woke…

Hello, sweetlings! Yes, it has been forever and a day since I made an appearance, have no excuse other than life taking up WAY more hours as of late than anticipated, lol! =) This post is dedicated to my friends at Pine Ridge Reservation, may you all fight the good fight and find peace at long last.

I hate to start this beautiful new year off with a call to action… wait a second, no, I do not, I LOVE IT! This is our country, people, WE the people. Not the few electorates that are abusing their power, the power that we so willingly gave to them to avoid having to make the hard decisions ourselves…

Let’s face it, that is what our government is, a governing body of people who are impassioned, about what we really have no clue, but people who are willing to get up early every morning, be unpopular, make hard and sometimes, even the hardest decisions. For a salary, yes. For power, to be certain. But also to keep Joe Everyman from having to deal with the realities of life under the horrendous​ conditions that untold generations before us led us to today.

No blame, no particular country here… I am an equal opportunity offender today, peeps! Let me continue down this particular rabbit hole, the beauty of the anonymity​ of online discourse is that I will never know if you start to read a post and leave in a disgusted, or amused, huff. =)

A lie passed down by a culture becomes a tradition​. This is NOT to say EVERYTHING is a lie, or every tradition is bad. Breathe, and listen. So, this “lie,” that brown-skinned people are less capable than whites, perhaps, or that homelessness comes from laziness, or that a woman who dresses skimpily deserves to be assaulted, is repeated over and over until it becomes the “truth” for a particular culture. The story justifies the resultant behavior. This is the propaganda​ machine at work. Say anything often enough, loudly enough, and at some point, it changes from ridiculous to TRUTH.

I ask one thing of you, my long-suffering friends. Do NOT be so far removed from critical thinking that you accept the life our government needs us to participate in. Our morals are a LEARNED behavior set, really and for true. I know thinking about difficult matters is, well, difficult. I too would rather eat spicy pumpkin tempura and drink cold beer while playing cards with my friends. But this is MY life, YOUR life, and if we do not allow our voices heard, an elected official will speak​ for us. We still have power, my friends, in numbers. Add your voice to a conversation you support, and do NOT allow the machine to silence you! Change is hard won, but worth the struggle in the end. Are you with me, peeps? I know we are tired, hungry, over-worked, marginalized​, without appropriate​ housing​ or roads, or access to medical care. But we are here, we out-number the 1% by 99%, and if you think we cannot do anything to change the status quo, how about we ALL, every single working class person in the good old US of A, decide NOT to go to work tomorrow? Or the day after? A few days of literally NOTHING opening, working on schedule, or being available is a simple way of becoming visible. I know, sounds so easy, of COURSE there is sacrifice involved. I would be hard-pressed to lose a few days pay as well… but that is not the point. The point is that for all we feel powerless, we STILL have the ability to change things.

It is 2018, and I really hoped that by this time in our history, we would have our collective shite together. But it’s not too late. Please remember​ that you have fight left in you. It isn’t “fair” that we have to fight so long and hard, but we CAN change things if we band together and fight for common goals. I will be in the trenches right along with you, my friends, trying to create a sustainable world for our kid’s kids, and so on. I know I personally will not realize the full rewards of my hard work, but that’s what life is all about. Continuity and passing​ it forward. Much love and respect to you all, my fellow believers in something better to come!

reasons why my ex is not Satan…

It is sad-making as well as appalling the number of women who broil their ex-significant others online, be it in their own space or on any number of social media websites. The irony is that as adults, we all know that once we put things out there, there can be no guarantee or privacy, and while I do understand the therapeutic quality of letting go once and again, am curious to what end these rants accomplish. Is it to feel empowered, to feel safe, or simply one-upmanship?

I am not speaking of people who endured abuse, regardless of situation, but of those who are getting a fair sum of money, support for their children, and in some cases, even a birthday card or two. WHY do humans delight in mudslinging over acts of kindness? In shrieking with laughter at the discomfort of others, when we know how painful discomfort is? Why must the collective WE continue to disappoint, wallowing in the base reactions of humanity instead of finding ways to uplift us all?

I am writing today about my own Hubby-no-More. He will not see this post, so it is not self-serving in this way, but in another, one for just me, and those of you who decide to grab a coffee and read my meager words. I am here to say that despite our differences, discomforts, and even down-right fights, my ex is not the enemy. Sure, he stands for a life wrenched from me, but one I also willingly mentally vacated years before his courage brought us to a sad goodbye. Without further ado, here are a few reasons why he is not Public Enemy #1, Mr. Hyde, Dorian Gray, or any other manner of wretched human being that so many claim to have shared part of a life with.

