Stephanie Says.. Take a walk inside my head

You take one step in her direction
She takes one step the other way
And you talk
But you make no real connection
Hoping the smiles will disguise any pain
You live together in the same house
But the walls between you keep you
Worlds apart
Deep inside
You have the very same dreams
But neither of you know
Where to start
You’re on co-o-o-o-o mon ground
Co-o-o-o-o mon ground
Meet each other at the wall
And together you can tear it down
And you’ll find you live
On common ground
(Brent Lamb)

Forgive the mistakes. I’m working on memories of youth camp from 1991 or so.
This came to me tonight as I was posting Find A Way.
Obviously flippant remarks and quotes and even songs about love aren’t going to clean up every mess or mend every heart. Some hurts are too…well some things just suck and some situations are just…evil.

But sometimes we forget about love. Not puppy love or ice cream love or first dance love. Real love…the blood and sweat and muscle and sacrifice and teamwork that hopes and believes and cries and stretches and enfolds and takes in and lasts. Sometimes it hurts…it does. And we don’t always get what we need. And we give more than we ever take. And people…some of them are just plain jerks.

But some problems aren’t problems. Not really. Not ones that can’t be solved anyway. Pride hurts. I know. I don’t like to give in or be the first one to say something either. And I, like you, have a list of things that my foolish heart wants someone to thank me for.

But sometimes love is more important than being right.
And sometimes doing the NEEDED thing feels an awful lot like giving up what our heart is telling us it wants.
And sometimes we make the first move and people turn away anyway.

Pride is stubborn. Hearts can be hard. A person can only hear so many apologies before they begin sounding like some kind of script. And sometimes the people we talk to aren’t sincere at all. And the heartbreaking thing is that they never will be.

But do we want to be right or do we want love? Are we so wedded to our own way that we can’t at least TRY to find common ground?

Life’s not easy. Love’s not either. And yes, sometimes the mountains we’re scaling are real and big and we have to forge on all alone. Sometimes nothing anyone can say can fix what we’re living through. Sin is sin….and sometimes sin is big and huge and messy and there is no going back to anything like we were before.

But sometimes…just sometimes…if we take one step…then another…and take a breath…and remind ourselves that yes we’re speaking first AGAIN but love…REAL love can lead to beauty like we’ve never even dared to dream of imagining…sometimes…just sometimes…the walls come down…and someone holds out their hand…and maybe it takes years…or maybe it’s just like that…and the wall comes down.
Again.

