages and the homeless guys outside dump the trash can all over the sidewalk every day just isn't working for me anymore. It makes this dream I have seem so far away. So I started dreaming a little smaller. I figured if I could only get a couple of acres I could still have 2 or 3 goats and a dog and a fixer-upper house. The goats were a foot in the door of the whole picture I really wanted, and my love for the cute little guys became a thing everyone knew about. So when I remembered that the reason I chose Larson as the first stop that day was because they had goats I wanted to pet, I started to realize just how much has changed in the past year.

A year ago a friend told me about a Valentine's Day event where I could donate to a goat rescue to get cute pictures cuddling the babies. That night I talked to volunteers with the organization, and within 2 weeks I was a regular volunteer bottle feeding baby goats on my home from work, which was easy because I had a new job that had me commuting right past the goat yard every day. These things combined with more to push me even further towards my goals.

I went on a summer trail ride with a group I know well only to find that my usual horse had passed away. The new horse I was on had been trained only to follow its mother, and left me sad that the horse under my saddle didn't listen to me as a rider. Because I had lost so much weight in the spring (a concerted effort to be more fit and to open up more riding stables to me), I was able to find a riding instructor with a horse big enough for me. It would be just beginning riding lessons when I wanted overall horsemanship, but it was a step in the right direction. My experience with that instructor was so awful that I turned to a former colleague to help me learn just groundwork (she didn't have a horse big enough), but when I shared my love and disappointment with her, she went above and beyond. Kim not only decided to mentor me on all the horsemanship I wanted to learn, but she also found a horse I could ride.

When the fires came in the fall as they seem to every year now, I once again mucked stalls and bucked hay to help the sheltered horses. Through that work I got connected to an amazing organization that inspired me to get all of my FEMA certifications and disaster trainings so I can actually help rescue animals in the future.

One things just kept leading to another, and the results are astounding. When I look back on my 2019, I am faced with hoards of reasons to believe. I have actual evidence that even when I don't see the path, big things can happen very quickly.

• One year ago I worked for a company I loved in a job that I was good at. I was comfortable and I saw a path forward, but I wasn't pushing my boundaries. Now I work for a company with amazing benefits where I'm challenged every day to learn more, be better, and prove myself. The initial trade in of cash salary for equity is already proving to be better for my financial outlook.

• One year ago I had decided not to move forward with freezing my eggs because it would cost me around $75k to do the number of rounds I would need. I felt I needed to leave having a biological family up to chance,. Now I'm on the other side of a grueling 5 months of IVF and I have some assurance that I can have kids when I'm ready.

• One year ago I had a sparse relationship with my best friend from kindergarten. On a whim she came to visit me over Thanksgiving and we've spent the last year connecting daily and visiting more frequently. A part of my life that was missing is back and I'm so grateful to have the love and support of someone I admire this much. She has helped me remember and find comfort in who I really am.

• One year ago I was over 30 lbs heavier than I am now. A strict keto diet and some intense yoga have helped me build a body that feels strong and makes me proud.

• One year ago I was eager to cuddle goats whenever I could. I paid to pet goats - at events, at petting zoos. Now I have helped hand raise 14 baby goats into the cute little herd they are today. I have learned to give injections, to spot signs of illness, and have curled up in hay to make sure a sick goat makes it through the night. I start raising my second herd of babies in March.

• One year ago I had gone 13 months without dating because I needed a break - from men, from myself, from unhealthy relationships. This year I have met amazing people who have all been lessons that have prepared me to be the partner I'm meant to be when it's time. I found an amazing community of women dedicated to supporting each other so that we can heal our wounds and leave ourselves open to love when it shows up. 

• One year ago I mucked stalls for evacuated animals during wildfires, wishing I could do more. Now I have the FEMA certifications and training that will allow me to go behind responder lines to really help those who need it during disasters.

• One year ago I was a timid snowboarder who hated traverses. Thanks to trips to some big challenging mountains and lots of time with better riders, I'm now confident on any mountain and I'm a better and faster boarder than I've ever been.

• One year ago I planned out the rodeo schedule every summer in hopes of finding places to meet people who wanted similar things and maybe share a dance or two. This year I went to Cheyenne Frontier Days the first time, started 2 stepping again, and I no longer feel like an imposter wearing my boots out. 

• One year ago I thought I could put off horses - all I needed was a trail ride here and there to keep me going. Now I'm learning how to train green horses, I'm gaining confidence riding green horses, and I've started working with a mustang.

The evidence is overwhelming. Even my skeptical, unhopeful mind can't ignore how just a couple of opportunities aligned to transform everything in my life in such a short time. I am so close to achieving my goals, and I am so much happier for having the things in my life I do now. I could never have imagined how quickly or how things could change. Who knows where I'll be 12 months from now. I do know I'll be even better, stronger, and more true to who I am than I am now, and I no longer feel stuck in circumstances or that everything I want is so far away. Truly, everything can change in a year. 

And this... this gives me HOPE. 

Women's Anger in September 2018

**Trigger warning: Assault is discussed in this post

I used to say about myself, "I am not a person who gets angry".

I used to be able to count on one hand the times in my life in which I had felt really really mad.

I used to say, "I'm just not an angry person".

I mean, an angry woman is NOT an attractive woman. Women should go with the flow, learn to take a joke, be cool. We are socialized to believe that if we express anger we are undesirable. Some of us are socialized to believe that if we express anger we will be harmed. After growing up in a house where annoyance could turn quickly to violence, I learned as an adult to be the person who could calm down a fight while somehow holding on to that part of me that needed to stand up for what I felt was right. I channeled that into being an advocate for those who needed it most, working in non-profit the beginning of my career and partnering with them since.

