I wish.... continued

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure about you. We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Nelson Mandela

Speaking Up

Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld spoke with a group of soldiers a few weeks ago and a young man spoke of the need for rudimentary supplies that were shamefully not given them by the army that would help keep them from harm. It was a stunning moment to come from such a young man and many joked that he would soon be found on the unemployment line. I thought this moment as telling in how people reacted to it. Many felt the young man would, "get in trouble" I thought to myself that he should speak up when it comes to matters of safety and the preservation of life. If he had not stated the obvious need for life-saving armor and question the one person who could sign-off and get it to him and his comrades, than who would?

It is a reminder to me that there is a time and place for everything, but sometimes caution must be thrown to the wind. When to speak up and say what's on your mind is sometimes a balancing act. Should one grab the moment and speak, bluntly or eloquently, of the matter at hand? But what is one to do when in a situation that calls for plain talk? The situation that young soldier found himself in reeked of plaintiveness. He wanted to come home from Iraq in one piece, and wanted and needed the armor to make that happen. The moment he launched his question was measured by a camera, a microphone and an international audience, and had none of the finessed and nuanced speak and political correctness we are all so used to. The questioning was appropriate when it came to the matter of life and death.

I applaud anyone who speaks up, especially during times when it may not be deemed appropriate. When it comes from the heart and is a relevant matter, one can not be wrong for speaking up and asking pertinent questions.

I wish

I wish
For all who exhibit to the world the greatness they are born with
Who are not afraid to do so
To those who get up when they don't want to
Who forge ahead though they may be sad
Year after year, to earn a living
Those persons who etch out an existence so that they support themselves and their loved ones
And do so proudly and with the knowledge that the job does not define them
That only they define themselves

For you I wish
Peace and happiness in the coming year
And the fulfillment of all the creativity you feel
Prosperity in matters of the heart, and if wanting,
Matters of the pocket
And, most of all, the sustaining love of self

The Pain

I went to my company's Christmas Party and had a wonderful time. I have a guilty pleasure in attending the party because I do so primarily to laugh, discreetly, at the various co-workers who become so inebriated they provide comic relief. I laugh also to chase away the knowledge that I know a lot of people that I work with are in seroius pain. So much so that they try to wash it away with the liquour provided them from an open bar. The free liquor provides a route to ecstasy that they may not be able to afford normally, or may not be able to do if affordable among people who will excuse it and not be judgemental, will help them home in a company- paid-for cab, and be office fodder the next day around the water cooler. The dalliance of being a drunk will be excused by some as an abnormality, and not indicitive of what many who are familiar with the drinking-to-kill-the-pain phenomenom saw exhibited at the party. I am one that is aware. And I wonder why those so in pain can not admit they are and stay away from the temptation. Many, who are of this ilk did not stay away, and it was disturbing to watch, and so I laughed at the absurdity of it all, knowing a price would be paid in the days to come.

One guy has been M.I.A. He was beyond drunk and fondeling girls young enough to be his daughters, telling anyone who would listen that, "They wanna have sex with me!!" And when it was retorted that he was living a fantasy, he replied, "No. they really do! They do." The party was on Thursday. He did not show up to work Friday, nor Saturday. He did not call nor e-mail to say he would be out, which is unacceptable. His wife called on Friday night to say the rent check bounced and she was deperated to talk to her husband. He had not called home since Thursday. They have two children, and she needed to speak to him because the landlord was upset about the non-sufficient funds in the account. What made matters worse is that this guy has his paycheck direct-deposited into his bank account, and pay day was the day after the party, Friday. Saturday he didn't report to work nor call, and we all worked the job and made no mention of him only to surmise that he was on a binge. I surmised he is in pain and trying to medicate it with things not good for him and his family.

So often in this society we try to quick fix the problems we encounter. If we want muscles, instead of working out with the hopes of achieving that feat, steroids are taken. We are depressed because of not understanding the complexities of life, and so we take illicit drugs, hoping to medicate the thoughts away, only to, when coming out of a drug induced haze, encountering again not only the problems that were not addressed before the ingestion of drugs, but other problems that have ensued because this drug usage. And so I laughed at the party at the spectacles I witnessed so that I would not cry, as I knew I was witnessing many, many people in pain. And the pain was manifest in the carousing, and its after effects of people showing up late to work the next day, red faced and irritable, or not showing up at all. I wish people in pain knew and practiced better ways to deal with it.

Personalities

This was the leading sentence in a NYC Daily News article:

More than 300,000 high school students used steroids last year, jeopardizing their health and sometimes altering their personalities, Newsweek reported yesterday.

This is a subject I have thought of often as it relates to illegal drugs. I am employed at a financial institution that often requires temporary workers to help with spontaneous abundance of work. Because of the immediacy of projects, my place of employment often is desperate to hire many such workers, and becauseof this desperation they often chose workers badly. I look at some of the choices of temp workers management has made and know that some have been on hard illegal drugs for sometime and have just come up for air, newly released from rehab. Some have the verbal cadence of heroin addiction and the loping and sometimes jolting walk of a crack head. I see clearly that these are persons who though may be clean are still and will be forever affected by the illegal drugs that they have taken. Many of their personality traits are one of self-righteousness, being preachy, and wanting to help people inappropriately They, though often they don't discuss that they were hooked on drugs, have common traits of a person actively taking drugs. A drug addict obsesses on their next high and the procuring of such and I believe those who are reformed need new things upon which to obsess.