1. He willingly gives me more, by a good percentage, than the court requires.
2. He pays for ALL of our foxling’s medical care, including insurance, co-pays, therapy, meds, and everything else, literally, leaving me with a 0% liability.
3. He does these things so I can stay in school without working, thereby allowing me to qualify for scholarships not otherwise available to me, as well as allowing me to keep the near-perfect GPA.
4. He encouraged me to re-sign my lease for another year, at an increased cost to himself, in order to give me weekly access to our child, even though said child is almost​ 17 and really couldn’t care less if I resided here or on Mars. =)
5. He responds to my texts usually within 24 hours, even when he pulls a 12-hour​ shift at the hospital. This is better than my school advisor, mother, and several friends. ​
6. His girlfriend invited me over to meet their new kittens, because I do not have any of my own, and we visited all morning without weirdness. Ok, this one really isn’t him per se, but it was his house, and his kittens​, so it counts in my book.

I could go on, but have classes this afternoon, a presentation, and working on an independent research proposal for next spring. My point? I realize many people, both men and women, have an ogre for an ex. BUT… not all of us do. Not every human in possession of a dick is a dick. And for us to air only our dirty laundry instead of our blessings is to perpetuate the stigma surrounding divorce and parenthood under less-than-ideal​ circumstances. I am tired of reading only about the negative, so thought I would​ share some positive vibes. Please chime in if you have something​ to share. Thanks as always for being there, peeps… Have a lovely!

a sad realization​…

Try as I might to blog on a more regular basis, school has really been ramping up and when looking for ways to squeeze extra minutes from the daylight hours, small spaces like this one get pushed to the back burner, then the broom closet, perhaps put in the trunk with the clothing donation I still need to drop off…

Applaud if you can relate…! =)

I am enjoying my cross-cultural education class, as well as the inquiry-based technology class this term. But I have a small seed of unease growing in my tummy, right nest to the watermelon seed I accidently ate last summer… As I turn further away from the mechanics and beauty of the written and spoken word to focus on hypothetical classroom scenarios that will apply to, at best, 10% of the graduating teachers who land sought after spots in affluent districts, I realize a little more of my spark is extinguished each day. I am most emphatically NOT looking for that cushy job with a Keurig in each of the 4 teacher’s lounges; instead, I am searching for the poorest school, the one in which the children desperately need every moment of instruction that I can dole out, until I finish the Doctorate program, after which I can live my passion by relocating and working for a Tribal school out west, where my heart resides and is whispering to me still…

Here is a statement that is going to break the internet… but I need to say it, because I am exhausted by the now-familiar undertone that my professors and classmates alike have when speaking to my specifically. It is not my fault I am white…

I am a 40soemthing, white woman. I did not order this body or these life circumstances, but I am in possession of them, and like people of every other color out there, I am trying to live my best, authentic life within the confines of said life. Every suggestion I make, no matter if it comes robbed shamelessly from the professor’s textbook itself, is met with “Well, ok, but the kids REALLY don’t need another white teacher to go in and save them.” Ok, valid point, but I do not want to SAVE them, I want to EDUCATE them. Maybe then, with a solid background and degree, they can go back to their towns and teach their children in a way that I cannot because I do not share their cultural similarities. Additionally, I am not looking at a “me versus them” scenario, instead I see myself as a resource that ALL my students can utilize to reach their own, best potential. I have to say it just one more time, I am not white because I tried to be white, I am because I was born this color, and no amount of tanning will erase my Scots lineage. And I am exhausted beyond belief from constantly apologizing for myself, and trying to smallerize my big and happy self in order to appease other students, who are getting a mere fraction of my GPA. Perhaps if more time were spent in studying and pursuit of the A, and less time criticizing my innate desire to push forward equality, everyone would have the grades I work so hard for, and the opportunities and scholarships these hard-won grades have EARNED me. But today, these “perks” are not seen as my hard work, but as something I was handed, due to my skin color. What no one in class sees is my anxiety over how I am going​ to pay rent without working and thereby making myself ineligible for thousands of tax-free scholarship dollars, or how my insurance tax credits got revoked, cancelling my policy, because I earned $499 more dollars, for a total of $17,620 in 2015. Or the fact that I take care of my car because it is an affordable lease that I am trying​ to keep spotless so I do not pay damage fees when I return it, even though it has a smooshed front bumper from a trip to the grocers. They do not see that I am a part-time mother​ who sees her child on the weekends only, during which time I am frantically working to keep that GPA up in my 6-7 classes a term, while my contemporaries take 4 classes and live on campus. I do not wear fancy clothes or have a nice haircut not because I am “old and lazy,”but because I simply cannot afford​ them. Funny… were my skin ANY other color, I would be told I am being marginalized. But I am white, so I am merely complaining.

