I once had a Drill Sergeant tell me that false motivation was better than no motivation at all. He was a very kind man who quoted 'The Princess Bride' and who compared me to Professor Xavier when was I afraid that I would be an unfit Platoon leader after sustaining a fairly serious injury during training. He never yelled at or embarrassed or put anyone down and for this we were grateful. We respected him. He motivated us by encouraging us, and when that was not enough, he told us to "buck up" and fake it and if we faked it long enough, perhaps we would find that it would become natural. Like being motivated could be a learned behavior. This was a revolutionary concept to me and it is one that has served me well.
I've taken a thirteen day hiatus from writing because I have had no motivation, fake or otherwise. The problem with faking motivation is that it takes discipline in the beginning and I've been doing well to trudge through my daily life and to fall in bed at the end of it while trying to not think of the all things that I need to do, let alone want to do. I'm spread thin. Not time wise, really, but emotionally. I'm drained and I've let slide the things that make life enjoyable and worth living, leaving me in the midst of a pretty bleak existence.
I love to write and this project is cathartic, but lately I have felt blocked. I'm writing about my life and I'm blocked! This is a problem. I've had moments of true, unabashed motivation and inspiration and in these moments I decide that I will write one, two times daily. I'll write inspiring posts that make others want to join in. Millions of subscribers will be helped and encouraged daily and they will add to the collective stories of others and they will reconnect with people they lost touch with ages ago, or seek solace in the words of others, or turn a new leaf and find the courage to change their lives. And then I sit down at the computer to write my world-changing posts and it goes something like this:
Check email. Open Blogger. Tap pen against teeth. (I keep a pen at hand because I write notes on paper to help me think. I'm old school that way.) Go over notes for inspiration. Check Facebook. Make up title for post and realize that I don't even know what I'm going to write about. Delete title. Look at cute animal pictures on internet. Close Blogger. Look at more cute animal pictures. Feel guilty for not writing and promise myself that I will write two posts tomorrow.
The conclusion I have come to is that motivation, in any form, is essential to progress but that follow-through is just as important and in fact, may be even more important in the long run. I am learning that I need to grasp onto those rare bursts of motivation and inspiration and make the most of them but if I'm not productive for a period of time, it's not the end of the world. I will be disappointed in myself but the world will not end. People will not be hurt and no harm will be done. If I am able to stay motivated and productive, perhaps more people will read and contribute to my blog and this will further motivate me. It's a cycle, but not a vicious one. My personal challenge is to is get so good at faking motivation that I can pull it from the depths of me whenever I need it. I want to be a motivation generation. For myself and for others.
"It's not what you accomplish in moments of inspiration, but rather what you do in between those moments that counts."
I can't find the author of this quote but is pure truth.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
All We Need is Love
The delicate relationship between parent and child has weighed heavily on my mind in recent days as I continually evaluate the past thirty years of my life. I am officially ( by society's standards, at least) an adult and my relationship with my parents in in continual flux. I know that this will be even more prevalent as my parents age and I assume more of a caretaker role, especially since I am the oldest child by thirteen years. I am fortunate to have very young parents who, hopefully, will keep their physical and mental capacities for many, many more years but the hard truth is that things happen. Unexpected things. Tragic and traumatic things and lives can change in an instant. I had intended to write about the complications of changing parent/child roles and perhaps I will come back to this soon. Instead, I would like to address a far more important topic: Love. Love for your family and friends and whom ever holds a special place in your heart.
While I was doing some reading in preparation for tonight's entry about the constantly changing intricacies of family dynamics, I read something written by a friend that stopped me dead in my tracks:
Love. Give love, whether or not the recipient wants or deserves it. Tell people you love them. They need to know.
No truer words have ever been written.
It's hard to give love to someone who is resistant or who makes themselves seem 'unlovable' and loving them despite of this is the truest sign of commitment that a person can give. Maybe the person has suffered and uses distance and an unpleasant persona to keep themselves from being hurt again. Loss (of any sort) is painful and in the same way a person shies from things known to be physically painful, it is sometimes deemed in the interest of self preservation to also avoid things that are emotionally painful. It is the person who so strongly denies love that often needs it the most.
