Won't Be Punished

As I'm sure you all know, on Tuesday, Donald Trump said, in no uncertain terms, that women who have abortions should be subjected to "some form of punishment". He has since retracted the comment, backpedaling as he's known to do, but what's said is said.

And this is what I have to say.

I have already been punished over and over again for a choice that I made when I was a 19 year college student, unable to care for neither myself nor a cactus at that point.

I am punished every single time the legality of abortion comes into question, every time old white men discuss whether my decisions relating to my own body are valid.

I was punished when 3 different clinics stipulated that I had to go through "counseling" to ensure that I was "making the right decision" even though there was no doubt in my mind that I was doing what was right for me.

I am punished when I drive past Planned Parenthood on a beautiful Saturday afternoon & see protesters shaming women just like me.

I was punished when those same protesters, 20 years ago, yelled and screamed obscenities at me as I made my choice, even as I cried.

I am punished by others who think that I am not worthy of respect, that I am a criminal, that I am somehow a lesser human being than they are.

I am punished by my own silence these past three days, wanting to speak up, but afraid to share my story.

Twenty years ago, I made a choice that was legal. I made a choice that allowed me to pursue the life I have today. I made a choice that was right for me. I made a choice that I do not regret.

This is where it ends. I refuse to be ashamed any longer. I won't be punished anymore. By anyone.

Myself Unbound

Summertime makes me wild. 

The days are so long, there's so much more time available to me now. The heat is oppressive, it pushes me out of the confines of my home & into a place that's untamed & lush. With sweat shining on my bare shoulders and legs, I'm greedy for experience, thirsting for a drop or two of adventure. I join my pack, running wild with bare feet and acting like I was never domesticated in the first place. 

I want to feel everything, do everything, make every mistake, say every ridiculous thing that comes to mind, drink every drop, set every fire, be everything, run every mile, bask in every ray of sunshine, say yes every time, choose experience over sleep every night, feel everything, do everything. 

For three months, I want to experience myself unbound. Self-restraint seems impossible; I am feral. Be careful, don't get too close, don't make any sudden moves; I bite. 

And then suddenly, the heat will be replaced by a comforting chill in the air. The days will shorten. The sunshine will cease its unrelenting pursuit. I am still running, but I am slowing down. I am still wild. but soon I will be caught. Closer & closer, I can feel it coming up behind me, order is returning. Summertime will come to an end. My thirst will be curbed, and I will be satisifed with routine and the quiet comfort of domesticity. Bare skin will be covered and replaced by thick and cozy armor. Soon, very soon, my lupine soul will be lulled back into hiberation. Soon. 

Autumn's closing in.  

"We're All Mad Here."

What do I wish for you this year, my friends? Quite simply, I wish you madness...

This year, let's embrace our lives of madness.  Let's not silence the crazy voices in our heads that encourage us to take chances & risks.  Let's be so mad that fear takes one look at us and backs off in confusion.  Let's love wholly and with abandon, without concern for the possibility of heartbreak.  Let's stay up too late talking nonsense while simultaneously discovering the secrets of life.  Let's ignore our prescribed bedtimes and let our tired eyes reflect the joy of knowing that we chose experience over sleeping.  Let's speak up, madly & bravely, for what we believe in.  Let's share our ideas & our opinions without trepidation, delighting in the fact that others might say, "You're crazy, that will never work".  Then let's make it work.  Let's say yes to everything that seems impossible, everything that seems insane, everything that feels terrifying.  Let's say no when our gut instructs us to do so - even when it's going against popular opinion.  Let's stop playing it safe.  Let's show the world the real us.  Let's remove the filters.  Let's be willing to be the underdog.  Let's accept, no, let's relish, every absurdity that life throws at us. 

This year, let's go all in.

And then, at the end of 2015, when we're asked, "How was your year?", we can all sigh & say with a wicked smile, "It was crazy."

"Some people never go crazy.  What truly horrible lives they must lead." -Charles Bukowski

The Scariest Halloween Tale You'll Ever Read

Quiet now, Gentle Reader, and I'll tell you the tale of the scariest Halloween ever.  Consider yourself warned.   