Illegal drugs alter the personality of those taking them and for hard core drug users who stop, the effects linger. There is a commonality of a mean steak in those formerly and currently addicted, and it never abates. When in the throes of addiction many have done deceitful and mean things to get drugs, and that mean streak, even after addiction, never leaves. All of the traits mentioned, when presented in a work environment via the presence of reformed drug addicts, makes for problems. We receive temps who are on a high of completing rehab and are preachy and anxious to do the job and talk of themselves in boastful way, and push the mantra of their rehab which is to help others even when they say they don't want help. Obsessively searching for something to attach themselves to prove their worth. That is usually the first phase. They are blissfully happy and basking in their new found sobriety. However, after time, when they discover they are part of the rat race of workers and wonderful things will not happen to them because they are off of drugs, the second phase results, when the adulations received from counselors in rehab are no longer present and either there is recidivism and they disappear from the job or are fired because of infractions, or they become sullen and the mean streak appears and goes into overdrive. There have been several instances of temp workers going around stating they are going to get permanent employess fired by spreading malicious rumors. One such person was seen scurrying about to different supervisors, trying to plant the seed of a rumor, and was discovered doing this when several of the supervisors happened to discuss having the same lie told to them by that one person.

The personalities of persons who were deep in the throes of drug addiction is often one many do not want to encounter. The same can be said for reformed drug users as they seem to never lose that obsessiveness, and should they have gone through rehab, have an added inappropriate personality trait of self-righteousness and unsolicited helpfulness. The pain that lead them to drug addiction in the first place rears its ugly head and though some don't slide back into drug usage, they do things, gossip, manipulate, stir up trouble, cause drama, to numb the pain.

I look forward

I am amazed at how fast this year has flown by. And I am pleased at the results of this year in my personal life. I am thankful for all that I have achieved this year, and am a year wiser because of this. Here I am to see a new day, and am thankful for that ability. My reflections of this year are of my family, work, travel, introspection, and best of all, peace within myself. I am as comfortable as I have ever been in my skin, and it has been a process. I am allowing things to roll off of me, and have acutely perfected a knowing way of doing so. Because of the attitude of self-preservation that I have perfected since the age of 16, I am able to travel life's sometimes intermittent trepidation knowing that this too shall pass. Life is good, and I hope this continues. I look forward to next year, and all the others that I am allowed to live.

Day.of.Infamy

I am the grandaughter, paternal and maternal, of men who fought in wars of yesteryear, and thinking of what December 7 signifies to many forces me to take a moment and reflect. I have often wondered what my grandfathers thought when they were headed out, to serve in the army? Were they afraid? Were they concerned not only of the enemy but of the treatment they would receive from their commanding officers? What were their feelings when they returned home, and did they feel more patriotic because of their service, or less, or indifferent?

Both enlisted, and served in wars I've never heard them discuss. Performed tours never discussed. I've seen pictures of my paternal grandfather in uniform, and but for these and visiting my maternal granfather in a veteran hospital in which he was a patient and understanding that he could only be there because he was a veteran, would have never known, seen, or heard evidence of their enlistments.

I am from stock that served in The US Army, and this day reminds me of them and their service, and of many others who did, and are, enlisted.

Marginal

I am often on the trains of NYC, and as such, am witness to many who are deemed marginal. I ride the train after paying my fare as a means of transport to my home, and not to hear sob stories. But often, I am forced to see and hear the stories of those who beg for a living, telling their stories of ineptitude. They speak of tragedies that have left them bereft, of employment and of hope. They speak often of hoplessness, and the need for those of us, who are their unwilling audience, to give them money because of their storytelling. The stories, upon dissecting, are many times unbelievable. I have seen one woman who has been pregnant for about ten years, continually, and uses this condition to garner sympathy so that commuters will open their pockets and wallets. I believe she just has a fat stomache. There is a couple who had a child burn in a fire and need money to bury their child. They have been telling this same story for ten years on the #4 train line of NYC. All of those that I have mentioned and the vast majority of those that I witness begging are obvioulsy addicted to drink and/or drugs.

I find these situations that are forced upon me as outrageous. Often during my commute it is the first time that I am able to sit still for 45 minutes. I try to use the time to plan. So I think and ponder what I must do. I think of the most mundane to the most important decisions of my life on these train rides. Many of these ponderings involve my thinking of how I am going to budget my money. My money is often too short to cover my budget, and thus, to have someone get on a car of a train I am occupying and loudly tell of their financial woes so that I and others on the car will give them money is preposterous to me.