Over the past couple of years a number of things have made me feel something that could only be defined as anger, and that I have yet to successfully transfer to anything else.


My mother's sickness and death was likely an early starting point, but at that point I channeled everything into hurt - as I always had. Angry at your Mom for not handling things better? Nope - that's sadness that she's gone. Angry with the people who weren't there for you? Nope - that's empowerment to move forward on your own. Angry with the world for all the ways life hurts people? Nope - that's just grief. I never thought of it as anger.

Then came Trump. All of a sudden, so many of the things I was feeling were shared with many people around me. The world was outraged and it was safe to acknowledge that my sadness wasn't just sadness - it was rage. Experiencing collective fury with so many people who could express it so well allowed me to admit what I was really feeling.

The challenge with starting to feel comfortable acknowledging your anger is that you notice it more. You let it grow. If you're smart, you find ways to navigate it, like my previous attempts at calming it down or turning it into fuel for something good. But suddenly, I wasn't able to do that anymore. Now that I knew this was anger, I could no longer convert into something else. The tears that have always popped up for me when I'm mad could no longer be dismissed as sadness or being overly emotional. I stopped being able to pretend my feelings were something they weren't. And that alone was probably the hardest step for me. The feeling of actually sitting with any kind of resentment at all is so uncomfortable to me that I find myself in a panic. I need a way to resolve it.

A number of personal challenges have forced me to acknowledge that I do have anger that hasn't been resolved with my subconscious attempts to convert it to hurt anxiety, or empowerment. I, like everyone, work to deal with these things - through forgiveness, venting, focusing on the good - whatever I can. But now....

Now it's different.

Everything is different.

The women of the US are outraged. People all over the world are outraged. Yes, there are some things we can do, but is it enough to dissipate our anger? Does a rally make that much injustice go away? Even if I could quit my job and dedicate my entire life to helping, would the rage decrease? How do we sit with the anger we feel right now? I'm writing this because I don't know how to deal with how LIVID I am in this moment.

Last week I posted on #WhyIDidn'tReport in support of Dr. Blasey Ford. In response to that post, 9 people I know and love reached out to me privately to share their experiences of rape. I'd love to believe that's all of them, but we know better. As I watched a group of old white men question Dr. Ford, I scrolled through twitter to read people's comments. What I found reignited a rage in me that I don't know will ever dissipate.

A long time ago I was very close to a man who now has quite a few followers on social media due to his polarizing sports commentary. When I was raped at 17, this was the man who made me understand that it was rape. This was the man that threatened the life of my attacker. This was the man who encouraged me to report (which I didn't) and supported me through the times when I questioned my memory or my value or felt shame at what had happened. This was a good man. I know he's a good man.

We don't agree politically, and at some point during one of the campaigns I could no longer subject myself to things he was saying, but I honestly believed most of it was for show. When we talked, actually talked, we could always find SOME middle ground - even if unstable. Maybe I should have blocked him long ago, but I don't believe in only exposing yourself to one side. I believe it's good to have friends who challenge your beliefs.

During the testimony, though, my old friend's twitter was filled with hateful tweets about Dr. Ford. They ranged from calling her a lying manipulative person who was just trying to get famous to make money to blaming one of the other accusers for not coming forward about the drunken parties earlier. I thought I could talk to him. I told him how I remembered him being there for me, and how after that he could be so adamant that she's lying. His response was that I couldn't be objective because I was a woman who had been assaulted. He said the fact that I wasn't skeptical of Ford demonstrates that I'm not objective. He didn't care what I had to say.

Look - I understand his point. I understand that he's concerned that a woman can make a claim that could destroy a man's life. I really do get it.

But he was there with me. Telling me to report. Hearing all the reasons I couldn't, wouldn't. He KNOWS how hard it is for women. How could this man of all men believe what he believes?

And then I got to thinking. The guy who assaulted me was pretty high up in his company. What would I do if he ran for office? What would I do if I were in Dr. Ford's position? I don't know that I'd be as brave as she has been, but I did look him up. He has a facebook page. It's crazy to think that's surprising, but it is. The man who raped me has a facebook page, and I can look at it. The man who held me down and left bruises on my face, neck, and wrists has pictures of him with his big happy family. His boys are just a little younger than me. I wonder if they know? I wonder if they're like him? I'm angry that he gets to have a family and a facebook page. I'm angry at his smiling face.

Two weeks ago a man I worked with grabbed my thigh above my knee repeatedly in a meeting. I am 99% certain there was nothing sexual behind it - I think he was being parental - but it wasn't appropriate in a work setting. He did it multiple times, he left his hand there, and even after I turned away he adjusted his chair to do it again. To me, it felt condescending. To me, it felt like he was clearly telling me who was in power here. I brought it up to some coworkers so we could demonstrate to the men in the room how women have crazy choices to make and think about ALL THE TIME. Asking him not to do that would have repercussions. He'd already demonstrated that in other meetings after I'd challenged him. So I kept it in.

Today, after the hearings, after the bullshit my old friend said, I just wasn't up for handling anymore. After weeks of asking this person I work with to spell my name correctly (it's in my email address for goodness sake) and having him ignore it. After weeks of telling him the teams he's trying to align are not aligned and giving him information about it. After weeks of doing a big chunk of his job for him while he takes all the credit. He sends me an email end of day Friday saying, "all you've done is confuse things...we are not aligned". No solution, no options, just the accusation. And he spelled my name wrong.

I probably shouldn't have, but I called him immediately. He didn't answer, so I responded, and copied someone higher up on the chain I trust. I probably shouldn't have done that, either. But I'm tired of should haves. I was very diplomatic, told him I thought it would be more helpful to have a meeting to discuss where folks are not aligned rather than making a blanket statement that I've confused things. And I made the most drastic effort I could in this setting to show him I need him to hear me, to see me, to respect me:

He likes to call me Monica. My name is not Monica.