And this group of “peers” is the ones who I will be spending the next 3 years with. No, they are not the teachers and families I will be interacting​ with in South Dakota, or New Mexico, but it is a long, hard road to that point, and I am tired. So let’s just say that skin color has nothing to do with one’s​ ability to be exhausted by the bullshit that life throws our way in the form of small-minded people. And maybe, in the future, we can celebrate our differences, and when we see someone trying to help those who have been given less-than, we can support them, regardless of their age, color, or pant size.

hello, wednesday…

It does not escape me that I am an English major, one who has found a passion for the structured intricacies​ of form and function rules of our ever-adapting language, yet I insist on NOT capitalizing the titles of posts. Is this a quirk, an unconscious play on words, or simply a middle finger thrown at the thesis board committee? Probably a mix of the three, as we have already established I am rather a complex creature… =)

At any rate, I find another week half gone, January melting away faster than the disappearing snow from the filthy shrubs lining my Little House in the Big Wood. I was tempted to set aside my schoolwork today and chat here by an unexpected visit from an old bloggity friend. I realized last night that I miss the interaction with you all, the ones who have been around for the long haul, and the new ones who have such insight to share with yours truly.

However, as previously discussed, I am metamorphosizing at an alarming rate, and my wants and needs develop and shift seemingly with the wind. Of course, there is more to it that that… I am becoming something more, something new, improved, and focused. As it is with everyone, I must decide what I want, what I need, and where this space fits into my increasingly busy days. I can tell you that I am here to stay, even when it seems I have disappeared. =)

So what has this student been up to as of late? I am taking 5 upper-level courses this semester, with EDU designators, finally signifying my first steps toward licensure​ in my chosen field. I am also enjoying my Chaucer class, much to my amazement and delight​. It is frightfully hard, and my professor is so brilliant​ my head hurts after a convo with her, but after only 3 lectures I have already learned SO MUCH! While I am not going to take my grad degree in Medieval Literature, this does prepare me well for my Senior Seminar, as well as meeting ALL upper-level​ requirements for both school and state. So I was able to make a truly smart choice when registering, for a change. Feels good to be a bit in control, even if it is only the illusion of control and nothing like the real thing… I wonder how I will fit back into the “real” world once my degrees are done, and “all” I have​ to do is work, and not plan every decision 9 months ahead? ​My sweet Paul, 21 months into our relationship (how the HELL has it been so long already??!!), still does not “get” my need to constantly do so much ahead of time. His work as a lineman consists basically of putting out fires all day. Something​ breaks, he fixes it. Something blows up, he replaces it. Tornado blows away lines, he strings new. Drunk driver rams pole​ at midnight, his crew is there to dig a spot to plunk down a new one. All this while dealing with enough voltage to literally disintegrate anyone foolish enough to not be completely aware​ of their surroundings every moment of the obligatory 20-hour​ shifts… in other words, he REACTS. It suits him; he is great under pressure, calm in an emergency. But planning ahead? Not so much. Where he has spent the last 20 years trying to not burst into flames, I have spent the last 3 laying foundations for professional exams 2 years out. Ridiculous, no? How will I ever learn to live in the present again? I am hoping with enough homework-free weekends and cold beer, I will adjust just fine.

And here I am once again, not saying anything of real import, but blathering on in true Tish-fashion. But as you all know me so well, I am hoping you would not have it any other way. Namaste, peeps. Glad to be back, and glad that you decided to stick around. =)

haiku…

Tuesday looms ahead,
Park, walk, vote, hurry straight away…
Exercise your right!

I know, way too formulaic and without a shred of creativity, but brain being utilized now with research pertaining to environmental history; not much else left in there.