As for not deserving love, there are in my opinion, sadly, many reasons that a person may forfeit there right to receive love. People do terrible, heinous things to each other and there are times when I am shocked by the compassion that comes from tragedy. I have heard accounts of victims of horrific crimes who have told their attackers that they love them. They have told the people who have taken something from them, be it a loved one, or the feeling of security and personal safety and more, that they forgive them. That they love them. I can not imagine this kind of compassion and how painful that sort of love must be.
The "tell people you love them" portion applies to absolutely anyone you care about, but especially to family, if you ask me. I can't tell you how many times I have taken my anger and frustration out on those closest to me or blown off my loved ones for a worthless cause. It's amazing how quickly I am to dismiss those closest to me because I know that they will always be there and have my back. I wouldn't dream of treating a stranger the way I treat my family sometimes because I know I will be judged by a stranger, but never by those who love me. I am fortunate in this regard. I don't tell these people often enough that I love them because I assume they know. But there have been times when I have had to suck up my pride and tell someone that I love them because I was so afraid that something would happen to either them or me and they wouldn't know how much they meant to me. This happened to me once, many, many years ago, and it haunts me to this day. A week and day before I turned twelve I spoke to my five-year-old brother on the phone (he was out of town and would returning home the next day). We finished our conversation about how the neighbor boy hit him in the eye with a rock and, as we were readying to hang up the phone, he said, "I love you TT". I had never before neglected to tell him that I loved him, but that day, for whatever reason, I didn't say it back. I replied with, "I'll see you tomorrow". That was all. That was the last conversation I ever had with my brother because he died in a car accident on his way home the next day. If there was just one thing I could go back and change, it would be that my little brother would know exactly how much I loved him, but I assumed that I would get the chance. As James Taylor sang, "I always thought I'd see you again". Sadly, it's not always the case.
Love is hard and love hurts because it makes raw and vulnerable the most precious and delicate parts of ourselves. It touches us in places that nothing else can reach and allows us to access emotional and physical feelings inaccessible by any other means. While talking about her two young sons, a friend told me that having children was the best and worst thing that ever happened to her because she loved them more than she had ever imagined possible. She said the high you get from that kind of love is indescribable, but when they hurt you, you feel pain like you have never felt before. I wish for all of us that we experience, and learn from, the highs and lows and love. And please, tell someone that you love them, even if you know they know how you feel, and especially if you don't.
I love you M,D,S & C.
While I was doing some reading in preparation for tonight's entry about the constantly changing intricacies of family dynamics, I read something written by a friend that stopped me dead in my tracks:
Love. Give love, whether or not the recipient wants or deserves it. Tell people you love them. They need to know.
No truer words have ever been written.
It's hard to give love to someone who is resistant or who makes themselves seem 'unlovable' and loving them despite of this is the truest sign of commitment that a person can give. Maybe the person has suffered and uses distance and an unpleasant persona to keep themselves from being hurt again. Loss (of any sort) is painful and in the same way a person shies from things known to be physically painful, it is sometimes deemed in the interest of self preservation to also avoid things that are emotionally painful. It is the person who so strongly denies love that often needs it the most.
As for not deserving love, there are in my opinion, sadly, many reasons that a person may forfeit there right to receive love. People do terrible, heinous things to each other and there are times when I am shocked by the compassion that comes from tragedy. I have heard accounts of victims of horrific crimes who have told their attackers that they love them. They have told the people who have taken something from them, be it a loved one, or the feeling of security and personal safety and more, that they forgive them. That they love them. I can not imagine this kind of compassion and how painful that sort of love must be.