I signed my email just like this: MoniKa

So that's how I'm dealing with my anger. And writing to you lovely folks. Anyone have any better ideas? Because shit just got real. 

Why I Didn't Report

Inspired by a very strong friend - I'm making a decision to stand with Dr. Ford:

#WhyIDidntReport

I didn’t report because I was 17 and confused about what happened. I only had vague moments of memories, and the idea that I could have been drugged didn't occur to me. The reality of what had actually happened didn't hit me until I had to find ways to cover up the hand-shaped bruises on my face, neck, and wrists.

I didn't report because the man was someone I knew and thought I could trust, and afterward he did nice things for me. I've since learned this is common. A rape victim will question whether it was rape because her attacker brushed leaves off her back after forcing her into them. I was confused by him bringing me food and changing the sheets.

I didn't report because he told me I wanted it. I had enjoyed his initial attention. He was older, he must be right. What did I know at 17?

I didn't report because it happened on Christmas Eve, and all I wanted to was to spend a happy Christmas Day with people I loved.

I didn't report because when I first told my boyfriend what happened, I said I cheated. When I told him the truth a few hours later, he didn't believe me. His anger never left me.

I didn't report because when I told several people I trust in my church, including two pastors, I was told it was my fault for being alone with a man. I was to blame. I was shameful in the eyes of God and to be judged for what I had done.

I didn't report because I was a strong 6'4" athlete. How could a man overpower me?

I didn't report because I was not emotionally capable of processing what had happened to me. As a friend said, "Rape is not the kind of thing the human brain easily recognizes as fact. Eventually, adrenaline and shock gave way to a numb, cold certainty I could no longer explain away." Months later, as a freshman in college, my attacker contacted me. My incredible basketball team heard me and supported me. It was only then that I was able to start to deal with what had happened. After what I now consider a minor mental breakdown, I faced what happened and started (STARTED!!!!) to rebuild. I considered reporting then, but at what cost? With what evidence?

And in following years, when other assaults happened that I've now learned were non-consensual, I didn't report because I didn't even consider them assault compared to that life-changing moment at 17.

I'm quoting my friend directly here because I can't say this next part better than she did:

"Not reporting is my reality. It’s the reality of thousands upon thousands of women, men, non-binary/trans folx, and children who’ve been raped and sexually assaulted or abused. It’s a reality for survivors far more often than it isn’t. The statistics are absolutely staggering. The vast majority of these crimes are never reported, and that’s NOT because they don’t happen. False reports are so very, very rare."

I believe and stand with Dr. Ford.

rainbows

There's nothing like the smell of the trees after a really big thunderstorm. Lighting and thunder are not rare in southern Missouri. It's one of the things I miss most being in California.

I associated storms with my dad, but recently I've realized I was only thinking about part of the memory. Every time the skies turned grey, my dad would go out on our front porch. We lived on a VERY steep hill which afforded us a nice view from the front.

the hill is a whole lot steeper than it looks from the road below

When a storm came in, my dad used to stand on the porch to watch the valley below and the hills beyond. And of course I would join him. We'd leave the screen door open so Mom could fill us in on whatever the news was saying - just in case a tornado was coming, although Dad usually called it before it made it to TV. Standing on the porch watching storms, watching my dad watching storms, is as much a part of my childhood as school or summer road trips. Mom would prep the indoors, gathering the candles and flashlights, while we observed the conditions.

If you've never smelled a thunderstorm, you're missing out. There's something incredible about the way the air changes just before the wind comes in. This is especially true when there's a tornado, but we'll save that for another time. Both of my parents loved that smell. I had thought only of my dad on the front porch watching the clouds for so long, but recently I remembered something else.

After every storm that happened during the day, Mama would take me out to the backyard. Through the pinkish tinge of the sky that happens after a daytime thunderstorm, Mom and I would hunt for rainbows. If we saw even the faintest tinge of one, or if it looked like there might be one on the other side of the hill, she'd pack up the truck so we could all chase it. If we couldn't find one, the answer was always that we just couldn't quite see it from where we were standing.

