attitude

A Ride Called “Disease”

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

A group of teenagers push wildly through the crowd and down the fair midway. At the tail end of the group, a reluctant girl is holding the hand of a boy sporting a cheesy grin. “Come on,” he pleads as he pulls her hand in the direction of the rides.

“I really don’t want to,” she insists as her steps narrow and her pace slows. Both eventually stop to talk and after a pathetic glance from the boy, she relaxes her shoulders in submission and follows. He spots his friends rough housing in front of the ferris wheel. She protest, “No, I don’t like those things and this one doesn’t look safe.”

“Awww, it’s fine,” he coaxes. She could sense the doubt in his voice.

“Come on!!” the group taunts as she sides her way into line. The ride is old, very old. It has been a right of passage for many other teens. The long held tradition has included rocking, screaming, and bouncing the rickety ride as if to dare it to crumble.

“Don’t move our seat,” she whispered abruptly as they loaded.

“Sure,” he assured as he sheepishly grinned to his buddy in the next seat. Not long after they loaded, the rowdy group began screaming and yelling but they remained still until the last seat was loaded. None took the chance of being kicked of the ride prematurely. After the old ride was started and at full speed, the chaos started. Violent shaking, bouncing, and attempts to stand up over the seat bar began. The operator began shouting but they continued on. The girl held tight to her boyfriend’s arm but his assurance to remain still did not last. He began flipping the seat forward as hard as he could and she began to scream in fear.

“Let me off, I want off now!” she demanded as she drew as far from him as she possibly could. Her trust had been broken.

“We’re just having some fun,” he said as the ride came to an abrupt stop. The operator was now cursing as he began unloading the riders. An argument between the girl and her boyfriend ensued. He offered a half hearted apology only after she began to cry. His remorse lasted until he was reunuted with his group of friends at the base of the ride. Then he sneered and thanked her for embarrassing him in front of his friends. He turned away abruptly and lead the group down the fairway, the girl crying while scurrying behind. In confusion, her focus now became how she could make it up to him.

***

I can definately relate to this story as I was that confused teenage girl years ago. Thank goodness I can laugh about it now and I am thankful that I have matured but that isn’t the point I am trying to make.

Instead this story is quite the apologue of the last few months of my life. A few months ago, I reluctanly stepped onto a rusty, old ferris wheel. It’s name was “Disease”. Despite it’s unsafe appearance, I convinced myself that I would be okay with “Disease”. Soon I had a passenger and it’s name was fear. I thought I had made peace with “Disease” and I wondered why fear had joined me.

“It’s okay, sit with me,” fear assured, “I’m a friend.”

“Disease” creaked and groaned but I didn’t get too nervous. I was familiar with the ride and I knew a few of the other reluctant riders. Then when the chaos broke out, I pulled myself closer to fear. “That’s right,” fear hissed as it violently began flipping my seat forward. I held tight to fear as the violent forward motion made me feel as if I were going to fall from my seat. Yet, I felt no comfort and my fears increased tenfold. The high and low of the ride now felt like they were coming too quickly. I was now frozen and with fear. I wanted off the ride, now! 

I began devising my own plan to escape. In the meantime, I tried to find some other way to brace myself safely into the seat. I couldn’t see anything, nor could I move. Something was sabotaging my safety. It was the fear still strapped in beside me. Not only  strapped in, but I was still locking arms with it. I had put all my trust in fear only to be deceived. I felt as betrayed as the girl in my story, but I knew I had to let it go. It was only when I let go that I could clearly see; and when I looked, I saw my son. He was riding alone in another seat. I had forgot about him.

Yet, there he sat looking out alone beyond “Disease”. I was staring at him while he began to make his way to the top. As he approached the top, he began to clap, and yell “Woo hoo!” He was happy and I was puzzled.  He wasn’t focused on the ride, he was focused on the view. He could certainly see the sky, the stars, the entire world from his vantage point.

For the first time, I slowly sat back and decided to try to see “Disease” as my son saw it. As I reached the top as he did shortly before, I was amazed of the view “Disease” gave me. I could see life from a vantage point few others could experience. Once I released fear, I was able to appreciate the view. Without fear, every movemment no longer made me nervous. I remained focused with my head held high. As I looked  I finally “got it” and I won’t soon forget what my little boy taught me about “Disease”. It can change you by fear or change your perspective. Fear wants to destroy and I’d much rather follow his example and keep living despite of fear.

Unlike the example in my story, my happiness didn’t have to be defined by who sat closest to me. My focus needed to be on anything that helped me break free from my own immaturity of the situation. Isn’t it amazing how my little boy helped change my heart and lead by example? “Woo hoo!”

*d*

image

Beautiful as a Flower

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

I love my flowerbed. Around March, I get excited about the endless planting possibilities. My favorite color is pink so I usually find a variety of shades and flowers in my favorite color. As much as I adore the color pink, I also know I can improve upon my flowerbed master piece if I added a few complimentary colors. With creativity fueling my spring time thoughts I forget one thing, I don’t live alone. I have five other people who may interject their opinions and since I want to teach my children to share, I must also share. “Darn it!”