It was Halloween 2010, and it was dark & stormy night in Seattle.  While usually this is a quiet night amongst ghouls and goblins (they consider it "amateur hour"), this year was a little different.  This year, the wickedness in all of them couldn't be contained.  And so, the witches & the warlocks, the ghoulies and the ghosts, and one Pilot and his Stewardess, in search of tricks and treats and mini-bottles of alcohol, stormed the streets of Ballard wreaking havoc on the bars and restaurants, but mostly on themselves. Please ensure that your seatbelts are fastened for takeoff.  Smoking is allowed on this flight.

Like so many fallen horror film friends before them, this Pilot and his Stewardess went ahead and broke every rule out there.  Everything from the Bad Idea In Order To Survive Playbook was put into action.  Every mistake was made.  Everyone knew danger was lurking, but no one listened. Instead, they drank, smoked, had unprotected sex Just This One Time, and drank and smoked some more.  They basically called out to the unknown monsters awaiting them, "Here we are! Come and get us!  We can't do anything to stop you!"

(Cue distant scream from an undisclosed location.)  They looked around, wondering who was crying out.  Seeing nothing, they went back to their wicked ways, unaware of the danger that was just on the horizon.

And then....9 months later....they finally realized where that scream was coming from.  And there were no Emergency Exits in sight. 

BOO!

Be safe out there, kids.  There is no turning back. 

Happy Halloween!

Smoke It If You Got It!

In honor of the opening of Seattle's first legalized pot shop a few weeks ago, I have decided to share with you some of my finer moments under the influence of this now-legal herb.  So sit back, relax, and have plenty of snacks ready to go.

Paranoia Sets In
The first time I got stoned, I was sitting on the back patio of my Mom's house in Plymouth with my girl friend who I will call Sally just in case she doesn't want to be associated with this story.  I had smoked before, but it's likely that I didn't inhale properly because that summer evening was definitely the first time I felt it.  Yep, as we sat on the peach-colored patio chairs, Michigan summer sun setting slowly, toking off our borrowed bowl because we clearly did not have our own paraphernalia, we got stoned.  We laughed our asses off too.  Until we heard the police sirens.  Sally thought it would be funny to tell me that the police were on to us, and they were probably coming to arrest us that minute.  Being the insane rule follower that I am & unable to correctly identify tone in my altered state, I totally freaked out.  My paranoia & freaking out then caused Sally to forget that she had, in the first place, been joking, and now SHE was also freaking out that the cops were after us for the tiny bag of shake we managed to procure - probably from one of our younger brothers.  We decided our best option was to head inside and HIDE under some blankets in the family room from the inevitable sting that was about to occur.  Forty-five minutes later, we were beginning to sober up.  In the world's first true A-HA moment, Sally remembered that, oh crap, she had actually just been joking around about the cops from the start!
Disaster averted, we went back to the patio to regain our buzz & then watched reruns of Quantum Leap for the rest of the night.

It's Jamaica, Mon
A few years later, I went to Jamaica on Spring Break with some of my sorority sisters.  I would like to clarify that we were not in the semi-nice part of Jamaica.  In fact, we were in the total not-nice part of Jamaica.  However, it was to our benefit that marijuana smugglers from my neighboring hometown of Livonia, Michigan also enjoy staying in the not-nice part of Jamaica.  Yes, Gentle Reader, it's true.  I met a real life drug smuggler from Michigan in the bar of our hotel.  And - surprise, surprise - he didn't mind sharing his stash with some college girls.  As long as we didn't mind sharing our fifth of banana rum.  (We didn't.)  Wisely, four of us girls went to his hotel room where he proceeded to roll joint after joint.  He would take a couple of tokes, decide that it was not smoking properly and would promptly throw it off the balcony.  This happened six or seven times before he finally rolled one that he felt good about.  Before leaving, he gave me a handful of pot to take with me.  "What should I do with it?" I asked.  "Put it in your pocket, mon!" he replied.   Aside:  you can bet your bottle of banana rum that we went back the next day and collected those joints he threw off the balcony.  Interestingly enough, they smoked fine for us.

