"Do you smoke it or eat it?"
As most people know, I hear some weird stuff at Starbucks; but this was a partuclarly strange day. Next to me sat two older men discussing the pros and cons of medical marijuana and dispensaries. It is personally telling that in my younger days I would have been terrified of them.... packed up my stuff and moved at least across the room, if not left altogether. (I'm not sure what I thought was going to happen; perhaps I'd get caught in the crossfire of a doobie battle?) Now, with more maturity, and a blog to write, I stayed and pretended to type while I listened in on their discussion. Who knew that there is a form of marijuana that you can apparently rub on like an ointment? Certainly not me. One of the guys seemed to have a medical condition that allowed him to use medical marijuana... and according to him, it really helped. Now, I don't know what the condition was (and as much as I like to overhear interesting things, that would have been too personal, so I didn't even try.) But, whatever the reason, it reminded me that everything is a matter of perspective. I thought the same thing last night as I listened to the State of the Union. I am awefully grateful to have a home, food on my table and security for myself and my family. And somehow it is far easier for me to relate or at least sympathize with the perspective of those who don't have all that. What IS tough for me, though, is to think like someone in the 1%. I am scared to even let myself go there. Why? because I am not sure, that given their perspective I might not make similar choices. Isn't it possible I would take advantage of loopholes and beneficial treatment to protect my wealth? Even at the expense of the 99%? I really hope not, but I am afraid the answer could easily be yes. Aren't we all, to some degree, protective of what we have. I've often joked that I carry a small purse because, no matter what the size, I always manage to fill it. There is always room for more in my mind.... not just in my purse, but in my life. So, how then would someone convince me that what I have is enough and it is time to share? I think it may be about reframing the question.... all the way back to the original thought: why do I protect what I have? In my Catholic upbringing I was taught that God will provide. It is clear I do not trust this. Mother Theresa.... yes, she clearly had faith in this concept. Me? No.... I still fight against the proverb that is is more difficult for a rich man to enter heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Like the gentleman at Starbucks, though, I would not be surprised if life didn't throw me a curveball at some point simply to test my beliefs. It is not as simple as either or.... either marijuana is right or it is wrong... either I give away all I have or I horde it. I think it is about working to understand that, with or without mood altering substances, we can be open to and accept many different perspectives as true.
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"I may be staring over your shoulder through some of dinner."
Last night some wonderful friends, who also happen to be my neighbors, threw a surprise party for me to celebrate fulfilling my dream of publishing. There is much I could say about this.... how having them recognize the importance of this accomplishment made it even more real for me... how the large group of friends that surrounded me reaffirmed the incredibly fortunate life I have... how fun it was to talk about my work with friends who have only seen the external aspects of what I do; but what I wanted to blog about today, was the incredibly important role my husband has played in my writing career. The overhear was from him.... we were sitting in the fancy restaurant, and he was watching the football playoff game on a small TV across the room. I had been confused about why we were even going out because his favorite team, the Giants, were playing. I knew how important the game was to him so I couldn't imagine what kind of date could be so compelling. I should have realized it was about my writing. Almost anything else in our life together is negotiated.... where we vacation, who we have over for dinner, what activities our daughter does.... but not writing. From the very beginning my husband has made my writing a priority in our life. He seemed to understand the importance of it in my psyche even before I did. .. but let me go back. It was the year 2000 and we had just moved back to the U.S. from England. I was burnt out. I had been in an amazing job in England working with a great team on an online content strategy for Barclays Bank. It was energizing and exciting to be part of something so relevant, but it was also exhausting.... especially adding in a 3 hour commute each day. When we got to Boston, we both decided I would take a break. What about earning money, I asked.... my income had been a significant contribution to our household to that point. No, I needed a break, he assured me. I needed to write. It felt like a boondoggle.... a scam. I didn't have to go into an office? I got to enjoy a coffee at Starbucks and do something I loved to do anyway? How was that not a trick? Fast forward 11 years. I am sitting at a table, surrounded by friends, explaining how I got here. Talking about the years when I was afraid to call myself a writer out loud. Talking about the work of creating and editing. Signing the dinner party menus so that my friends would have my signature to keep. And.... still feeling like I have gotten away with something. I look at my husband, he is watching me and the friends at the table, not the tv and I am reassured. This is how I know I am an author. Not because I am published, not because I have the skills, but because, on a night when my husband's own interest is competing, he is here, fully present with me and my writing career. BTW - the Giants won, 20 to 17. Superbowl Sunday is all about him! GO GIANTS! |
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June 2020
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