NYC Transit has done studies on their ridership, and a good percentage are poor folk who can barely afford to pay for their own upkeep, let alone give money to person who are highly suspect, upon receipt of such money, to buy drink or drug with said funds. Times are hard for everyone and are made harder by those taking an inappropriate opportunity to jump in the faces of those on a train ride to beg for money when the pockets of those from whom they are begging are as empty as the beggars. The hard working people of NYC who ride transit are not on a train for a free ride (figuratively and literally) like the beggars. They are coming and going to jobs and are not looking for hand-outs. Beggars make harder an often already arduous commute with their stories of ineptitude.

Love

This is written in the Hebrew Talmud, the book containg all of the sayings and preaching of Rabbis, preserved for all time: "Be very careful if you make a woman cry, because God counts her tears. The woman came out of a man's rib. Not from his feet to be walked on. Not from his head to be superior but from the side to be equal. Under the arm to be protected and next to the heart to be loved."

I find this saying profound. It is specific in its relevance to what relationships should be, and the treatment of women in said relationships. It purposefully does not mention the treatment of men in relationships as it has been established since the beginning of time that they are to be treated with more respect than the women when in romantic and all other relationships. The respect that they are due does not need to be restated. The respect for men in any and all relationships is inherent, while for women, respect often has to be defined and dervived via her ethnicity, economic, age, and other social stratas. Should any of the levels to which she is a member be perceived as not influential, she will be looked down upon. And these levels dictate her place in most societal relationships, and quite often, in romantic relationships as well. To be thought of as less than your mate when in a relationship sullies what should be beautiful. The beauty of a romantic relationship - the beauty effecting immediately the two that have brought it about, and from its emanating rays, those who witness it - is a sustaining, almost tangible, entity that allows great things to happen. A life that feels this beauty can do anything, and the beauty of a romantic relationship can not flourish and prosper if all parties involved don't feel equity in the relationship.

To be loved is to be protected. And to be protected is to feel safe enough to go out and about and do things in the world with minimal fear of the ugliness the world sometimes presents. One can go back to the love after a long day knowing at home there is a shell of protection, a respite from ugliness, allowing for an imbibing of love potion for sustenance. To be loved and to love in an equitable relationship is the most supreme of all relationships, and the beauty from these types of relationships can seep into all other relationships, making for a better world. I wish for everyone equitable love relationships.

Pause

My daughter and I went to a French Bistro on 57th and 6th Avenue in Manhattan while we waited for her appointed time to audition for a High School. The setting was nice. We were seated by the maitre'd and everything, including the ambiance was nice. We were seated in an exquisite part of the restaurant that allowed us to people see and witness all that is NYC. There was Sunday morning traffic, people scurrying to brunch and other endeavors, and the street exemplified a typical Sunday in NYC. My daughter was excited about her audition and about having a restaurant experience that was so unexpected. We had not planned on it, and were rather taken aback when we discovered that our 8:00 AM appointment at the art school was a precursor to the actual audition; essentially they corralled 250 potential students and their parents into the lobby of the school and gave them all appointment to come back that day after assessing the turnout.

My daughter and I decided to stay in Manhattan instead of returning home to the Bronx and found an arcade in which she could play the games she so loves. After doing that for a while, I told her of a restaurant I had scoped out while perched in a window seat while she was playing. It looked like a wonderful, intimate place, and we made our way there. It resulted in a wonderful meal, and provided time for my daughter and I to talk intimately. We had a great time and the Fried Calamari was great. The tab was paid and my daughter and I prepared to walk the short distance to her audition. As we approached the door, an elderly couple came in, the husband preceded by his wife, he holding the door open for her. She came in and proceeded to follow the maitre'd who beckoned for her to do so. The husband was behind her staring at me with a look of fear and he stumbled, trying to find his feet. My daughter looked at him, a little concerned that he seemed to be falling, and upon him finding his footing, continued out of the first door of the restaurant. I, the whole while, looking at him, familiar with the panicked glance as he perused me, looking fugitively, as if he wanted to run, but couldn't because his wife was unaware of the situation.

The situation, as I perceived it, is this man was not used to seeing an African-American person in that restaurant or, for that matter, in any capacity that reflected an equal standing to the one he found himself. He was so taken aback that he stumbled at the sight of me, and, I think, thought something wrong was happening in the restaurant and did not want to enter it. Seeing me and my daughter, both whom were taller than he, I think, he thought something was amiss. I chuckled to myself as I moved forward and past him while he looked at me with fear in his eyes.

This is an occurrence that has happened to me often, in varying degrees, in my life. The arched eyebrow of someone which tells me that I am not in the right place. I shouldn't enter the same Ivy League classroom that they are occupying except to empty the trash bins. I must have the wrong building. I should not enter the mortgage office and ask the secretary to direct me to the office in which the closing on my apartment is taking place. I can't possible be the woman who is buying an apartment. I am leaving a restaurant that has provided my daughter and I with a memorable time, and upon exiting this restaurant, I am slapped with reality of someone shocked at my being. I have caused confusion when entering places as I don't fit the bill of what should have presented as appropriate. I don't "look" like a person who should be there. "There" is their universe that is not multi-toned. Theirs is a universe that is not multi-chromatic. They have to get over it and stop stumbling, and staring, and stammering. It is truly not that serious.