flawed but authentic

We’ve all seen it so many times that it seems trite, a cliché. It is a mantra in recovery groups.

But it is bigger than that. Stop, look, listen:

God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

This one little prayer fully answers the question “How do I get through this crazy life?”

I mean, what percentage of my life is spent resenting what is?

“Why are people so mean?”

“Why did my neighbor paint their house such an ugly color?”

“Why does Microsoft Word suck so badly?”

The prayer offers me two choices – accept it or do something about it.

And accept that I can’t always do something about it.

When my sister was dying, I was driving home from the hospital and saw a billboard for the state lottery. “Jackpot: $68 million!” it said in rainbow colors.

“Huh,” I thought. “Even if I won all that money, I still couldn’t help my sister. There’s nothing I could do.”

It was a shock to my system. There was NOTHING I could do.

Then there are those other times when I have known what needs to be done – I could feel it with every nerve, it kept me up at night – but lacked the courage to do it. So I used “coping skills” -  got depressed, blamed others, fed my addictions to try and keep the pain of failure away.

I know it is easy to spend years dangling between the two poles of resentment and fear.

Eventually, though, if one wants to grow, one has to step out and sort out what can be changed and what can’t.

The Serenity Prayer. 27 words little words that offer a path to sanity and peace. It’s not just for recovery groups anymore.

It seems that the majority of people seem to be on one of two tracks. And forgive me if this seems like a gross generalization, perhaps I should say, it seems the majority of people I talk with seem to be on one of two tracks. There, yes, that is much better.

First, there are those, like me, running around like a chicken with their head cut off. I never much cared for that term, but having SEEN a chicken with its head chopped off, I know it isn’t much different than what I do. Running here and there and WHAM - right into a wall. Trying again and BAM, right into another one. The walls can be sickness, emotional upheavals, or even just complete exhaustion, but they are walls just the same and boy do they smart when I hit them.

The second tract is slower, more balanced, and simpler. There are several writers in blogdom and beyond who are promoting the freedom of a simpler life. I agree wholeheartedly with a good deal of what they are all about.

When we purchased the home we are in now we intended to down-size our life. The military was our first clue that we needed to down-size…we had to pay additional monies because all our STUFF exceeded our weight limit; THAT was a heavy price for clutter. Now that we are out of the military, we continue to down-size.

We selected a smaller home (1230 sq. ft.), we decided to reduce clutter (no more knick knack paddy whacks), gave away furniture to family and friends who needed it, gave “space” to our home, and it really has worked to simplify our daily routines and open up our home to LIVE in more freely.

Applying that concept to the inner workings of my mind and my daily schedule is another thing altogether.

I clutter my mind with multiple projects, balancing schedules precariously, and working ’til I drop. Now, mind you, I’m a bit of a work-a-holic by nature, but I don’t believe that is any excuse for continuing in what is truly a detrimental mode of functioning. What is that mode? Stuff as much as I can into a single day and berate myself when the checklist isn’t complete at 2:00 a.m. - the hour I often drop like a rock into a deep pool of sleep.

What? You don’t work that way?

This year I purposed to give outstanding customer service to those who trust me with their website designs and/or sites. I felt that if they invested in my services, that I wanted them to walk away with a sense of fulfillment in that investment.

I want to do that with my daily life as well. I need to purpose to give the same level of attention to my personal needs, my family and extended family’s needs, and my community and church’s needs. It is important; it makes for a balanced life.

If I sat and wrote down what I’ve been racing after in my work, I’d have to say knowledge, fulfillment, and satisfaction in completion. I like to start, work through challenges, and complete things - it is why I love what I do.

Still, why am I running?

Why not walk?

Where is the pause that allows me to think, dwell, and simply BE at a slower pace?

Why don’t I lay down to rest instead of resting where I fall?

It is February and March will be here in a breath. New Year Resolutions have long been made and some have long been dismissed, but this year I truly do want to learn to walk again.

Are you walking or running?

Most of what I want to create in this space (and this space) is the ability to try to see things in life that seem, at first, like small differences in the lives of others. It’s been a good exercise for me to write something weekly (ahem!) about ways in which people make a difference and put something out into the universe with the intention of seeing just what comes back to them and me. Though I must be careful to note that I don’t try to do good with the thought that something will benefit me. If it does, it’s intrinsic and simply a bonus. Kind of like getting an extra bit out of the toothpaste tube. You’re excited that you can have fresh breath and you don’t have to go buy more. Yet.

Recently, I got yelled at over the phone by a parent who is unhappy with their child’s educational experience.

Disclaimer: I pink, sparkly puffy heart my job. I spend my days looking around everywhere for a lesson to be learned, to support the hardest working people this planet has to offer, and searching for ways to be grateful that I spent my days being kind to the people who may perform neurosurgery on me should I ever need it. (Hack, cough, spit. Twohy!) But I will NOT be yelled at. I will not take unnecessary shit. I will not allow students the luxury of being unmotivated or privileged or entitled or snotty and then take the heat when they fail to perform up to the standard.

These aren’t mantras, but they are taking shape into who I am as an administrator. They are setting precedents and giving me permission to grow. And yet, in a quest to learn, they are allowing me to err.

As the parent got louder over the phone, so did I. I realized this when my officemates poked their heads out of their doors to see what was happening. He talked in circles and didn’t ever answer my questions, he moved onto other subjects. He was malicious when he spewed venom toward me by stating that he was glad our district was going to the Restructuring Phase and that the superintendent knew what he was doing because I, in his view, wasn’t qualified for my job. He hissed at me that he hoped I would get a demotion in the district debacle.

