Misjudged First Impressions

Recently, I was shopping for a horse that I could just throw a saddle on and ride around the neighborhood. I already share a beautiful Arabian mare, but she is a prima donna that hates to get her hooves dirty. Not the right horse for riding around the neighborhood.

I scoured the papers, online classifieds, Horse Training Sites, and the feed store bulletin board for the perfect horse. There were gorgeous options–Quarter Horses, Fresians, Saddlebreds and Paso Finos with shiny coats and proud stances.

And then I came across an ad on Craig’s List: “APQA Paint Horse, $900″

And memories of my childhood dreams arose of riding bareback across the plains just like Pocahontas did…and I had to further investigate the advertisement. The pictures were fuzzy, but there was a You Tube video that showed the horse jumping in an arena. From a fuzzy distance, she looked like a decent horse for the money. So out I drove, all the way across town, to see her in person.

She was mixed with 26 other horses, grazing in a field. Her markings were, well, odd. Not the beautiful cow spots that most of you are used to in a paint horse. She is an overo, which looked like someone had splattered bleach on her brown coat, leaving tiny, irregular white spots in really strange places. She is no beauty; she was a hundred pounds underweight, filthy and had matted mane and tail–but her eyes were clear, and she seemed to have the disposition I was looking for. Calm, easy to ride, not readily excitable.

It turns out that this owner had taken the horse as repayment of a debt that was owed to her–exactly $900–and wanted to turn the horse into cash, thus eliminating one more mouth to feed. It was obvious that she didn’t want to put too much effort into restoring the horse back to health, although I give her credit for taking better care of her than her previous bankrupt owner.

So I wrote the check, and she delivered the horse, complete with papers, to the riding facility where I had rented a stall. This facility housed show horses, and sported teenage girls posting with their black velvet caps darting up and down on their perfectly clipped trotting mounts. The arrival of my horse caused quite a stir–a silent one, if you get my drift–not because of her beauty, but rather because of the lack of it. On this property full of high-maintenance show horses, mine stumbled out of the trailer like a homeless bum after he finishes his wine in the bag. Shaggy, dirty, with hay in her forelock, she looked around in fright at all of the horror struck people with gaping mouths.

I had bought a nag.

“She’s got a great disposition,” I told my disbelieving friends. “She just needs a little training and care.” They said nothing, but their lips were pursed, and their gazes turned away from my new horse and far across the field.

The trainers were ever positive, since they were being paid well to do as much as they could do in 30 days. They made no promises. We put her in her stall, which must have looked like Plum Sykes’ penthouse to her, where she ate for 2 hours straight. I named her “Tuesday.”

At first, the reports from the trainers were grim, and the other horse owners made a wide berth when we went a-walking. But then, last night, we worked her again, and the real Tuesday started to emerge. With food in her stomach, and attention directed toward her training, I could finally see a glimpse of the horse she would be. She held her head higher, her gait was more steady as she regained musculature and balance, and her willingness to please her rider was evident now that she was no longer starving.

I am not so sure she is the kind of horse I can just throw a saddle on and ride around the neighborhood.

But I am sure that she was meant to be with us at this time…to teach us that first impressions aren’t always right, no matter what psychologists say the statistics are. After all, what if she were human? Unkempt, unfed, forgotten and lost. We see them all the time, and many of us are quick to judge the external appearance rather than considering the soul that is trapped inside.

Here’s a video of the real “Tuesday” the day before I brought her home.

Living a Guilt Free Chaotic Life

Chaos as a Way of Life

Do you ever come home from work and experience this in your first ten minutes through the door:  you are attacked by the dogs, face a whining family who can’t find anything to eat despite a kitchen full of food, skid across socks on the floor, deal with piled-up mail, answer the ringing phone and encounter still-unmade beds?

I deal with this every day.  After overtime on the job, I drive home in the solitude of my car (sometimes I don’t want to get out!) only to arrive home to what should be my sanctuary, but is rather a screaming zoo of chaos.  I can barely take a breath before something else is requiring my attention, and there I stumble, one shoe still on my foot, to put out another virtual fire between demanding loved ones.