My mom's endless search for rainbows taught me to never be scared of the storm. Every time it rained during the day my first thought was, 'I wonder where the rainbow will be!' I don't know if she did that for me, or if it was just part of who she was - I'd like to believe it was a little of both. What I know is I spent hours in my backyard and in my dad's truck hunting rainbows. I always knew they were the reward that came after a great storm.

~~~~~

In February of this year my incredible chosen family helped me honor the anniversary of my mom's death by celebrating her birthday at her favorite restaurant. Back home, there aren't a ton of options for great food, and Mom's all time favorite was Red Lobster. We decided to go the Sacramento location and make a long Tahoe weekend out of it, which turned out to be exactly what I needed.

You see, after Mom died, I got pneumonia. It gave me the perfect excuse to stay in bed all day for a couple of weeks sleeping and ignoring the world around me. I was too sick to let the grief really sink in. I lay in bed, and I cried - but I never could quite acknowledge whether it was from sadness or from sheer sickness and exhaustion from coughing. So I just existed in my bed. For almost a month.

I pulled myself together just enough to interview with a client who was doing something pretty spectacular. They were looking at ways to better monitor the long term health of clinical trial patients to eventually reduce the ill effects of chemotherapy. It was a little too close to home - Mom had died from long-term complications caused by her chemotherapy and radiation years earlier - but it was the only kind of work I was really capable of doing.

I dove in to my project, and I loved it. I loved my account team, and I started leading some efforts there. I took on a leadership role in our charitable organization. I let my work life fill up all the emptiness I was feeling everywhere else.

As the one year anniversary of Mom's death and her birthday (only 5 days apart) rolled around, I found myself starting to relax and let myself feel a little more. My project was under control, and I had such an amazing support network - we were building up to this 5 day break that was all about my mom - I felt safe.

So I let it all in.

Turns out, it was a little more than I could handle. Once the emotions really start flooding in, it's difficult to control the aperture. The anniversary was Feb 12, and we were celebrating on Feb 17, with a 4 day stint in Tahoe afterward to let me get my bearings. Once we had the date planned, I started letting go. By New Year's I had realized I didn't want to be in the relationship I was in at the time, by January I had pretty much stopped sleeping altogether, and by February I stopped pretending to be okay. On February 12, my best friend and I shared an amazing German dinner in honor of Mama, in which we told stories and showed pictures to our incredible bar manager - who made sure I had plenty of Underberg.

Underberg lets you keep eating (or drinking) after all that heavy food

In those final days before the birthday celebration, I let myself go completely. I couldn't think about anything else. I couldn't sleep for more than half an hour at a time. I wrote a lot - some that I posted here and some that will never see eyes other than mine. But on Mom's birthday, my incredible chosen family - even those who could only join by phone - spent an evening with me that I will never forget. What I will always ALWAYS know, is that I am so blessed to be loved by amazing people. And in true Mom fashion, the evidence is in how much they ate!

this was only half the table

They even supported me grabbing a lobster from the tank without staff seeing!

I can hear my mom's laugh now

A couple of us stayed up until 4 or 5 in the morning talking. Just loving each other. I was so thankful because there was no way I was going to fall asleep. But I did. And the next morning we all got into our cars to drive to Tahoe. I had made it clear I wanted to drive alone. I needed to drive alone. I wanted a couple of hours to myself before the weekend with everyone else. I needed some time to talk to Mama. I left just a little before everyone else. As soon as I got onto 80, this is the first thing I saw.

rainbows never really come out as bright in pictures

This doesn't happen often, but I actually had to pull over because I was both crying and laughing so hard I couldn't really see the road properly. It was just too. damn. perfect.

~~~~~~

I don't know if I believe in an afterlife. I definitely don't think people who die sit around trying to talk to us. I spent several months after my mom died wishing I could talk to her. Wishing so hard I could believe in talking to her. I even tried. I tried some form of prayer - just talking out loud, or even in my head - but I always knew it was bullshit.

I talked to several people about this, and had one who I trust a great deal tell me that she felt very strongly that my Mom was present in some moments. Not hanging around, not some spirit trying to communicate, just present in some moments. I've tried to believe that.

I believe Mama is here because she lives within me. I believe her presence is in my mannerisms, my memories, and the things she has shaped in my behavior. I believe that's how I connect with her. When I break out one of her laughs - her signature deep-voiced "heh heh heh"- I used to cringe, and now I smile with pride. I frequently give myself the terrible relationship advice she would have given me before ignoring it as I always would have. I often look in the mirror and judge myself, and then find myself seeing the beautiful woman my mom was so proud to have raised.

My mom is here now because when I look at this picture of her making this crazy smile, I recall about a thousand pictures of me making that silly over exaggerated smile.

when I make that face I'm usually at least 3 drinks in

My mom lives now because she lives through me.