We Should Start AAA In New Zealand
And a few years after that, I was living in New Zealand.  My girl friend, Casey (yeah, I changed her name too), and I were on a month-long road trip in the South Island.  If you have been to New Zealand, you will know that one simply does not go on a road trip without a lot of dak.  (Aside: the word "dak" is slang for pot Down Under.  If someone offers you "dak cake", it is not something you should eat 2 or 3 pieces of because you think it's just delicious chocolate cake.  End of aside.) While visiting Mt Cook National Park, we were staying at the Mt Cook YHA.  Gentle Reader, this is basically a youth hostel in the middle of freaking Mordor.  It is, how shall we say, isolated. After an awesome day of hiking, we decide to go out to the car to relax & toke up a bit.  We were listening to music, talking, laughing, being ridiculous.  We got out of the car, locked it up because, you know, we're in the middle of nowhere, when we turned back to realize that the car, in fact, was still running.  We had smoked so much dak that we locked the car with the keys in the ignition still running.  Except that we had also smoked so much dak that it was so hysterical that we couldn't stop laughing or do anything about it.  A locksmith made the trek through Mordor the next day.  He also, wisely, brought us a tank of gas.  We had to give him the ring (My Preciousssss) in exchange.  Seemed fair.

Happy Toking, Seattle!

It Was 20 Years Ago Today (Here's to the Class of 1994)

June 12, 1994

With butterflies in my stomach & pink cheeks, I delivered Plymouth-Salem High School's graduation speech to the Class of 1994.  In the middle of it, I did the one thing that I had been

cautioned against doing.  The one thing that could ruin the whole operation.  You guessed it.

I cried.

I cried because, thus far, 1994 had been the best year of my life, and I couldn't imagine how it could ever get better than that.  I cried because my speech spoke of living in the moment & experiencing real & true & raw emotions as you feel them.  I cried because I saw my Mom crying from the third row.  I cried because my Best Friend and I were going to different schools.  I cried because I was an idealist, a poet, a lover of words & emotions, someone who felt everything deeply & personally.  I cried because I was a 17-year old girl.  I cried because I had realized that happiness & sadness are so often two sides of the same coin.  I cried because I just couldn't stop myself.

And now, here we are, 20 years later.

I am no longer an idealist.  Years of education, both personal & academic, have made me into a realist.  And sometimes even a cynicist.  I don't write poetry anymore.  Instead I am a (sometime) blogger who takes her baby to bars.  My Best Friend did go to a different school, and she now lives in a different city.  And she's still my Best Friend.  (Yay, Katie!) I still consider 1994 one of the best years of my life....along with 1995, 1999, 2001, 2006, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2013, and 2014.  It did get better.  And better.  And even better after that.  Living in the moment is a challenge for me. It doesn't come naturally like it did when I was 17.  But I strive to be present, to be where I am when I'm there & drink in all the moments, both good & bad.  I will always be a lover of words & emotions.  But I don't wear my heart on my sleeve any longer.  I have become guarded, someone that holds my cards pretty close.  I prefer to ask questions & learn about others rather than share my own story.  (Although, with a few glasses of wine, I can usually be persuaded to spill.)  I still cry when I see my Mom crying.  But instead of embracing it, I usually try to convince her to stop.
And I still know that happiness & sadness are often two sides of the same coin.  And I think that's why I am crying now.

Hugs & love to the Class of '94.  Twenty years ago, I wished you lives that were experienced through joyful & wondrous eyes.  Today, I wish you another 20 years that just keep getting better.  And better.  And even better after that.

P.S.  Crying never ruins anything.  Except maybe your makeup.

Join The Club

I had a conversation on Friday about being a parent.  I was chatting with someone without kids about what it's like to have kids.  

"Tell me the truth," he said.  "The only thing anyone ever says is, 'It's the best thing I ever did.'"

I laughed and immediately replied, "It's the best thing I ever did."  Long pause.  "And it's the hardest thing I ever did."  

I'm going to speak honestly here.  Are you ready?

There are certainly been times that I have thought to myself, or even said out loud to Tim, why in the hell did we decide to have a kid?  Being a parent is unbelievably hard - especially when you are as selfish as I am.  It is not about *you* anymore, not ever.  (Well, maybe on Mother's Day, but you're probably committing at least 407 selfless acts on that day instead of your usual 907.)  There are the really hard days where nothing is right and no one is happy and many tears are shed.  There are the days when you just want to run away and do only what you want to do when you want to do it.  There are the days when you feel like you haven't been alone in years, and you just want to have 5 freaking minutes by yourself to silently pound a glass of wine.