So last week, I decided to take a weekend away from all of this, and go with a friend to Las Vegas.  I had my own room, with a big fluffy bed covered in pillows, room service and curtains that blocked out the light so I could sleep late.  Three whole days to myself with no one making demands of me!

Solitude isn’t what I expected it to be

Silence. Peace. Opportunity to go within. Freedom.
Boredom!

I was lost there, with the endless shopping and sightseeing and visual treats available to me. There were so many opportunities that none of them seemed appealing–because I had no one to share them with.

Missing the Chaos

I longed to return to the noise and the craziness, because that’s where my true interaction was. Not only was I missed at home, but they missed me; for they are an integral part of me, and I had left my most integral part of behind.

Enjoying your Routine

So next time you are faced with the temper tantrums, the spilled spaghetti and towels on the floor, remember that your presence plays a large part in the growth and community of others. Their–and your–needs are important, of course. A little quiet may–or may not!–refresh you.

Forgiveness Manifested

Forgiveness the long way around

The other day, I got yelled at–rather berated–by a woman on the phone.  In my position, hanging up on the bitch isn’t an option.  She called me stupid, asked if I was new, and if I was dropped on my head as a baby.  I felt myself bubbling up inside like magma under the surface, and I was ready to blow.  Oh, the things I wanted to say to her.  But I kept my mouth shut, solved her problem without so much as a thank you, and I maintained my cool.

Until later.

All that night and the following day, I envisioned the retorts I could have dealt out to that evil woman.   I lost sleep.  I cried and lamented about the lack of compassion she felt for a person whom she had called for help.  I saw her face contorted with hurt with my cruel and vindictive statements, the way she had contorted mine.  And I knew that these thoughts had to stop, for I would only be passing on those horrible emotions to someone else.

Forgiveness even though I didn’t want to

So in the darkness of my bedroom, while trying to sleep, I forgave her for her actions. I was sure she had a bad day, and was lashing out. And I remembered times in my past where I’d done the same thing to someone else. And I let her, and the anger that had been lingering inside me, go. And I fell asleep

The Aftermath of Forgiveness

Well, a few days later, she called again. She spoke to me in kind, sweet tones, with another problem to be solved, but this time with humility. I never mentioned how my feelings were hurt by our last encounter, and I kept my tone professional and warm. And we finished the conversation with “Thank You” and “Have a wonderful day.”

There was no need to gloat about how manifestation works for me, because I know that those who focus on the positive receive it. It just took me a little mental reorganization to get there.

Learning Not to be Offended by Others’ Habits

The increasing popularity of electronic cigarettes led me to read more about the safety benefits of using them vs traditional tobacco cigarettes.  In a statement last January, Dr. Jonathan Winickoff of Harvard Medical School called the Crown7 “a thousand times safer than cigarettes.”  You can see the article here: ‘Just like the real thing’: Businesses push ‘e-cigarettes’.  My topic here isn’t whether e-cigarettes are or are not safer than tobacco, but rather how people judge those who smoke at all.

Reading the comments left on the site after the article, the page was laden with forked-tongue remarks about how weak and pathetic smokers are.  These people have decided that if you smoke, you have decided to purposely disgrace humanity with your presence in the form of second-hand smoke and tar-stained hands.  You were created to offend others simply by your habit.  Where is the compassion for those who may be struggling with a habit that’s tougher to kick than heroin?

Again, my argument here is not whether second-hand smoke is dangerous (although several recent studies have claimed that the dangers are not as real as once thought), but rather why people must feel offended at the choices of another.  Of course, smokers–along with drinkers, and those who shove down three cheeseburgers at McDonalds, and those who crack their knuckles, and those who drink wine and get behind the wheel of their car, or those that slip out an expletive now and then, or those caught by surprise by public flatulence–should keep their habits to themselves.