But for her to be some OTHER thing that can communicate with me? That's absurd.

~~~~~~

So when this rainbow popped up on the highway, I actually thought in my head, "Mama?"

I pushed that away pretty quickly. I did try to talk to her. I stopped myself because it felt stupid, but I spent my hours on the road grieving and celebrating all that I could. By the time I got to Tahoe, the rainbow and the friends had given me this calm hope. I no longer needed to grieve or recover. I spent the next few days enjoying my time and moved on pretty quickly.

As soon as the weekend was over, I switched right back into "normal" mode. We had a couple months left of snow, and then had plans for a pretty epic Tahoe summer. My best friend was getting married and I was planning the bachelorette party. I was selling a new project to a client and delving into fun work stuff. And baseball was starting! Life had so many distractions to offer me!

It really was an epic summer.

And then about 3 weeks ago it started to fall apart. Tahoe summer ended. The wedding was over and all the people went home. And the last straw? The Cardinals lost. And then the Giants. So baseball was over. (I promise there's a post coming about why that matters so much!)

Without those distractions, whatever I'd been feeling before that weekend in February started to settle back in. It really felt (feels?) as if I let myself get swept up in distractions to avoid everything and now that those aren't around I'm finally coming back to the way I felt before that weekend in Tahoe.

I know it was silly to think I could put a cap on my grief in the first place. I know it doesn't work that way. I also know I didn't plan for all the major fun things that had been keeping me excited since then to disappear at the same time.

So things have been a little harder lately. I'm a little more tired than usual. Being social takes more energy. I'm not as focused. I'm not as sure about all of my decisions. And I haven't been feeling great about any of that.

But this past Sunday morning I woke in Tahoe and I stepped outside and I saw a rainbow that felt like it was shooting right of the ground in front of me. I know that doesn't really mean anything other than what I take from it. I know what I'm taking from it, though, is that whatever I'm feeling right now is okay. It's part of the process. The choices I'm making now are good, they are solid - because they are grounded in love and pain and wisdom and hope. I know there's a rainbow waiting on the other end of the storms, and that's only part of what makes them beautiful.

But my first thought, with no hesitation, was...

"Thanks, Mama."

Balancing Trust and Fear

When I returned to St. Louis after failing in my first move to San Francisco, I was devastated. Fortunately, I was greeted by the most loving arms of one of the older girls from my college basketball team. I showed up on her doorstep and started crying as soon as I saw her. She looked and me and almost laughed with such love for me as she pulled me into her arms. The joy in her embrace was because she knew what I was feeling, she knew I was safe and loved with her, and she knew I would be okay.

That image is burned into my brain and has become my definition of real love. Almost a definition of God, if I were going to define one.

In my late 20s, as I explored more about my own personal childhood and family issues, I found myself operating out of a place of fear - more like a child would. I envied my friend who knew everything would be okay. So I found a way to believe in the future person I would become who would know all of that and could offer that comfort to myself. I started channeling 40 Year Old Monika, who was wise and loving and laughed warmly when I hurt, to help me through my fears.

It really helped me. It helped to understand that so much of the time when I felt scared it had little to do with the situation, but because it reminded a childhood me of similar feelings. It helped me to know that I could learn to look to me (even if it was a future me) for comfort, rather than asking others to participate in something they didn't really understand.

To some of you it might sound New Agey or a like psychobabble, but 40 Year Old Monika helped me. I've grown into her in so many ways, and I can usually recognize when I'm sabotaging something because of old patterns when I have the power to heal it myself. But as I get closer and closer to 40 Year Old Monika, I start to wonder what's next. How can someone so close to who I am be a guide? And if I still need so much guidance when I'm this close to being the person I naively thought knew it all, how can I envision what the next step looks like?

What's more challenging to me right now, though, is how do I balance the wisdom and confidence of 40 year old Monika with the fears that I still have because even though I've gotten so close I'm still not there? It was very clear when I was 28, and I was envisioning the wisdom of someone 12 years older than me against the fears of a 5 year old me. But now, I'm not sure 40 Year Old Monika is old enough. I'm trying to tell myself 40 Year Old Monika knows what's going on in my life right now and she's got it under control. But the fears she's going up against aren't from 5 year old me. They're from 35 year old me. How does that work?

40 Year Old Monika wants to say to someone, "do what you need, that's okay, I know better, and I trust this." But 35 year old me knows enough now to know that maybe I don't know better. How do I balance thinking I know that someone is acting out of fear and thus staying steady versus not letting go if they really are pushing me away? Sometimes even when people act out of fear, the damage is real.

And so...I find myself in a place where all I know I can trust is to be open and honest and put myself out there. Because that's what I know is true. And I put this out there to you lovely people in hopes that maybe someone else feels this, maybe this touches you, maybe you have some wisdom to offer back to me. 

And I wait for my next version of 40 Year Old Monika to show herself (hopefully before I turn 40, dammit!)

the benefits of never deleting voicemails

My mom left me practically the same voicemail every week. Thankfully, I didn't delete them manually, so I still have the last few before she got too sick to leave them.


I've been listening to my little playlist of 2 and 3 second Mom snippets for the last half hour.

I only wish I had more.

an unusual birthday present

I picked out a casket like I would shop for any other large purchase. I went into it thinking I wanted a rich wood casket. Unfortunately, caskets are ridiculously expensive. The cheapest wood option was over almost four thousand and was not what I would call “rich”-looking. The cheapest casket of all was just under a grand and was literally a dark black metal box. It looked like an ugly safe. The funeral director patiently walked me through the catalog so that I could view the metal choices in between those two price points. The online system had a terrible user interface and all I could think was how I could help them fix this so that grieving families didn’t have to suffer through the horrible waiting times during all the clicks it took to view each option. We clicked (and clicked and clicked) through the slate grey and cheesy blue options for almost an hour. I didn't cry. I didn't waver. I shopped. I planned. I managed the situation as I would handle any professional project. I settled on a warm tan casket that had a wooden feel at nowhere near the price and moved on to choose the flowers, the programs, and the guest book. After I confirmed everything with my siblings, the funeral director brought in the paperwork so I could sign on the dotted line. 

The problem with signing things is that you have to enter the date. I can never remember the date. Even if I've written it a gajillion times that day, even if I've been monitoring my calendar like crazy - I can never remember the date when it comes time to sign a form. This time, though, it flowed out without me thinking. 

2/17

My mom's birthday. 

I wrote it without thinking. I wrote it knowing the significance, but without it hitting me until I filled in the year.

1943

Over the past several months, I had become so used to filling in my mom's birth date, that I couldn't write 2/17 without filling in her birth year. I looked down at the papers and realized my mistake. My chest tightened and for just a second I wondered if I could take another breath. The air felt like tar seeping and blocking my lungs from filling. I had just purchased my mom's casket on what would have been her 72nd birthday. 

I scratched out 1943 and wrote in 2015, wondering briefly if the blurred wet ink would be a problem. The funeral director must have thought I was having trouble with the date because he helpfully chimed in, "It's the 17th."

I looked up at him through tears for the first time and made a horrible imitation of a real smile.

"I know."

pure self-indulgence

It has been almost two months, and I have yet to write about my mother.

I know a lot of people process emotions by writing. My challenge is that I process them by talking to people, but I don't internalize them and really feel them until I spend time with them on my own. When I try to write in my journal and keep this to myself, I end up cheating myself. I tend to use a short hand that I expect future Monika to understand. I write a prompt, and then I get caught up in that one thought or distracted by life and I never come back to it. Writing here is different. It's terribly self-indulgent and probably narcissistic, but it forces me to follow through on my thoughts and actually deal with whatever I'm feeling.  