Crying right now. Reading some obviously biased “us vs them” statuses that link to articles and blogs.
I just wanna say…STOP
I hear it all day at work, you know…
I work with boys, so I hear “girls are” or “girls are not”
I work with mostly older customers so I hear “doctors are” or “insurance companies do”
I do it too. I say “boys are weird” or “customers are annoying”
But the articles on social media now? Do these people even TRY to research? They sooo would get failing grades from the professors of the (very few) journalism classes I took in college
RESEARCH
VERIFY
I am a girl. I live in Kentucky. My eyes change color according to my mood. My friend is a girl. She lives in Kentucky. HER eyes change color according to HER mood.
THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT EVERY GIRL IN KENTUCKY HAS COLOR CHANGING EYES
It bothers me a little when people post things about historical figures without fact checking the things which they are distributing.
It bothers me A LOT when people post things about crimes being committed and the ways in which people are doing so when there is NO EVIDENCE that such an act ever occurred. Anywhere. To me that is a) spreading fear for no reason at all and b) giving future criminals ideas of how to spruce up their resumes.
It INFURIATES ME when articles are posted claiming that ALL members of a particular race or generation or profession or religious group do thus and such because EVERY OTHER MEMBER (without exception) OF SAID GROUP ALSO SPEAKS OR BELIEVES OR ACTS THAT WAY
First…I admit that I do-and have done- my own share of conversing thusly. I stereotype and generalize even though I HATE generalizations.
People are complex. ONE person may be a singer, an athlete, a middle child, student council president, a karaoke freak, a HUGE college basketball fan, a single mom or dad, a lover of Hello Kitty, and on and on and on. If ONE person cannot be made to fit into some pre set group or match some very narrow label, how are we honestly expected to categorize AN ENTIRE POPULATION.
I don’t know where you live. I don’t know who you know. I don’t know what conversations you have had, research you have done, beliefs that you have taken to heart.
Maybe a stranded horde of aliens with purple hair and skin colored in blue polka dots IS settling into your town, IS taking over the education of your children, IS infiltrating your water system. Maybe they ARE indoctrinating your toddlers into believing that picking one’s nose and eating one’s boogers is the only TRUE path to a life full of goodness, a world full of abundance and plenty. Because of this maybe you DO want to shoot anything purple on sight and ask questions later. After all, isn’t the different only safe when it is destroyed?
Gentle reminder, friend.
YOU are different too.
I’m willing to bet that not EVERY song on your playlist conforms to those on the playlist of your friends.
I’m willing to bet that you have some secret late night pleasure that you hide from all but your nearest and dearest. Are you a hula hoop champion? Can you limbo on roller skates? Do you smuggle badly copied episodes of “Hello Kitty” into your home to watch on the nights when you just can’t sleep? Do you secretly love show tunes and can;t admit that you know every word to the -Les Miz- soundtrack because your family and friends all turn on hard rock and rap?
Gentle reminder, friend
You don’t know everything.
You may THINK you know where “they” have come from.
You may THINK you know why “they” are here
You may THINK you know what “they” are after
What “they” teach their children
What “they” do in “their” meetings
What “they” say in “their” churches
You may THINK you know what “they” want
But there is ALWAYS ALWAYS more to learn
Have you actually done your homework?
Have you actually ever TALKED to them?
Are you basing your beliefs on what others say rather than what you have seen and felt and experienced for YOURSELF?
You know, not every green haired person DOES come from (name a place where not every person who looks slightly alike comes from)
You know, not everyone who reads (insert title of book you don’t believe that you agree with here) DOES go on to espouse those values that you are so afraid of.
Not everyone with a nose ring acts like every other person with a nose ring.
Not everyone with sandals instead of heels acts like every OTHER person with sandals instead of heels.
Not everyone with an ankle tattoo acts like every other person with an ankle tattoo
There is variety.
Even within geographic regions, there is variety.
Even within population groups or cultures, there is variety.
Even within genetic lineages, there is variety.
You may or may not look like the people in YOUR family.
You may or may not share the interests of the people at YOUR job.
You may or may not still be clinging to the values taught to your as a child in YOUR church.
“Witches can be right”, we are taught in the lyrics to -Into the Woods’- “No One Is Alone”
“Giants can be good”
People in pants can be evil
or kind
or a combination of both
People with TV audiences can be idiots
or geniuses
or something in between
This “us vs them” stuff has GOT to stop
Or we’ll end up tearing ourselves apart more fiercely than those we fear could have ever dreamed of doing.
Not everyone with brown hair want to teach people to wear socks with no shoes
Not every blonde wants us all to sing off key
Not every person we pass in the grocery store is an enemy
And yet, we are so very afraid
The only way different is safe is when it is destroyed, yes?
So we can all go back to our one cat, one dog, 1.5 children, two car garage, yard sale on Saturday little life?
NO…of course not. Some of us use Saturdays to sleep, some to swim, some to samba…
We are not the same
We are not ALL the same
Neither are “they”
We do not all look the same, dress the same
We do not share the same history, language, literature, DNA… we live very different lives
So do “they”
And “they”
oftentimes
Are afraid of “us”
To “them”, WE are the aliens, the dangers, the differences, the villains
To “them”, we preach hate
Spread violence
Shoot first and ask questions later
To “them” we are as uncaring as we accuse others of being
Guess what?
You don’t know everything
Neither do I
There is still so much left to say
There is still so much left to learn
Small towns are NOT being taken over by EVERY person who dares to move into the place that has, to you, represented freedom from the outsider for generation after generation
Children are NOT being taught to hate everyone who does not share the color of their hair
Violent crimes are NOT being committed solely by the members of one race, one doctrine, one generation (of which you, of course, are most assuredly NOT)
People
Whether they belong to “us”
Whether they belong to “them”
Are dying
Begging
Starving
For connection
Purpose
Love
Understanding
There is still so very very much left to learn
There are still so very very very many
conversations to have
There are still
so
veryveryvery many
Friends
You just have not yet met
If
you
and I
and all of “us”
Would just go speak to
Listen to
Just try to SEE
Just try to HEAR
one of “them”
Maybe then
I wouldn’t spend my nights
quite so broken hearted
Maybe then
there would be a different reason
That I cry
Every time
I open the news
And I begin
To read

You are more

You are more than your curly hair
You are more than your freckled nose

You are more than your brain
That sees numbers sideways
Or your voice that freezes up
When you are called on to speak

You are more than your muddy brown eyes
Or your big feet
Or your long toes

You are more than your test taking abilities
Or your grade point average
Or your final score

You are more than your jump shot
Or lack of one

You are more than the nights when your mind races
And you cannot sleep
You are more than the days
When that is all you do

You are more than the unwashed dishes
And the unmade beds
And the pile of laundry in the corner
That has been there
So long
That you have lost count
of how many days
It has been

You are more than the pooch in your stomach
The wrinkles around your mouth
The dimples in your thighs

You are more than your fear of the dark
Or tight spaces
Or monsters under your bed

You are more than the voices in your head
Calling you lazy
Calling you worthless
Telling you to give up
To not try anymore

You are more than the candy bar
That broke your diet
Or the rainy day
That curtailed your exercise