And then there are the other days.  The days of baby laughs and beaming smiles.  Days of cuddles and kisses, new experiences and pure joy.  The days of growth and excitement and change.  The days of seeing the world for the first time through your child's eyes.  And these days come so much more often than the others.  

So here's the thing that I didn't say to him but should have:  Becoming a parent gives us this outrageous capacity for love.  You will love this little person more than you ever thought possible.  I think our hearts must grow 3 sizes on the day that we first see our baby's face.  And along with that love come this new & incredible compassion for others.  We are more empathetic, we are more patient, we are more kind.  I believe that, for me, being a parent has made me a better person.

(It also makes us absolute freaking superheroes.  There's something pretty cool about that too.)  

Time After Time

Margaret Atwood, my favorite author, says in Cat's Eye, "Time is not a line but a dimension. You don't look back along time but down through it, like water.  Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing.  Nothing ever goes away."

This makes sense to me.  Good sense. It also helps me justify time travel in my head.  And I love the idea of time travel.  (Side note:  God, I miss LOST.)

But even so, isn't it strange how, after a relationship ends, it's so hard to remember the details later on.  The edges are blurry, like you forgot to put your contacts in that day.  It's almost like a dream, or a story you heard from someone else a long time ago.  Like it never really happened to you at all.

But every once in a while, all of a sudden, something reminds you of him.  A song, a smell, a voice, and there it is.  There he is, in your face, clear as day, all sharp edges and detailed lines.   So I guess Margaret is right.  Nothing ever goes away.

Even when you wish it would.

What's the Skinny?

The word "skinny" is really beginning to irritate me.  It's everywhere, and it always relates to women.  Jump on the social network of your choice and see how many times you encounter the word "skinny" in a 5 minute period.  Skinnygirl Cocktails, Skinny Bitch, Skinny Mommy, Skinny Ms. Slow Cooker (!), the list goes on.

Why are we always talking about skinny?  Why do I not see any blogs by Fit Bitch?  (Apologies to Jillian Michaels' if this is the name of her blog.)  Granted, Healthygirl Cocktails just doesn't sound right, but Healthy Mommy has a nice ring to it.

It's time this conversation stopped thinking thin and started focusing on fit.  Let's let go of the skinny and embrace the strong.  Let's start naming our blogs and Twitter handles after our real accomplishments in life, instead of something that signifies we were born with good genes.  Let's stop weighing our self-worth in calories and fat grams.  And for the love of Jillian Michaels, let's stop beating ourselves up over numbers on a damn scale.

You can keep your Skinnygirl Margarita.  This Pretty-Healthy, Fairly Fit Mommy is having a martini.

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.

A very important decision has been made.

The year 2013 is the year of the mantra, "I regret nothing".

I am a person who likes to obsess.  I obsess and rehash and fixate and ruminate and stew.  I go over various events in my head and replay them with different endings, wittier comebacks, and better hair.  I think about something I said in passing to a complete stranger and wish I had phrased it differently.  I analyze every conversation, every unanswered email, every syllable spoken during a meeting and wonder if it was something I said.  I weigh every decision in three different ways before making a pro/con list and then flipping a coin.  And after the decision is made, I continue to wonder if I did the right thing.

But not anymore.

Because in 2013, I regret nothing.   

I will attempt to absolutely make decisions with confidence and faith.  Full stop.  I will speak thoughtfully and with purpose, and when I make an ass out of myself, I will laugh about it and move on.  And, ideally, this new mindset will ultimately contribute to better choices, less waffling, and firm commitment because (let's all say it together now) I regret nothing.

Who's with me?  Should we all embrace this laissez-faire attitude and live the life of no regrets?

Whether you're with me or not, and whether I'm your life coach, your friend, your distant cousin, your workmate, or just someone you once had a couple of drinks with, here's a little advice for you, free of charge:
Live big and love big this holiday season.  Enjoy your life and your family and your friends.  Do what makes you happy.  Regret nothing.  But, if you do, remember this....

There's nothing you can do today that a little resolution tomorrow can't fix.