The "tell people you love them" portion applies to absolutely anyone you care about, but especially to family, if you ask me. I can't tell you how many times I have taken my anger and frustration out on those closest to me or blown off my loved ones for a worthless cause. It's amazing how quickly I am to dismiss those closest to me because I know that they will always be there and have my back. I wouldn't dream of treating a stranger the way I treat my family sometimes because I know I will be judged by a stranger, but never by those who love me. I am fortunate in this regard. I don't tell these people often enough that I love them because I assume they know. But there have been times when I have had to suck up my pride and tell someone that I love them because I was so afraid that something would happen to either them or me and they wouldn't know how much they meant to me. This happened to me once, many, many years ago, and it haunts me to this day. A week and day before I turned twelve I spoke to my five-year-old brother on the phone (he was out of town and would returning home the next day). We finished our conversation about how the neighbor boy hit him in the eye with a rock and, as we were readying to hang up the phone, he said, "I love you TT". I had never before neglected to tell him that I loved him, but that day, for whatever reason, I didn't say it back. I replied with, "I'll see you tomorrow". That was all. That was the last conversation I ever had with my brother because he died in a car accident on his way home the next day. If there was just one thing I could go back and change, it would be that my little brother would know exactly how much I loved him, but I assumed that I would get the chance. As James Taylor sang, "I always thought I'd see you again". Sadly, it's not always the case.
Love is hard and love hurts because it makes raw and vulnerable the most precious and delicate parts of ourselves. It touches us in places that nothing else can reach and allows us to access emotional and physical feelings inaccessible by any other means. While talking about her two young sons, a friend told me that having children was the best and worst thing that ever happened to her because she loved them more than she had ever imagined possible. She said the high you get from that kind of love is indescribable, but when they hurt you, you feel pain like you have never felt before. I wish for all of us that we experience, and learn from, the highs and lows and love. And please, tell someone that you love them, even if you know they know how you feel, and especially if you don't.
I love you M,D,S & C.
Friday, September 2, 2011
In Light of a Near Tragedy...
I don't have kids and I'm not sure that I ever will. I do, however, have dogs and I believe with all my heart that dogs cause nearly as many gray hairs as do children. It's amazing how attached we become to them, despite random episodes of crapping on the floor, two am potty visits, fits of vomiting for no good reason, and mild to extreme destructive behaviours. They really are not that far from children, if you ask me. So, my beloved Ringo the Neurotic just scared the holy bejeebus out of me by "visiting" the neighbors without my knowledge. While he was socializing with the people four houses down, I was simultaneously yelling that Ringo was missing, throwing off panamas and pulling on less 'questionable' clothing, running up and down the stairs and playing every possible bad dog-runs-off scenario in my head. A whole three minutes later Ringo was found safe and sound in the neighbor's back yard and my heart rate has returned to less than that of a hummingbird's. In honor of his safe return and no apparent need to take him to the vet, I would like to share this semi-related, unpublished post from a while back:
Ringo decided that he did not want to eat for a few days and me, being the overprotective dog-mom that I am, decided that two days of low apatite warranted a vet visit. There are people out there who drag their kids to the emergency room at the slightest sign of a cough or cold , so I feel justified in my visit. I am admittedly *slightly* protective of Ringo. But I digress. It is a rare person who can not only calm down the nervous, quivering, emotional creature in front of them but who can also manage to comfort the dog too. I generally don't like doctor's offices, or doctors of any ilk, but my veterinarian rocks. She is downright fantastic and were it not for the requisite baby talk that is used by all animal health professionals, I would love to have her as my own 'girly' doctor.
My OB-GYN does not rub my ears and tell me how darling I am. Nor does she tell me that I am still beautiful despite having gained a little weight since our last meeting. If she did, I would probably dread my yearly visit a little less. (Gyno's everywhere take note. I am giving you gold!) But back to the vet; I was fortunate to find a incredible animal doctor is both a fantastic health care professional and genuine people person. That is so rare in both the people and animal health care fields. I can't say that he had the best day (unless a blood test and thermometer stuck in your nether regions is your idea of a good time. I'm not here to judge), but the doc seems to think that he will be fine. I trust her.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Project Hindsight Needs Your Help!