You are more than the neighbor
You didn’t invite over for coffee
Or the friend on the street
To whom you didn’t wave

You are more than your child
Screaming “I Hate You”
And slamming the door

You are more than the contest
that you ALMOST won
The award you were up for
But didn’t get

You are more than the house
That is too small
Too run down
And too crowded

You are more than the Thanksgiving Dinner
For one
And the echoing silence of your halls

You are more than the “If you Justs”
of your well meaning friends
and the people who tell you to just look it up
Because they want to get out of the conversation

You are more than your unemployment
Your food stamps
The people who ask you why you have a phone
But don’t have a job

You are more than the names you are called
Because of your weight
or religion
or the color of your skin

You are more than your accent
or your English as a second language
or the way people stare at you
When you struggle to read posted signs

You are more than the person you voted for
Or the person you didn’t
You are more than the opinions
Of those who voted the other way

You are more than your barronness
And the heartbreak you feel
When your best friend
Has baby number three

You are more than the nights
You have reached out for help
And there was no one there
To take your hand

You are more than the worst thing you said
The most awful thing you did
Even if
It hurt someone you love

You are more than the way
your partner has stopped looking at you
As if to really see

You are more than the nights
You go to bed alone

You are more than the secret stash
of chocolate
That you keep
for when life
Won’t stop closing in

You are more than the books you read
And the music you play
And the headphones you wear
Because you simply
Have to block out the world

You are more than the wheelchair
Even if
It’s all people see

You are more than the way
You begin to stutter
When you feel
All eyes on you
And the words
They just won’t come

You are more than the teddy bear
You take to bed
For comfort
Even though
You are now twenty three

You are more than the students
In the classroom
That you are supposed to control
Even though
Everything seems tilted
And spinning
And you are managing
Anything but

You are more than the rules
The unspoken ones
That have always guided your family
Even if
they don’t make
Any sense
Anymore

You are more than the questions
That you are dying to ask
But you stuff down
Because you don’t think
Anyone
Would really understand

You aren’t your grades
Or your hair
Or your freckles
Or your fingernails
Or your job

You are not the things
That are said
In your hearing

You are not the things
That are said
Out of it

You are not your secret tears

You are not your lonely nights

You are Your own story
With words in your soul
And chapters in your eyes
And a journey
That only you can take

You are not what they say you are
You are not who you think you are

You are you
You are beautiful

You are loved

Oh darling one

You are so much

More

I heard an expression today: Right now you are about as useful as two steering wheels on a mule.
Feel free to steal.

I have never been, am now not, nor will I ever be what is considered “beautiful”. I am, in fact, an “almost” or “if only” girl. “If only” I would:tan, straighten my hair, stand up straight, wear contacts, grow out my fingernails, wear something other than sweatshirts and sweaters…I could be so pretty. They are hurtful, the things people say, but, the older I get, the more I think…seriously? I’ve worn glasses since before I was in school. I’ve lived near the Equator and didn’t tan then, so why should I try now. I like my sweaters and sweats…you can’t work in the shop I do with prissy prissy clothes. And my hair? It is what it is and will be what it will be. I’d rather work on my heart, anyway. But…I recently flashed back to seventeen year old me. I went to school with pretty pretty people ya’ll. It was the age of tanned, long legged, big haired, short skirted cheerleaders. I was still in lace and pearls and bows. And I was crying. On my bed, sobbing. Daddy asked me why and I said “I’m not beautiful.” Daddy, being Daddy, immediately stammered “Yes, you are.” “No, I’m not,” I cried. “Not like THEY are.”

I’m a long way from seventeen now. I’m a long way from the bows and the lace. But I have worked with little girls who have grown into young ladies. And they are beautiful. Every single one of them. And you know what? They are not all tanned. Or blonde. Or contact wearing. Or have smooth skin or hair. They don’t all wear short skirts. Some of them sing. Some of them cheer. Some draw. Some ride horses. Some play all kinds of ball.

But they are beautiful. And I hope they NEVER NEVER look around at all the other girls out there and sit on their beds crying.
Because they are super
And fantastic
And awesome
And wonderful
And beautiful

Just they way they are.

Really.

They are.

Okay, true confession time. I love hot fudge cake. Love hot fudge cake. Eat “real food” during dinner so I can GET hot fudge cake.

As a result of this, I often seize any excuse to go to Shoney’s.  Shoney’s is interesting.  All kinds of people come to Shoney’s.  I personally like the hot fudge cakes and the French toast sticks, but the seafood seems to be popular as well.

Sometime last winter, Kenny and I were wrapping up a long week at work by partaking of the buffet when I began to notice the families seated around us.  At the table beyond were a mom, a dad and a young baby in a high chair.  At the table beyond THEM were a mom, a dad and a young baby in a different high chair.