How many of us does that leave, then, with no habits that may offend someone?

And why are people looking so hard to be offended?  Is it because they want to elevate their own self-worth by attempting to diminish another’s?  Are we projecting here?

Simply put, if one is content with oneself, then there is no need to be offended by another’s behaviour–ever.

Choose Death and You Distribute Guilt

Recently an acquaintance chose to end her own life.  She had tried for many years to do so, and her family scrambled each time she disappeared to find her before she succeeded.  This time they failed to locate her in time, and she ended her own life locked in a hotel room.  Whether it was depression or mental illness I don’t know, and it really doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that her death affected everyone who knew her in some way.  For her family members, of course it was devastating.  To others more distant, there must be an odd curiosity as to how, or why it happened, and speculation as to what she encountered or felt during the act.

I am not here to judge; living a guilt-free life means that one can choose one’s own death if she chooses that option.  But if you’re in this same situation, please heed my words:

Guilt travels.

What I mean here is that leaving this life may seem like an escape to you, but consider what you will be leaving behind.  Of course you will leave grieving family members, but also you will leave them with unanswered questions that could never be answered in a suicide note.  You will leave guilt, my friend.  Guilt that lingers in your family members, your friends, and others you may not even know you’re affecting.  They may replay the events of the past in their heads:  Why didn’t I get her some help?  Why didn’t I lock her in a room until we could get assistance?  Why didn’t I ensure that she had someone to talk to, no matter the cost?

Now an adult knows that no one can really stop one who wants to end her life if she really wants to end it, but that, my friend, doesn’t stop the guilty emotions from surfacing in the ones you leave behind.  And if you want to leave this world to inflict guilt on others, know this:

You’re going to come back with the same lessons you have to learn in this life…and you’re going to have to face them again.  So you may as well face them now.

So, if dear friend, you are considering the act of suicide, please seek help from someone…anyone…for you are not alone, and you never were.  And send guilt –not your spirit–where it belongs–out of this world.

What’s Your Daily Guilt Scale?

Are you perfect?  If so, you can stop reading now because you and I have nothing in common.

If you’re like the rest of us, then you probably go through your day feeling bouts of both goodness and guilt.  You may look in the mirror in the early morning, give yourself a wink of self-approval, and yet at lunch you catch a glimpse of yourself  in the bathroom mirror and you feel like an inner tube in a blouse.  Goodness can be replaced with guilt in a matter of minutes based on the decisions we make.  If you are like me,  then you may decide to skip the gym because you almost fell asleep while driving home.  Or perhaps you are staring at an empty bottle of wine when you planned on having only one glass.  Or a cigarette came out of nowhere and lit itself up in front of you.

When such things happen to me, the guilt takes over and I could spiral down quickly into misery–because instead of following the straight and narrow of a freak of nature that traipses the path laid out by perfect vegan yogis, nuns and healthy triathlete doctors and have no history of risky behavior, there’s me.  I admit–even to myself–that I 0ccasionally stumble off the path, trampling the posies and stepping on  fuzzy bunnies in my failure to follow the directions of those who want me to live to be 117 so that I can buy their products.

And although I am a proponent of a guilt-free life, I experience a sense of guilt every day; yet I have remodeled my guilty inclinations into a useful scale to moderate my behavior.  My scale is represented by numbers from 1 through 10, with 1 being the absolutely most guilt-ridden and miserable a person could be, and 10 being the happiest bliss-infused rainbow-riding earth spirit that lights up the room she enters.

Now I start my morning with a rating of 10 if I’ve gotten enough sleep and I remember my wrinkle lotion.
If I eat relatively healthy food and avoid inhaling an entire pizza, my Guilt Scale stays on the high side, although other factors such as being rude to a colleague, not carrying my load at work, or flipping someone off in traffic can drag the scale down as the  day goes by. If I go to the gym rather than crapping out, the scale remains steady, because by doing so, I have contributed to my own health and happiness by my own doing.  No one forces me to go, and if I decide one day that I just don’t feel like exercising, and mentally I am OK with that, then it’s not necessary for me to reduce the guilt scale.

