He’s gone.
My son. My first baby.
My Little man, that somehow became a man when I wasn’t looking. He got on a plane…and he left me, for real this time.
He left me standing here crying and wondering how to sort out these feelings between relief and excitement that keep washing over me like waves that I don’t see coming. And as I stood there watching him check in his baggage, I was lost in a whirlwind of other moments, from a hundred other points in time when I had watched him go before.
Now, just let me say, that I rarely weigh in on thee types of “hot button” issues, but this cause is way too important for me to remain mum. My silence would be paramount to culpability, and I need to be able to sleep at night with a clear conscience.
So, with that said, here are the reasons why I will be saying NO to the new Unicorn Frappuccino…
First and foremost, it’s not vegan.
And thank goodness I don’t have to worry about this particular conundrum, since clearly, if it’s in fact made with real Unicorns, its totally NOT vegan.
Secondly, I am not a monster.
But, if I were a carnivore of mystical creatures, I would be curious to know if it is derived from organic, sustainable Unicorn magic, or if the “mystical” components are just refined pre-packaged concentrated whimsy, or processed imitation rainbows from a can.
It’s important to be informed about the widespread use of GMU’s (genetically modified Unicorn’s).
We’ve all been there before. Post bad haircut, second-guessing our decision to be brave, and waiting for it to grow out with painstaking regret..and a new hat.
It’s only hair, right?
It will grow back, right?
I get that, I really do. But in order to understand why it’s so much more than that, you have to also understand what it represents, what it symbolizes, and why losing it and letting it go are two totally different things.
Long hair in literature is well documented as a sign of importance for various reasons. Samson’s hair was the root of his virility and strength. Lady Godiva would not have been half as memorable without her trademark long tresses. And of course there was Rapunzel.
But what about Rapunzel?
How would she have ever been rescued from the tower without her long flowing locks to aid in her liberation? She probably could have freed herself by chopping off her braid and using it mount a daring escape… but that’s not how the story goes. Actually, that’s not how any of the stories went when I was growing up.
Barbie had her Ken, Sleeping Beauty needed the Prince’s kiss to awaken her, Cinderella waited for Prince Charming to scoop her up out of abject servitude, and Snow White relied on the Seven Dwarves to protect her from the wrath of the jealous evil Queen.
But I always felt a little bit more like “Snow Off-White” in my early 20’s. I was the designated good natured chubby friend that was relegated to entertaining the awkward third wheel friend of the cute guy that was flirting with my gorgeous Malibu Barbie roommate. Making tedious conversation to pass the time, sipping wine coolers until she was ready for me to drive her home. Sadly, back then, the only (real life) Seven Dwarves that I ever encountered were Itchy, Scratchy, Burpie, Sleazy, Humpy, Gropey, and Prick.
I grew up envying Farrah Fawcett’s long feathery locks, the perfect coiffes of Charlie’s Angels, and Christie Brinkley’s flowing mane. Not to mention every Whitesnake video featuring a wild haired token beauty with her lustrous tendrils blowing in the wind in hair band slo-mo. Even Daryl Hannah in Splash, with her shock of blonde Mermaid hair adornment bewitched and beguiled me.
I wanted Mermaid hair.
I wanted what I never had. Continue reading Relinquishing Rapunzel
on yet another year,
She wondered if it was finally her time.
To live for herself,
and take her life off the shelf,
To tackle that mountain and climb.
But the journey seemed far,
and she had waited so long,
She’d grown weary from inside the gate,
She had learned how to be,
while dreaming to be free,
And she now pondered if it was too late. Continue reading The Gift
istockphoto.com
I honestly did believe that I had solved my problem. That I had moved past what was holding me back, and freed myself from all of the things that had kept me trapped inside of myself all of those years. I thought it was over once I finally shed the weight.
After all, I had worked really hard to lose over 150 pounds. I had put my nose to the grind stone and sacrificed more than I ever thought I could to give myself a chance at a healthy life. I put 100% of my effort into changing my life for the better, and I was hell-bent on never looking back. I was never going back to the way things were. I was adamant that I was never going to allow myself to undo what I had so purposefully done. And I wasn’t even a tiny bit worried that I might falter. I was Teflon, and I had put on a brave face.
That was my first mistake.
Because, truth be told, deep down, there was a lingering doubt. I always did feel like it was a little too good to be true. I had such great success all during my weight loss journey, that I started to wonder if I was just fooling myself. And the closer that I got to my final goal, I began to get nervous.
I had tried so many times to lose the weight in the past, so what had been so different this time? What was the catch?
Something had always happened.
Invariably something unforeseen would get in the way and derail me. Always my success would be hindered by some form of self sabotage, or an inevitable motivation meltdown.
I started having an undercurrent of anxiety the closer I got to my goal, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was outwardly excited and eager to finish what I had started, but still secretly cautious of failure. And as a result, I began having a recurring nightmare that I couldn’t shake. It was always there on the outskirts of my consciousness haunting me. Continue reading The Year of the Purge
In the silence of the Winter,
the snow,
it is said,
makes not a sound,
as it falls to its bed.
But the deepest of silences,
results in a hush-
As the caw of the raven reminds not to rush. Continue reading The Hush
It was a dark and chilly day in November.
And after what had seemed like an endless ride up to the surgical floor, I found myself peering out of the 3rd story window, nervously playing with the zipper on my jacket and looking down, out onto the street below. My chestnut hair was tied back into a ponytail and my flip-flops were still wet from the downpour in the parking lot.
My sister had gone to the front desk to check me in for my surgery.
A week before, when my doctor had given me the bad news, it had been hard to hear anything else hopeful that she had said after that. What has started out as anemia at a regular doctors appointment had lead me to a hematologist and then had snowballed into something much bigger after a visit to my OB/GYN.
It had all happened so fast.
The word “tumors” had to rung in my ears, and sent a panic into my otherwise ordinary life. Then after monitoring the situation closely for a few weeks I was disheartened to hear that they had grown exponentially, to a dangerously volatile size. So in light of this new sense of urgency we had opted for the surgery in the hopes of possibly getting ahead of it.
I had asked if we could wait till after the holidays. but after seeing the progression and how rapidly the situation was worsening, my doctor said that it would not be a good idea to wait.
So here I was, inside my own nightmare wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The worst part was, that we wouldn’t even fully know the scope of the issues until the surgery had begun. Only then would we know what exactly we were dealing with. So I had no idea if I would wake up and go home with a huge sigh of relief, or if I was going to awaken to even more jarring news and be facing something much more daunting.
The unknown outcome hung over me like a thick fog, and I had been dreading this day as it ticked closer. I was becoming very familiar with the idea of my own mortality, and it was frightening.
I was terrified.
And it felt like the last normal day of my life. Continue reading The Girl in the Window
Same Hat, Different Me 