I watched the babies and smiled when they noticed each other.  I smiled even bigger when they began to communicate.

They were either pre verbal or choosing not to talk, but they flirted and smiled and waved and cooed.

“Ah” said baby number one to baby number two.

“Ouah” replied baby number two.

They talked through the entire meal.  After a while, their parents quit trying to feed them and just let them interact.

And interact they did.  They cooed and gurgled and booed and aahed and kicked and laughed.

They were having a grand old time.

And I was having a ball just watching them.

Baby number one  had to leave and baby number two actually cried, looking around for his friend.

It was darling.

And instructive.

Do we take to strangers that easily?  Do we smile and wave across a table?  Are we willing to make friends with people we’ve never met?

Somehow, I think we’d be a little better off if we could all be like those babies: smiling, cooing and (for me) spooning up the last of our hot fudge cakes.

I drive Kenny crazy in many ways. I almost never go a day without singing a snippet of something or other. I leave hair everywhere. I insist on picking up the cats and carrying them around as if they were babies. I don’t like sandwiches, so I am classified as “hard to feed”.

The thing that most annoys him, however, is the fact that I cannot sit still while watching Television.  When I’m by myself I’ll flip channels, fold laundry, feed the cats, do dishes, read what is on the guide or other fidgity type activities.  I try to curb these tendencies while with Kenny, but I still do enough wiggling around to prompt him to snap “sit down” several times a night.

Recently, I found myself alone in the house and engaged in pushing buttons on the remote.  Our television has an option in which the viewer can access a guide, letting them know what is coming up in the next week or so.  “Brimstone” I thought to myself, noticing a show on the Thriller channel that I had never heard of.  “Brimstone sounds interesting.”

I discovered that -Brimstone- was interesting.  Centering on Ezekeiel Stone, a detective who began to self destruct after the rape of his wife, -Brimstone- raised several thought provoking issues.  In the first episode, it is established that Detective Stone was let out of hell as Satan’s personal bounty hunter.  He was tasked with recapturing 113 escaped souls in exchange for something which at the moment I can’t remember.

Bounty Hunters from Hell don’t fit into my personal theology, but -Brimstone- as a show raised some interesting questions.  One of Detective Stone’s first “cases”, for example, was a woman killed while seeking revenge for terrible violence that she endured.  She was brutalized and victimized, earning sympathy in -Brimstone’s- mythology, but the moment she became vengeful, she became a lost soul.

It’s been several weeks since Kenny and I watched that episode and I’m still thinking about it.  In the world that I have created for myself, I too am a victim.  I have been betrayed by people I trusted, hurt by people I loved, lied to by people who swore that they would tell only the truth.  True, I have never been brutalized, but my heart has been broken and I have lost much of what was once precious to me.

In the world I live in, however, none of my heartbreaks and disappointments much matter.  We are all victims, it seems.  We have all been betrayed and let down.  We have all been trampled on and lied to.  The hurt is common.  It’s what we do with it that matters.

This is where the title of my post comes in.  See, I hear excuses every day.  “If he hadn’t…” “I told you to…”  “She didn’t hold up her end of the bargain…” Someone else’s fault.  Somebody else’s responsiblity. 

“You made me mad.”

“The Democrats (or the Republicans) are the reason I can’t get a job”

“My alarm didn’t go off and that is why I am late.”

“The picture caught my eye and I just wanted to take a quick look.”

“You…she…it…he…they.”

In the world of -Brimstone-, these things don’t matter.  It doesn’t matter that you were mugged.  It doesn’t matter that your family was decimated by genocide.  It doesn’t matter that you fell prey to the worst kinds of evil that men can dream up.  In that world, just because you wear the title of “victim”, it doesn’t mean that you can become an avenger.

In any world, this lesson is hard to remember.  It is far easier to “get the last word” or “give him back his own” or wall up our hearts and vow to never love again than it is to take a deep breath, pull up our bootstraps and march forward.

Sobriety is a hard concept.  In all worlds, -Brimstone’s- fictional United States, the kingdom that I have constructed in my imagination and in the world in which you and I live, we humans would rather be ruled by our passions.  Taking responsiblilty  (without making excuses) is something that we talk around but find almost impossible to actually live out.  We, like the terrorized young girl calling for vengence on her tormenters, want our pound of flesh and then some.

It’s normal.  It’s common.  It’s HUMAN.  We all do it, but it doesn’t make it right.  This New Year, let’s try to change the pattern, hold the line, stem the tide.  Let’s stand up.  Let’s offer fewer excuses.  Let’s stop our whining.  Let’s not put ourselves first.  Let’s make someone else’s rights a priority for a change.

It’s hard.  It’s unnatural.  It makes us feel uncomfortable in our own skins.

But let’s try.  Let’s put on our Big Girl panties.

And let’s see if we can’t just make all of our worlds better.