The whole premise behind the Guilt Scale is that we are in charge of our own lives.  We make decisions about how to treat ourselves and others, and we can use the Guilt Scale to self-assess our behavior and how we feel about who we are right now.  If we progress through our day and loosely rate the feelings and emotions related to our actions, we can reflect on whether or not we are living according to our values.  And if we live according to our values, then we show integrity.

Please let me know if this is helpful to you.

The Displacement of a Spider

This morning, while moving boxes in my garage, my son shrieked when I displaced an enormous black widow spider from her lair. I am not in the habit of killing any bug, no matter how dangerous it may be. Rather, I will capture it for a few hours, observe its habits, and then let it go. So into a Mason jar went the spider, and she resided for the day on my son’s desk next to the computer monitor. As night fell, we made a trip a mile away, and left the spider in a privet bush so that she could continue on with her life.

Back in 2005 I lost my home, my business and all my belongings in Hurricane Katrina. In a 12-hour period my entire life was transformed from a comfortable home-owning artist and entrepreneur into a homeless single mother with a confused child and three days worth of clothes in a suitcase. There are few words that can really describe the feeling of sudden hopelessness and desperation I felt in those few days after the storm.

What happened afterward was nothing short of a miracle. After sifting through what the looters left, inhaling mold and dodging rotting beams, my mind cleared and I went into survival mode. I made calls, researched my options, and made plans to put my life together again. I took donations where I used to be the one giving them (including 9 boxes sent from Microsoft–thank you!!), checked in on fellow friends in the area, and wrote down goals. I was displaced, but I was not lost.

Now the spider and I, we have a lot in common. We were both taken from our comfortable surroundings by something beyond our control, and we both ended up somewhere we never thought we’d never be. I can only hope that she rebuilds her life as well as I did, and that she enjoys her new surroundings.

Guilt-Free Secret Keeping

As we age, one of the things we (hopefully) learn is how to keep a secret. When a friend confides in you, they are demonstrating their trust in you. Yet we love to show others how much we know, whether to gain status, recognition or prestige. In my twenties, this was the thing to do–to pass on my knowledge of another’s secret situation to show that I could be trusted. What lunacy!

Now that I have passed 40, I have learned to keep my mouth shut because NOT saying anything gets me much further in life with those I really care about. Case in point:

Once, in one of my early retail jobs, a friend confided in me that he would be leaving the company. Juicy information, no doubt, since management had no idea of his impending resignation. But I wanted his hours, which were more desirable than mine. So I went right to the supervisor to ask if I could change my hours to his “if” he left. Oh, I thought I was smooth, planting that seed. But my supervisor detected my excitement, and put two and two together. Needless to say, it ended badly, because my colleague was led out the next day with no notice due to “security reasons,” and not only did I lose a friend in him, my supervisor considered me a tattletale and my hours stayed the same.

Well maybe it took me twenty years of like situations to get it through my thick skull that the value keeping a secret extends beyond a simple trust issue; and the Universe decided to test my strength on this factor once more. Fast forward to this year, when a friend let me know she was leaving her job to start her own business. Oooh, here’s the rush again, for I knew something that will impact not only my team but the possibly the entire company that employed her. But this time, I sat back and measured the consequences. Who would benefit from my keeping my mouth shut this time? Well, obviously she would, since she could continue making her business plans while still employed there; I would, since I can show that I am trustworthy. Who would suffer? The company might, as it finds itself understaffed for a time until she could be replaced.

I asked myself: who is more important to me?

Well, in the grand scheme of things, friendship trumps a job anytime. Even in this depressed economy, I wouldn’t be sitting on my deathbed worrying about whether my boss thought I was a good employee. I would be concerned that my friends considered me a reliable, loving companion. So another lesson learned, and one step closer to guilt-free secret keeping.