I'm posting this disclaimer of sorts to explain why I’m choosing to share so much in such a public way – why I always do, really – but why it is particularly important now.  I haven’t yet really cried over my mother’s death, or the last few months of her life. I’ve had little spurts, but I’ve shoved them aside. I have yet to honestly grieve, and I feel like I need to start. Now. 

Soon.

We Still Need Feminism

This post is most likely going to come across a little disorganized and a lot emotional, and I've decided I'm okay with that. And I'm gonna pull a John Oliver on this one and promise you that if you can get through this one with me I'll reward you with funny cats at the end.

A couple of weeks ago Buzzfeed took a tumblr viral when it critically posted that 14 women posted why they were against feminism. I say critically because the intent of the post was to highlight the idiocy of the tumblr (read the URL: http://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means), but in doing so they gave so many more people access to this hurtful, ignorant website.

Just look at some of the pictures on this website. Some of them have understandable reasons they've been hurt by radical feminists. But some of them are just ignorant. "I enjoy being a homemaker..."???? Being a feminist gives you the choice to do that OR go to work. Glad you enjoy it, some women don't. Do you think everyone should HAVE to? fahsdklfhghdaios;hjsgfjs;gj; < me hitting my head on my keyboard

I have some unorganized thoughts on this that I need to get out, and I really hope you can just hang with me for a minute on this one:

I Kinda Sorta Maybe Halfway Understand - ISH:

• I once was a young woman who didn't want to be called a feminist - I thought feminists weren't feminine.
• I want to be a stay at home mom for a couple of years at least. I LOVE the idea of having a man who can care for me - that didn't sound very feminist to me before I became educated about feminism.
• I don't want to be associated with the people who go overboard. I am not a radical. I am not an extremist. 
• I believe there is a difference between men and women and used to not understand that most feminists understand this, too.

And Now the Harsh Truth of What I Really Believe...
YOU do not get to make ANY judgments against feminism to me IF you have never:

• been told to keep your mouth shut because it's a client and it doesn't matter if it's sexual harassment.
• been raped.
• been paid less than your male peers when you work more than they do.
• been abused.
• been told you didn't get the job because they think you'll want to have babies soon.
• been kept out of meetings that you made happen because only men were invited.
• seen how women outside our borders are treated.
• been told you were a bitch when the man who did the same thing was aggressive and doing his job well.
• had a relationship not work out because you make more than the guy.
• been told you were asking for it.
• been delegated to party planning and ordering everyone's lunches when you outrank everyone at the table.
• been told, "girls can't/don't do that."

Polly Young-Eisendrath's definition of feminism is STILL my favorite ever:

“A discipline of thought and action that aims to enhance mutuality and trust among all people; to reveal the meanings of gender differences, especially as these might interfere with reciprocity and trust… and to oppose all models and methods of dominance-submission for relationships among people. What feminism has revealed, in its many forms from theology to literary criticism to psychology and philosophy, is that the silencing and trivializing of women and their ideas affect all of us all of the time in the way that we expect the world and ourselves to be.”

And feminism is ABSOLUTELY still necessary. 
There are so many studies and well-written articles on why it's ridiculous. Here are a few:

• http://www.pay-equity.org/day.html - Women will have to work through April 14, 2015 to make what men will make in 2014.
• http://www.heraldscotland.com/comment/bloggers/why-feminism-still-matters-in-2014.1394191059 - 2/week in the world are killed by a current or former male partner, 1/4 women are victims of domestic violence.
• http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-solod/feminism_b_1693029.html - young women have a choice: pretty and married or successful and bitchy.
• http://listverse.com/2013/03/16/10-reasons-we-still-need-feminism/ - because many countries still remove women's clits without anesthetic, marry them off before puberty, and sell them into prostitution.
• http://www.patheos.com/blogs/simchafisher/2014/04/23/yes-we-still-need-feminism/ - b/c we are constantly faced with new challenges in an evolving world

My favorite response comes from an artist named Rebecca Vipond Brink. I think she's fabulous. And I think her response is on point: http://www.flareandfade.com/i-dont-need-feminism-because/

And now, those promised cats:  http://confusedcatsagainstfeminism.tumblr.com/

Thanks for listening.

how my suppliers think of me

It's not often that you get unsolicited feedback from people you manage. For the past 2 years I've been on a project in which I managed supplier teams through a major transformation. At times my personality came through and I served as their ally, but my job was to make a lot of demands on them and make sure they met commitments. In fact, my client feedback after 3 weeks on the project was that I need to be a more of a bitch.

Despite that, the person at the supplier who was my primary contact just sent me a touching thank you email. My favorite favorite part, that I think tells so much about me:

"[You were] always asking for more, sometimes difficult but never impossible."

This just makes me smile. I'm so thankful for this.

Aetna is Just Plain Mean

Soundtrack of my Soul #8

The Band Perry

"Pioneer"

Oh Pioneer
I sing your song
It's the hymn of those who've gone before and those who carry on
Pioneer
Your work is hard
But the future of us all rests on the shoulders of your heart

Where are we going
Oh I don't know
But still I've got to go
What will become of us
Oh I don't care
All I know is I'll go anywhere
Pioneer

Oh Pioneer
So young and brave
Be careful of the careful souls who doubt you along the way
Pioneer
You orphaned child
Your mother is adventure and your father is the wild

Where are we going
Oh I don't know
But still I've got to go
What will become of us
Oh I don't care
All I know is I'll go anywhere
Pioneer

Let your heart not be troubled

I won't run when bullets chase me
I won't rest where arms embrace me
I will love when people hate me
I won't hush, no you can't make me
Send the dark but it won't break me
You can try but you can't change me
Take my life, they will replace me
I won't hush, no you can't make me
I won't hush, no we will sing

Where are we going
Oh I don't know
But still I've got to go
What will become of us
Oh I don't care
All I know is I'll go anywhere
Pioneer

Let your heart not be troubled

Guest Starring in a Rando's Video

I had a super flattering experience this afternoon that has left me feeling pretty dern good about myself.

Having spent the last week in a corticosteroid-induced hormonal haze, I've been feeling pretty fat, old, and lazy. Everything hurts, all the time. Last night I stayed out a little later than normal and couldn't get into a solid sleep until almost 7 this morning. I woke up at 2 feeling pretty crappy about myself for wasting away the day. Easiest cure for that is to get out of the house, so I laced up my tennis shoes and headed up to Huntington Park. It's a pretty shady park, so it doesn't get the sun in the afternoons, but the walk up is a couple of blocks straight up an incredibly steep hill and the reward is a pretty decent view in three directions.

I noticed one totally flat bench without a back and decided it would be perfect for my physical therapy exercises. Luckily, it was in a back corner of the park out of the way of most of the people. This is an important factor when your exercises include pelvic bridges and something called the dead bug. There was a group of 4 guys in their mid twenties nearby, but they were occupied with some videos they were taking of each other.

I had my headphones in and was rocking out to the genius list based on Fun.'s "One Foot" (my current anthem). Out and about in the city, though, I always leave one ear open just so I can hear what's going on around me. Safety first, ladies. The guys couldn't tell this, though, and at some point in the middle of their video they started talking about me. It seemed like they were doing some sort of demo for a vlog or something in which they talk about stuff and maybe do some skateboard stunts...very Wayne's World. They were definitely in the middle of recording their "show" when all of a sudden I heard:

"Hey, check out that girl doing exercises over there." 
"Dude, you should go talk to her."
"She's a beautiful girl."
"And she's healthy, man."
"Go talk to her."
"She's busy, I don't want to interrupt her."
"Don't be a pussy. Just talk to her."
"No, man, she's like a fine painting in a museum. I want to appreciate the beauty from here. If you actually touch the paintings, the security guards come chase you down."

I couldn't hear everything at this point, but he extrapolated on the painting idea for awhile and they moved on to some other subjects. A few minutes later, I heard:

"Dude, really, just go talk to her. It'll be fun."
"I don't know man."
"Ask her to be in our video, worst she can say is no."
"Uhhhh...[mumbling]..."