Welcome to Project Hindsight!
I need your help compiling advice, personal accounts, stories, anything really that could be used to show that knowledge and wisdom come from experiences. Good or bad. Try to imagine that you could go back in time to particularly bad, or wonderful, experience in your life. What would you tell yourself? What words of wisdom would you impart on your past self having come through the other side of that experience. What would you tell a friend or a stranger who is experiencing a personal tragedy that you have lived through, a challenge that you have faced, a wonderful experience that they may never live again? This past year and a half has been an especially difficult one for me and I really could have used an extreme life change reference guide throughout this bumpy ride. I’m sure I’m not the first, or last, to feel this way and the most comfort I’ve received has been from hearing stories of how others made it through similar situations. I will only be able to do this with the help of others. I have made a list of topics; feel free to say as much or as little as you would like or to add categories of your own.
And please share this with others. I will only be able to complete my project if many people participate. Your contributions will be completely anonymous. Thanks in advance. I want to share collective experiences to give support, hope, encouragement, and a good laugh to others. Tell me the things that you wish someone had told you before you faced whatever it was head on.
Your participation means the world to me!
Please send completed submissions to: hindsightproject@gmail.com
What words of wisdom or advice would you give a person who is about to experience the following life experiences? Please feel free to expound, tell stories, share quotes, rant, vent, etc.
1. Marriage-
2. Divorce-
3. Being a parent (or not)-
4. Being a child (as an adult or youth)-
5. Job loss-
6. College-
7. Teen years-
8. Young adult/college years-
9. Growing up-
10. Deciding what to do “when you grow up”-
11. Dating-
12. Military experience (from any perspective)-
13. Family (whether nuclear or otherwise)-
14. Pets-
15. Loss of a loved one-
16. Substance abuse-
17. Physical/emotional/sexual abuse-
18. Illness or injury-
19. Anything else in the world that you would like to share
Let's Get This Party Started
Project Hindsight has been on my mind for a while and I'm really excited to finally get going. Not excited in the "oh look, a 20% coupon from Bed, Bath and Beyond" way, but rather the kind of excited that harkens back to being a kid the night before the first day of school. My backpack is packed, clothes are set out and I'm worried about whether or not people are going to like me and whether I will be smart and witty enough to hack it. Will I make friends? Will the other kids be mean to me? Will I discover a subject that I love?
This blog is about sharing with others so we can all dip into the collective experience pool and take the things that will help us on our journey. Sometimes we need a sympathetic ear or a hard kick in the ass, but more often than not, I need humor. A good laugh truly is fantastic medicine. Since it's just me here now and no one has subscribed as of yet, I'd like to kick things off with a true story with a very important moral that serves me to this day.
The year was 1986 and it was the first day of first grade. It was September in the Mojave Desert but for some reason I insisted on wearing a sweatshirt to school. I was a very unreasonable child and nothing my mother said could convince me otherwise, even though she tried over and over to tell me that I would be way too hot. It was powder blue with little flowers or animals or something all over it and I just had to make my debut in this shirt. Sometime around lunch I was sitting at my desk (we ate lunch in our classroom for some bizarre reason) and I began to get unbearably hot. Without thinking, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head. It was in the moment when my face was stuck somewhere in the depths of my shirt and my arms were over my head, trapped in their respective sleeves, that I realized that I did not have anything on under that stupid sweatshirt. Unfortunately, I realized this about an eighth of a second before the rest of the class did and my arms were hopelessly trapped and there was no hope for a quick recovery. I wrangled myself back into my shirt and stared, humiliated, at my desk for the rest of the day. The rest of the afternoon was a blur and when my mom asked me how my day was, I mumbled that it was fine and omitted the fact that I spent at least ten never-ending seconds topless amongst my peers. I'm not certain how I disposed of it, but I never saw that shirt again.
Moral of the story: Listening to the advice of someone wiser than you will help ensure that no one ever says, "hey, there's that girl who took her clothes off in class" as you walk by.