Eventually, I said that he was welcome to come in and meet with me since I only ever saw him “support” his son at basketball games where his son wasn’t even a player. But he had “been at the school ALL THE TIME” and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and didn’t care about his son and tried my damnedest to get him kicked out.

The bulk of my body oozed out of my brain and splattered on the floor as I screamed inside my head YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I DO AND SACRIFICE AND WANT FOR THESE KIDS.

This is what I wanted to say. Wanting is sometimes a terrible thing. Wanting and not getting and wanting and foundering around in a total collapse of effort is devastating.

I yelled back and eventually hung up on him. Normally, I might feel vindicated that I said what I wanted to say when I wanted to say it. Like in the movie You’ve Got Mail when Tom Hanks’ character says:

“Have you ever become the worst version of yourself. That a pandora’s box of all the hateful things, your spite, your arrogance, your condecension has sprung open? Someone upsets you and instead of smiling and walking away… you zing them. “Hello it’s Mr Nasty”. I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about… “

Then, remember? When later on Meg Ryan’s character actually tells him off and she is crestfallen over it?

That’s how I felt. Crestfallen. Despondent. Forlorn.

Mr. Nasty doesn’t apologize for what he says. Neither would I, but I would change, if I could, my inclination to puke it out the way that I did. The aftertaste is a sonofabitch.

Best I can hope for is to do better next time. Be flawed, but be better at the next opportunity.

One of my hobbies is protesting. My involvement started when I lived in a small town that was a lively vortex of political activity.

It had begun when residents banded together with tens of thousands of people to protest the construction of a nuclear power plant in the area. When the plant was built, the people’s energy and enthusiasm for protesting did not go away, so it was possible to go to a couple protests a week if you worked your calendar right.

Over the years, I protested nuclear power, offshore oil platforms, cutting down oak trees, the death penalty, war, discrimination against gays and lesbians…a whole laundry list of causes.

Protests all have the same kind of feeling. It is like each is a clone of all the others, kind of like going to church where you know the order of service but not the exact content.

There is a kinship with fellow protesters. Not everyone will risk being seen in public protesting, so it is like homecoming, no matter who shows up. You see old friends and make new ones while you are standing around waving signs.

There is nervousness - “Will we be attacked? Shouted at? Arrested?” Those things are always possible, probable and sometimes expected.

There is resignation. Often dozens of protests are necessary to get one little thing accomplished. So even though you have worked all day, even though there are more fun things to do, somehow you show up and do it all again.

But then there is pride. Looking back at past protests, I can say that a 12-mile swath of oak trees stands where there could have been bare earth. A newspaper that discriminated against gays and lesbians lost its readership and eventually shut down. The death penalty is on its last legs in the United States.

I didn’t do any of these things by myself. I did them with thousands of other people, a community of people who don’t mind standing up and standing out for what they believe in and having fun doing it.

Democracy in action. It isn’t a bad hobby, actually. Beats scrapbooking, I think.

I’ve heard countless people now sharing experiences of meeting people in real life (IRL) they met online. Now, I’ve had this opportunity more than once, my first internet meeting being with Kerflop at Blogher ‘06.

I thought I would be nervous, but I wasn’t at all. After years of phone conversations and thousands of IMs and emails, there was already so much shared.

But there is something missing when you can’t be near someone you are such good friends with online. There were times I wanted to drive over and help her out on bad days. When my son was in the hospital, it was so hard for her to sit and wait for phone calls. More than once we sent care packages, called local restaurants for home deliveries, made ourselves available for late night crisis calls, and in general, did all the friend things.

We’ve grown up together online, started and sold businesses, and stretch each other at every turn. I love this woman and I know she loves me, and when we met again at Blogher ‘07, we kicked our feet up with several of our other internet friends and had the time of our lives.

Seven months have passed and in that seven months I’ve met even more online friends, some I’ve come to know more personally than others, but I’m thankful for all of them.

One of those friends, Bethany was driving through our area of Texas en route to see family and made a 3 day stopover in OMSHville.

From the start, I knew it was going to be a fabulous time; it was. In fact, as much as we wore each other out, keeping late hours, it was 100% fun. The guys got along fabulously. The kids had a great time. Everyone slept hard when we did and walked around with bedheads in the morning. Coffee was the mainstay and the click of keystrokes went on all the live long day.

Photo by: Bethany Actually

I couldn’t have dreamed it would have been any better. And as much as I know there are real things to be concerned about when you invite perfect strangers to one’s home - I never felt like Bethany was a stranger.

With blogs, flickr, email and IM, the internet is very much a living and breathing environment. Relationships that start here can blossom into something that clearly can extend beyond the monitor.

I’ve experienced it more than once now; I’m a believer.

Have you?

What’s your experience?

1. I forgive myself for not being able to lose those final ten pounds.

2. I forgive myself for not reading as much as I used to.

3. I forgive myself for dreaming of a world in which parents allow their kids to be kids.

4. I forgive myself for spending too much money on sock yarn.

5. I forgive myself for not making my kids eat what I eat.

6. I forgive myself for often feeling overwhelmingly unsuccessful.

7. I forgive myself for not being as outgoing as I want my kids to be.

8. I forgive myself for never learning to swim.

9. I forgive myself for being all “I want a sewing machine. I NEED a sewing machine! I’m going to be CRAFTY!” and then letting my new sewing machine remain in the unopened box for nearly two months.

10. I forgive myself for hardly ever practicing what I preach.

Today 13 is a lucky number. Congrats to Darah, commenter #13, winner of the books raffle. Email me at Leah @ leahpeah DOT com to receive your Borders gift certificate!

Thanks everyone for playing! We’ll be doing another one soon.