I finished my exercises and could have hung out for a bit, but it started to sound like they might actually make their way over to me. I got up and walked away, standing a little bit taller. Sure, it would have been fun to talk to them and maybe even be in their video -- but I really enjoy the idea of being a fine painting.

The Other Woman

Having been the other woman unknowingly, and then knowingly, and then having it turned around so I was threatened by the other woman, I feel like I have a little bit to say on the subject. One of the things that is most difficult is that even after the relationship is long over, even after you don't even want to be with the partner anymore, there is still this feeling of primal hatred for a woman you don't even know. Even when I felt sorry for her, even when I felt like she could be someone I liked, I still had this undercurrent of hate. If I'm truly honest with myself, I probably still do.

Caroline Bromley posted a list of lessons regarding the other woman on Thought Catalog, and I found myself wishing I had had this list taped to my mirror while I was in the thick of these emotions. So I'm sharing it here in hopes that if there is anyone out there dealing with this currently or recovering from the effects of having been there, that this helps, even if just a little bit.

The one that was most important for me?

Nobody is out to get you specifically. Everybody just wants to be loved and is fighting as hard as they can for themselves. 

Read all of them here. 

Injection Update

Steroid injection today. Terrible awful experience, but seems like already helping pain a bit. Feel weird and loopy and nauseous and achy, but hopeful.

The World to Which I Belong

 "you must learn one thing, 

the world was made to be free in.

give up all the other worlds

except the one to which you belong. 

sometimes it takes darkness

and the sweet confinement of your

aloneness to learn

anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you."

     from "Sweet Darkness" by David Whyte

Today, I am thankful. Today I am starting to believe and live these words. 

Living freely in the world to which I belong.

Greedy Golden-Mantled Ground Squirrel

Last week PMac and I were planning our Crater Lake camping trip when I showed him the spork/knife I encountered on my Yosemite trip. (These things are awesome, by the way.) He made a stop at REI, and when we set up for dinner he showed me the orange "sporkife" (as he calls it) that he got especially for me. Super sweet.

We had a fantastic campfire dinner, cleaned up, and went to bed. The next morning we realized the camp suds were missing. We figured we'd left them near the water source and someone picked them up. A large group of Russians had taken over all the camp sites around us, and perhaps they decided to keep our soap. Annoying, but we let it go. Which was easy to do because PMac was preoccupied with roasting a corn cob to ashes.

The next night after dinner, I cleaned up and noticed I couldn't find the orange spork I was using. I searched the trash. I searched the fire. I couldn't find it anywhere and was really bummed. Peter told me it was okay, the spork was chillin' with the camp suds. We decided that one of the golden-mantled ground squirrels had stolen them and PMac returned to his attention to burning food parts including the pit from my nectarine.

The following morning I found the camp suds. They were back in the bag where they belonged - the bag both of us had searched multiple times over the previous two days. Seemed like the squirrel decided he didn't want them and brought them back. We hoped the spork might show up before we left, but it didn't happen.

Until yesterday, when I received an envelope containing the following:

Text Reads:

Dearest Monika: 

I wanted to return this spoon to you. I have spent my life at Mazama Campground stealing items from the parks visitors. After a bout of severe indigestion and delerium brought on by drinking Citronela CampSuds, Iw as overcome with remorse when I saw how sad you were for looseing this spoon - such a nice little gift from your boyfrined that I selfishly ran away with. I snuck the Suds back in your bag but missed getting the spoon in before you left us. You and your boyfriend seemed so happy and having such a great time - I am sorry for causing anguish over this lost spoon. Please do come back and see us and I hope you don't take out your anguish on my fellows you see along the highway. Thanks for the bag of nuts (sorry) but what was up with the corn cob and the peach pit?!? 

Now how to get this laptop back to the Russians in E18 without getting caught? 

---happy trails 

GMGS

(golden mantled ground squirell)

Best. Gift. Ever.
Terrible grammar and spelling and all. You can only expect so much from a ground squirrel.

Growing Up Super Tall

I will write this out better someday, but someday is not now. I'm inspired by the following article:

http://thetallblog.wordpress.com/2012/08/09/what-its-really-like-being-64-and-a-women/

But I feel like she misses some points:

1. She wasn't tall until high school. I was 6'4" in 8th grade. I haven't grown a bit since. While I may have been popular in one sense, I felt extremely unpopular. People called me sasquatch in elementary school and junior high, boys asked me out as jokes and then laughed when I said okay, the popular girls didn't see me as anything like them...I felt like a complete outsider.

2. My height as a young child meant that I had to act older - always. When I was 5 people thought I was 8, when I was 10 people thought I was 13, when I was 12 local high school seniors asked me out. I had to grow up a little too quickly for my own my good, without the experience and emotional maturity to face the issues presented to me. I ended up dating older men, which probably also screwed with my head.

3. I was never a girl. I was always a tomboy. I had tons of guy friends who never saw me as girly. I had girlfriends but could never enjoy the things they enjoyed (shopping, shoes, crushes on boys taller than me, etc.).

Now, I embrace my height. I LOVE it. But there are still problems:

4. I have to order every pant I've ever owned. And then I have to tailor it. These pants are expensive. When I was broke and working in nonprofits, I couldn't do a damn thing to further myself. Now I have great pants, but when they wear out I have to replace them and it's a bitch. I have to order a bunch of pants, pay for shipping (and there's no such thing as a pair of pants in my inseam for less than $80), try them on, return the ones that down work, pay for shipping again. Yes, I know that shop you love has tall sizes. No, they are not tall enough for me. I have to use sites like longtallsally and longelegantlegs...both of which tailor by height, not style, which means I get maybe one or two pairs of pants per season that work for me. Thank god I even have a style choice now.

5. I have to order shoes. They are not always cute. Sometimes they suck. When I find a pair I love, I buy multiples. I have 4 pairs of the beautiful Nine West black pumps I found specially made for barefoottess.com. I prefer heels. Heels in my height tend to be very very low, or so high they are really meant for trannies. (Nothing against the trannies...lots of love here.)

6. In a bar, at a party, I have to sit if I want to hear the conversation. Unless I'm in a group of tall guys...which again, makes me one of the guys rather than part of the girl conversation.

7. My thighs will ALWAYS be bigger than my date's thighs. Even if he's a rockstar. In fact, I BRIEFLY dated an ex pro football player who was 6'9", and my thighs were still bigger than his. And I was not in a fat phase.

8. I will never ever be anonymous. Never. I can't get away with anything. People remember me. You know how you forget someone's name and you can play it off? I can't...they always remember that I met them and tell me so. Shit.

9. I can never go on a peaceful walk in the city. Someone will always stop me. Most days this is okay. Some days I enjoy it. But some days, you just want to be left the eff alone. Those days, I can't be.

10. Beds are too short, airplanes are too cramped, cars don't have enough room. I just don't fit in this world.

Now for the good:

11. I am always noticed. I always get attention.

12. People feel a connection to me because I offer a non-threatening way to approach me.

13. I'm actually okay at basketball. :)

14. I never have trouble reaching ANYTHING.

15. I am a goddess in developing countries.

16. I am seen as older and more powerful than I am in the workplace.

17. I can carry my own shit without needing help.

18. Being a freak has forced me to embrace who I am. I love me, and I'm so thankful I am me. I just wish maybe I could get better clothes and shoes. :)

The Life of a Tall Girl

This video is SO true!



They missed a couple of my favorites:
"Are your parents tall?"
"How tall are your parents?"
"I wanna climb that tree!"
"I'll climb that!"

Just Another Day

This morning I was sitting in my office producing a report that I update each week. As I changed the date, I was hit with the reminder that my dad's birthday is tomorrow.

October 19. Tomorrow. Dad's birthday. 

The best way I can think to describe what happened in that instant is that the reminder somehow physically and mentally knocked the wind out of me. I felt like I'd just taken a hard fall. I couldn't inhale or exhale. Time just stopped for a minute.

October 19.

I don't think I actually realized that I had stopped breathing until I finally heard myself gasp a bit for that next breath. I had to go into a meeting, so I told myself it was just another day, shoved it back down, and went on with my work.