I will not presume to tell anyone how to vote. I will not presume to know the path best for this country. I will not presume that I could do a better, or more inclusive, job. BUT… I will say that the citizens of this country have not only rights but responsibilities. I will say that even when we want to hide under the bed until December and hope this was all a bad hallucination, we are RESPONSIBLE for maintaining our current government until such time as we see fit to COLLECTIVELY change the status quo. I will say that if you hate the candidates PERSONALLY so very much, perhaps try to separate​ them from their stance on the issues. Make a spreadsheet, circle those opinions which align with your​ own, tally up the circles, and vote for that candidate. FORGET party lines, personalities, crude remarks, questionable attire, smiles that seem too sincere, or not sincere enough. THINK about what is important to you and yours. THINK of what you hold most dear, and how to either maintain or improve upon it. THEN… if you STILL cannot find a way to get yourself​ to the voting booth, understand that opting out is not an answer, and it might be time for you to put your money where your mouth is. To advocate for change, run for office, support third-party candidates… the list goes on. But by all that is holy and for fuck’s sake, peeps, DO SOMETHING! Because sitting on the couch in your pajamas, eating cheese curls and flinging them at the television in disgust while whining is simply NOT going to create a nation anyone wants to inhabit. Love to everyone, and much respect. Please remember your voice this coming Tuesday, and take one second to be thankful that while we live somewhere imperfect and broken, we STILL have a chance to create a better tomorrow. Namaste!

tupac and mis-education…

Yes, I realize I am a white female, formerly of upper-middle class means. Yes, I realize some of you may dismiss my words because of the aforementioned niche I find myself in. But I have eyes and ears, I have used that past money to travel and volunteer, and I have seen and heard things that made my blood boil, and made me fear for those of you not protected by the insulating layer of white privilege I have spent much of my life under, until I stood alongside those of you of richer colors, fighting for change, and your glorious shades began to bleed over onto my embarrassingly pale flesh…

He was by no means a saint, but he was not all sinner either. Tupac was a man of complex ideals, a poet and a provider, an activist yet also someone who spent more than a few nights behind bars, often admitting to the 9 kinds of wrong he had been up to, and often not, as the case may be. But do the negative aspects of his life necessarily negate the man’s entire existence? I think not, and hope for my own sake that I am correct, or we all will be in for a world of hurt in the afterlife…

I re-read Woodson’s “The mis-education of The Negro” recently, and the words seeped into my soul as they did dozens of years ago, in becoming aware that what African American children were being taught later “crystalized into deep-seated insecurities, intra-racial cleavages, and interracial antagonisms.” How can a book written in 1933 be so relevant today, heartbreakingly correct STILL in the admonishment that we are literally forcing a sub-par life onto some of our nation’s best and brightest?! How can race STILL be an issue, in the year 2016CE??!!

So while I finished up another paper detailing another painting of white people by even more white people, I am listening to Mary J and Tupac and Erykah and thinking how different my life would be were I born in Color… I am wondering why we insist on white-washing our history, our nation, our children, and yet, millions are spent at tanning salons every year in the good ol’ US of A, presumably to make us white ones darker… anyone else see the fucked-upped-ness of that situation, folks?! This still feels dangerous to me, this intolerance that has not for one second let up. Rev Dr. Martin Luther King, Malcom X, Dubois and Washington and Haley and Hurston and Hughes and Ellison… all dead and gone, and everything they stood for and stood against, namely the uplifting of the African American and the defeat of bigotry, people, is still a struggle here and now, today, right this second on our collective experience. Isn’t it about damned time we let all this hatred and fear go, and embrace the possibility that we can be great together? She sighs and heads into the kitchen to make popcorn and coffee, too upset to eat a real dinner, and realizes she will not let her child relax with friend this evening, but will lecture them and get them to embrace their inner activist, in the hopes of a brighter and more colorful future… exit stage left, cue curtain.

 

the cusp of…?

Ooh, I am in SUCH a period of growth right now!!! I feel like I am stretching the confines of my soil, my roots exploding beneath me even as I raise my head to the sun and grow, grow, GROW!!!

It is an awesome feeling in every sense of the word, and is accompanied by no small sense of wonder, and if I am honest, unease. For while I know I am getting closer to the precipice, I am on the cusp of… well, of what exactly?

If you have been here any amount of time, you will know by now that I am in tune with the seasons, and I ebb and flow right along with the Solstices and Equinoxes. I grow, then prune out of necessity, and after a period of stagnation, new and unexpected areas explode with passion and purpose.