This year when I went to the store where I wanted to purchase the perfect pieces to my creation, the kids also came along. If you have ever been shopping with a kid, you know they either want to buy or help pick something out. On this trip, they wanted to put their favorite picks in the flowerbed and plant them themselves. My oldest daughter won over my heart as she asked to plant additional pink flowers. My oldest son decided he wanted orange marigolds. I don’t like marigolds. It isn’t that I don’t like seeing them, I just don’t like seeing them in my flowerbeds. He wanted the dark orange, as to exclaim, “These are mine!”.

“Darn those orange flowers,” I thought. “Why wasn’t his favorite color green like it once was?” I knew how important this was to all of them so I needed to let go and find a way to make us all happy. Then I remembered something about myself.

While planning my wedding ten years ago my husband and I went to a department store to add items to our registry. The woman helping us was probably old enough to be a grandmother. She was sweet like one until she asked us if we wanted to register towels. I was reluctant as we had already purchased towels for the apartment we would share after the wedding. After some pushing, she won over the approval of my husband to register towels. She then inquired of us what colors we were using in our wedding decor. When I answered, “none,” she got annoyed. I explained that I had seven bridesmaids with seven different colored dresses and I used several different shades of pink for the bouquets. She made me feel like a criminal for not conforming to tradition. I wasn’t going to change because she disapproved. And with that, I registered every variety of color towel I could find.

My son was like his mother, different and not bending to conformity. I planted his flowers next to the walkway leading to our house, they look beautiful. I see how they pop out and exclaim, “Different is beautiful!”

image

Think about the sky. On most occasions it’s blue or maybe gray, but at sunset, it is sometimes painted in brilliant colors. Hills and roadways can be lined with vivid wildflowers. These are most picturesque, and yet, they are naturally occurring in nature. My favorite is seeing tiny infants grow into unique individuals with distinct personalities. Nature is beautiful because it is different, and so are we. Whose standard are we comparing ourselves to anyway? Do we really all want the same hair, skin, and shape? That would be like me missing out on the surprising beauty in contrast I found in my little flowerbed and it only took a simple change of heart for me to truly enjoy it.

*d*

P.S. After my grandfather passed away, I framed a picture of he and my grandmother’s wedding. She had four bridesmaids in four different colors. I guess I take after someone too.

The Princess Says, “Let Go!”

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

image

Tonight I sat on my porch as storms rolled in and somehow I felt youthful. Maybe it was because I sat barefoot on my porch swing or more so that I was able to sit alone and undisturbed. The absence of little ones vying for my attention or a to-do list felt freeing, if just for a few minutes. It made me miss the days when I would drive to my favorite nature preserve and write in my journal. I was alone and free to use my time for more creative tasks. I would walk to a nice spot, sit with my journal and spend an hour spilling out my thoughts on paper. I miss everything about that sentence. I can’t walk without pain or write very long without discomfort. It’s rather sad for me to think about how much has changed in such a short period of time. It seems like a lifetime between now and then, but in reality it has only been a few short years. I wonder, why did my body decide to start attacking itself? I keep hoping it will stop and this pain can also become part of my past.

Tonight I told my husband that I might have been okay with my diagnoses if they would have come several years down the road and not when I have small children. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and I’m not thinking about what I will be asking the doctor. Instead, I am thinking about how hard it will be to lift my infant daughter in to and out of her car seat several times, shuffling all four kids between a sitter and home, walking a distance to my doctor’s office, and I wonder after all is done, will I have the strength to make it through the rest of the day. I don’t have the option of calling in sick as a mom, I have to keep going, even when my body doesn’t want to go. My husband recently asked me, “If you knew you would have all this pain before we had kids, would you have had four?”

I replied, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Isn’t it funny how difficulty often makes us think of hypothetical situations? “If I only knew…..” or “Hindsight is 20/20.” Sure it is but does it matter? Does it help for me to play out future events and allow myself to stress about events that haven’t even occurred? The only thing that can change is now and if I can’t change the past or circumstances that will happen in my future, what am I doing to myself? I must be assembling my own nightmare.

While writing this piece, my daughter called out from her bed, “Mommy! Mommy!” It was difficult to get out of bed and down the hall to her. The RA hurts my joints and the Fibromyalgia hurts the rest. I hobbled down the hall, my head fresh with thoughts of my days sitting in the park and the free feeling I experienced earlier today. She was sitting up in bed and waiting for me. Getting out of my bed was what she anticipated and she expects mommy to come when she calls so I can’t disappoint her just because my body hurts. I sat down on her bed and asked her if she had a bad dream which indeed she had. I kissed her head and started a new dream for her to have, one with a pretty pink princess that dashes away on a pony with a pink mane because pink is my daughter’s favorite color as well as mine. This princess was free of whatever may have caused the bad dream and ready for my daughter to lay down her head and take her on her next big adventure. I was all she needed to forget her nightmare. I underestimated what I can do as a mom and as she closed her eyes, I realized that I didn’t want to be the woman I once was. I too have set off on another adventure and I must redefine my next dream.

I am a mom, a wife, and I am still a writer. I am not famous but I have the privilege of being an author and character in the lives of my children. How lucky am I. Dwelling on the past and worrying about tomorrow robs me of being fully present to write my own future. Yes, it may physically hurt, but it will be beautiful.

~d~