This blog is about sharing with others so we can all dip into the collective experience pool and take the things that will help us on our journey. Sometimes we need a sympathetic ear or a hard kick in the ass, but more often than not, I need humor. A good laugh truly is fantastic medicine. Since it's just me here now and no one has subscribed as of yet, I'd like to kick things off with a true story with a very important moral that serves me to this day.
The year was 1986 and it was the first day of first grade. It was September in the Mojave Desert but for some reason I insisted on wearing a sweatshirt to school. I was a very unreasonable child and nothing my mother said could convince me otherwise, even though she tried over and over to tell me that I would be way too hot. It was powder blue with little flowers or animals or something all over it and I just had to make my debut in this shirt. Sometime around lunch I was sitting at my desk (we ate lunch in our classroom for some bizarre reason) and I began to get unbearably hot. Without thinking, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head. It was in the moment when my face was stuck somewhere in the depths of my shirt and my arms were over my head, trapped in their respective sleeves, that I realized that I did not have anything on under that stupid sweatshirt. Unfortunately, I realized this about an eighth of a second before the rest of the class did and my arms were hopelessly trapped and there was no hope for a quick recovery. I wrangled myself back into my shirt and stared, humiliated, at my desk for the rest of the day. The rest of the afternoon was a blur and when my mom asked me how my day was, I mumbled that it was fine and omitted the fact that I spent at least ten never-ending seconds topless amongst my peers. I'm not certain how I disposed of it, but I never saw that shirt again.
Moral of the story: Listening to the advice of someone wiser than you will help ensure that no one ever says, "hey, there's that girl who took her clothes off in class" as you walk by.
In The Beginning...
Once upon a time there was a woman who, despite all of her best efforts, could not catch a break. It seemed like no matter what she did, nothing worked out right. She fully recognized that the problem was her own and that the troubles in her life were the direct result of the decisions she was making, but unfortunately for her, this knowledge came after each bungled experience. This woman, of course, was me.
I understand and agree with the fact that a person learns from their mistakes. I have learned many, many valuable lessons from my mistakes that I would not trade for the world. I have also learned many lessons the hard way and, in hindsight, I would give my eye teeth and more to be able to do things differently. Everyone feels this way at one time or another. Some wise person told me that "you can learn by making mistakes or you can learn by watching others make the mistakes". I think a healthy dose of both is necessary, but I tend to be the person whom the wise people watch for their lessons. Surely I'm not the only one.
I started Project Hindsight because I want to share my experiences and compile those of others. I want to create a collective reference point for others to peruse when they feel like they are the only person in the world going through a particular challenge and for people to come together to celebrate life's victories. Sometimes all we need to hear is, "I know just how you feel" from someone who really does. I also want to create a place where visitors can say, "I screwed up royally. Let me tell you about it so you can, hopefully, avoid my mistake". In a way this blog is a little like AA. I'll go first. Hi. My name is Tiffanie and the most important lessons I learned have been in hindsight.
I understand and agree with the fact that a person learns from their mistakes. I have learned many, many valuable lessons from my mistakes that I would not trade for the world. I have also learned many lessons the hard way and, in hindsight, I would give my eye teeth and more to be able to do things differently. Everyone feels this way at one time or another. Some wise person told me that "you can learn by making mistakes or you can learn by watching others make the mistakes". I think a healthy dose of both is necessary, but I tend to be the person whom the wise people watch for their lessons. Surely I'm not the only one.
I started Project Hindsight because I want to share my experiences and compile those of others. I want to create a collective reference point for others to peruse when they feel like they are the only person in the world going through a particular challenge and for people to come together to celebrate life's victories. Sometimes all we need to hear is, "I know just how you feel" from someone who really does. I also want to create a place where visitors can say, "I screwed up royally. Let me tell you about it so you can, hopefully, avoid my mistake". In a way this blog is a little like AA. I'll go first. Hi. My name is Tiffanie and the most important lessons I learned have been in hindsight.
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