Many aspects of myself and where I am going in this life have changed drastically, yet the underlying themes are always the same… being of service, living and playing close to the water, creating meaningful relationships, being  good steward of this beautiful planet, tonnage but a few. Even my writing has evolved through the years, and I was recently told by a professor that if Hemingway and Jamaica Kincaid had a baby, it would be my prose. =) Flattering to the nth degree, yet what am I to do with this knowledge?

So here I am smiling and windswept, at the edge of my cliff. Seaspray whispers across my arms as grasses caress my toes as I inch closer to the rocky precipice. In my mind’s eye, I can hear the gulls crying in the distance, and my heart beats in time with their calls, as the words “To what end?” pulse through my veins.

I should be working on yet another paper, but I am taking the day off to allow my soul to speak to me, promising that I’ll listen and not be distracted this time. I packed a bag with fruit, water, and some nuts and laced up my hiking boots. My ball cap is on, sunglasses perched atop, and I am heading out the the forest that dumps out at my favorite dam. After some invigorating me time, I’ll stop at the library and explore some unfamiliar genre’s, such as Gothic literature. And just maybe in the next few days I’ll have some news for you all. Here’s wishing each and every one of you a beautiful day of discovery and light. Namaste, peeps. =)

blood is thicker than…?

My kiddo came out to a family member recently. I was proud of him (my kiddo, new pronouns, hard for me to remember so don’t feel too confused), and encouraging while that sinking feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, knowing all too well the way “love” in my family has a tendency to be fleeting, conditional, and cruel at the best of times. Admitting to being a trans child is not the best of times…

The response was lightning quick, and pc in all the right ways. I got an email as well, informing me that kiddo had reached out, and that love was always freely given, because, my “kid could be an axe murderer and even if one may not appreciate it, love is tougher than that to kill.”

I should be happy with that response, I should thank my lucky stars and the family member for allowing my child to be who he wants to be. But the comparison was made to an axe murderer. Is this purely a generational thing, or more imperfect love? Am I being too sensitive, and need to suck it up, or is this a symptom of the growing gulf between this person and I, and therefore, my kiddo? Is this another reminder of the unending litany of ways I have managed to fuck up everything I touch, that I am again seen as being cute as I work thru my struggles in life, struggles this person has figured out and is merely waiting for me to get there? Ah… co-dependency, two sided swords, family. Sigh.

I am in unfamiliar waters here, and the growing feeling of unease between this person and I is not letting up. I depended on this person to come thru for me, as promised, but things did not go as stated and I am now uncomfortable when I needn’t be. This person has begun making excuses for others who are acting inappropriately, and then projects onto me that perhaps I am just too judgmental. I am facing the decision to either accept this person for the flawed human we all are, or discontinue contact. Again, choice would be easy if not for them being close family. Again, sigh.

So this post comes from a confused place, and from a person who tries to accept all beings as being where they are, and who they need to be. But this does not mean I have to put myself in a position of being hurt and smallerized just so they can be who they are. Decisions, decisions. I would normally drown myself in fair-trade coffee and hike until legs fall off, but it is 91 degrees out, knee is still out of whack, and coffee is making me barf. My other two stress relievers other than 30second dance party and working out are fantastic sex and reading. Paul is at his home for the weekend (sob, no sex) so that leaves books. I am happy to report that in my infinite wisdom, while the heat increased early this morning, I had the foresight to stop at the library, so now have a couple of Oates’ books to occupy my brain. Have had a few suggestions from Alice, and wish I had managed to get back before closing time, but there is always next week for those little gems. =)

I think I am going to eat a sandwich… GASP, bread, irk??! Slushy almost-frozen apple juice and watermelon and a good book stretched out on couch trying not to let boobs melt off… yeah, it is hot in my den this evening. Sounds like a plan. Talk again soon, peeps, and thanks for letting me vent. Any advice on how to allow family members to be themselves while maintaining your sanity? Really want my knee to mend just a bit faster, if I can’t jog thru the woods pretty soon, I am going to go round the bend! =)

r.i.p., fishwich…

The first death in our almost-blended family-type unit… that it was a 6 inch fish with a penchant for biting doesn’t lessen the poignancy of the moment.

Thank ALL that is holy, Paul unexpectedly came over last night and was able to rid the tank of the poor, slimy creature that had apparently been stewing in his own juice the entire day as I was in class and orientation. Perfect timing, Fishwich. The life of a pet owner, sigh.