~~~

I don't understand why it happened so suddenly. For the last week I've been informing people of an October 19 deadline, creating meetings for Wednesday, and discussing timelines. It just hadn't occurred to me yet. Now, though, even typing it hurts.

~~~

My dad and I didn't talk all that much, but October 19 was different. Even if we were really upset with one another or our lives were so busy we couldn't make time, I always called him on his birthday.

My dad would have been 73 tomorrow. I would have called him and asked him what he did for his birthday. Most likely he would have just had a nice lunch at home and spent time on the farm - like any other day. I'd tell him to make sure and treat himself to something special, and he'd tell me that my brother and sister called and pass along updates. After a pause in the conversation he'd slowly say, "Well, I reckon I better get off here," and we'd end the call with assurances that we'd keep in better touch.  For a few days after the call, we'd text each other quite a bit. The quick hellos and silly dad jokes would come less frequently as my response time increased over the following week or two. I'd let it slide knowing that we'd have another call on Thanksgiving for sure. I would feel a little badly that we didn't talk more, but I'd get wrapped up in my life and move on.

But tomorrow we won't do that. We can't do that. Tomorrow is October 19, and for the first time in my life that day will pass without my talking with him. 

I'm trying to tell myself it's just another day. It is, ultimately. 

And yet, looking at that date, 

October 19

I just can't breathe.