Rigor mortis still had the yellow-grey body in its grasp, and Paul almost dropped it out of the scoopy net and onto my bedroom carpet…Sobbing and screeching, I hid under the covers after flinging an entire linen closet shelf’s worth of bath towels at him, which now need to be double washed or I will NEVER use them again… stop laughing, he did that enough last night for all you all readers, thank you very much! I am glad he had the foresight to fling the corpse into the woods at the back of the complex, or I never would have gone again into our back yard area, for fear of encountering a cat-eviscerated spine or head staring blankly up at me… eww…

So… I was at school yesterday and had the requisite swag bestowed upon me by the VERY bouncy student advisory team, the collective age of whom was less than mine, lol. Nothing makes me feel quite as old as being in a room with 25 tan and willowy rising Juniors, eager to impress us with their backflips and typing skillz… weird combination, I know, but still quite impressive to behold, sans coffee and freezing in my middle-agedness.

I am in all A levels, making me feel rather like the Sorting Hat put me in the best house. 17 credits didn’t sound like much while I was registering, but facing the stack of books this morning and filling in my day planner, the familiar “oh shit” moment grabs me and I wonder, for the umpteenth time, what the HELL I am doing. Oh, I know I will end up satisfied, happy, and in possession of that elusive PhD., as that is my nature and success follows me, if I bother with the effort. But every few years, after achieving a preliminary goal, I am scooted right back to the beginning steps of the next goal, and would very much like to be stagnant for a few years, you know, to breathe and all. =) How can I work on my novel if I am busy with maths (again??!!) and mentoring and the dreaded PRAXIS exams? So I better pour another cup of coffee and relax on the back patio with that stack of books and the scent of tomatoes wafting pleasantly toward my smiling face with just one more little “crinkle” around the mouth than last year.

Have a beautiful day, peeps. Anyone else working toward a new career or promotion these days? Best of luck if so, and congrats if not. =) Wishing you all light and love, and no end to happiness… =)

 

we are our actions…

We become what we do, there is no way to argue this fact. What we decide to do on a daily basis creates in us habits, ways of thinking and reacting to stimuli in similar situations. Karma kicks in, synapses fire and remember, and BAM, we have become our actions.

Goes hand in hand with the old adage “you are what you eat.” And “fake ’till you make it.” And all that jazz…

Celebrating another trip around the sun does this to me, pulls that introspective streak of mine to the surface and makes me question everything. Yes… EVERYTHING. And everyone. And their actions and reactions, ad nauseam. I am thinking specifically of one person today, gotten done examining my own life under the microscope and finding it slightly lacking but pretty fucking great, nonetheless.

This man used to be kind. Or at least, some semblance of that word. He would be there for you, ask after you and yours, offer support and decency. He had a temper but worked to show you he cared… until he didn’t feel like it anymore, I suppose.

The change was not overnight, but gradual over years. He went from sharing laughter with strangers to literally throwing a fit in a restaurant over the server’s inability to speak english in a manner that he thought was appropriate. He has spent the last decade embarrassing his family, alienating his friends, and ensuring his children do not speak to him other than on Father’s day once a year for the obligatory 5 minute discussion.

He yells, he carries on, he frightens the grandkids… and he is my father. So of course, I try to pick apart his life to find the catalyst that drove him to this abhorrent way of living, desperate to find the cause of the change so I can hopefully avoid the same fate. Because, well, genetics.

My sister and mother make every excuse in the book for him, and for my nephew’s abusive behavior, as well. The happy-pretend bubble will pop at some point, I am sure, and am thankful I am far enough away to not feel the brunt of the explosion…

So today I remind myself, remind YOU, that we are what we allow us to become. We are our words, our actions, our our jokes, and our work ethic. We are our beliefs and our desires. We are, in short, everything we ALLOW OURSELVES TO BECOME. So please, the next time you are faced with making an ethical choice, as defined by your own morality, please consider the ramifications of allowing yourself to slip, just this once. Because chances are, it will not be just a one time reaction.

Be the best version of you possible. Own your faults and shortcomings, mistakes and missteps. Then learn from them, and be the controlling power in your own existence. For every one of you reading this today, I am grateful that you decided to stop by my little part of The Big Woods and even bigger blogosphere. Namaste, peeps… I am rooting for us all.