Ted Kennedy, Health Care Reform and Life….
I’m trying to understanding why I am so devastated over the loss of Ted Kennedy. He was, after all, human. He had deep flaws and had made mistakes that can never been undone. And I don’t believe it turning someone into a martyr after they are gone. I think that we should look at someone for the entire package of their life and what they contributed.
Ted endured unimaginable tragedy. How many among us could say that we have experienced as much loss of siblings and some in extremely violent ways. He had the world on his shoulders…he was expected to carry on the mission of an entire generation of Kennedy’s. He drank. He womanized. And a woman died. But he also made an enormous impact on all of our lives. He wrote, co-sponsored, and passed more legislation than we will probably ever see again. Minimum wage increases? Thank Teddy. Title IX, Civil Rights, Welfare, Medicare/Medicaid, the Right to Choose. The list is endless. You don’t have to agree with all of his policies or his liberal perspective to have respect for a man who crossed over the aisle to make things happen. He was a gentlman in the Senate whose like will probably never been seen again. He spent the last 30 years trying to make a lasting difference after the terrible mistakes of his youth. He was the patriarch of a very public family who had to face tragedy time and time again. He was always there. And now he’s gone.
Who will pick up the mantle to fight for the ordinary citizens? Ted Kennedy could have led a life of leisure. But he was committed to making change in this world. Heathcare Reform would have been his greatest legacy. I am devastated that he has not lived to see that happen. The best thing that we can all do to honor Ted Kennedy is to join the conversation. Find some common ground where we can at least make some movement and progress towards reform.
I am from one of those families devastated by the current state of health care. My father was a small business owner who could not afford insurance for himself and his one (at most two) other employee(s). When he suffered a massive heartattack, there was no choice except to operate to save his life. Then this relgious-based hospital that publicly boasts of its commit to serve all regardless of commitment to pay, turned around and sued my family to try to get the entire bill paid in one lump sum. We went through bankruptcy, had to move, and essentially had to start our lives all over again.
Teddy, I make this commitment to you today. I will continue to join in the fight for reform and coverage. Not just in your honor but in honor of my family and the rest of the Americans who face the same horrible choices everyday–medical care or paying the bills.
Blessed be.
One Less… Jackass
I have that phrase from the commercial stuck in my head this morning, ” I want to be one less…”
I decided to be “One Less Jacksass” on the DC roadways this morning. It was a particularly slow commute into work. Normally I would be frustrated, yelling at strangers and being tempted to flip people off. But for some reason this morning I decided to be One Less. I was enjoying the time in the car listening to some fun sing along music (Bohemian Rhapsody, anyone?) and just taking my time.
At several points I let drivers turn on to the roadway or merge into my lane without popping a blood vessel. After all, what is another 10 seconds in my commute? Is it really worth all the rage? I didn’t race through yellow lights, scaring the bejesus out of pedestrians. I didn’t ride on someone’s bumper urging them to step on it before I turned old and gray. I just was and that felt pretty good.
Wouldn’t it be cool if we all decided to be One Less Jackass on the roadways? Could you imagine people actually stopping to let pedestrians cross the crosswalks? What if folks actually waved to someone who gave them a break and let them merge? What if people didn’t scream through yellow/red lights? What if all the horns were broken? I think that I would sing “glory, glory Hallelujah!”
So at least for today, I am One Less. Who is with me?
Thank you Rubber Band Man
For some reason, it is always my walk to the Metro where I have my deepest thoughts of the day. I always have the urge to stop mid-walk to write something for the blog. With music playing in my ears and the sites of the neighborhood, the thoughts always come rushing into my brain that somehow escape me later in the day.
I was deep in thought this morning as I strolled up my usual path. My mood matched the music–dark and contemplative. I was thinking of dark moments in my life, of organizational dysfunction, of what I wanted to do with my life, of relationship challenges. I was awash in deep thoughts about the meaning of my life.
Then, enter Rubber Band Man. A man walking the opposite way on the sidewalk, had a long-sleeved black t-shirt on with shiny silver lettering which read, “Rubber Band Man”. He oh-so-casually lit a cigarette, nodded his head at me and said, “Hey baby.”
Spell instantly broken. Rubber Band Man brought me right back down to the absurdity of life. I was filled with gratitude. His less than charming reference to me as “baby” took all the hot air and seriousness out of my morning and reminded me to get the stick out of my ass.
Yes, there are many problems in the world. Yes, I am trying to figure out what to do with my life. But Rubber Band Man reminded me to stop asking some many questions and just for a moment enjoy the ride.
Small gestures, big impact
I am not sure that most of us realize how the smallest gesture can have a profound impact on someone’s life. There are those rare moments of clarity that remind us of the power of the simplest act. But most of the time we walk around oblivious to the ways that our words and deeds can shape the lives of others, whether for better or worse.
Last week I encountered a few of those profound moments that have deeply affected my life. The first was a true test of my soul and my sanity. Someone needed to share some thoughts and observations about me that they thought were necessary to my growth and performance. Some words were justified and necessary, others were off target. But that is not the issue. This person was doing what they thought they needed to do for their job and I respect that. I agreed with some of the statements and took them to heart. Others were inappropriate and are tucked away for me to deal with at another point in time.
What this person could not know is that our conversation opened a pandora’s box of pain in me. It snapped the trigger mechanism which opened up a flood of memories and past experiences. The little girl in me was exposed to hear through her not yet developed filter about all of my faults and weaknesses. I was not grown-up confident Becky who had been working for two-thirds of her life. Responsible Becky. Thoughtful Becky. Rational Becky. This person unwittingly accessed my deepest pain and turned me into a quivering, crying mess. Not their intention and not their fault. They had no idea of what their words would unleash and how it would cause me great distress. It has taken me nearly a week to put the pain back in the protective box and to start feeling like a competent grown-up again. I have had to reflect carefully on what role was mine and what was theirs in this scenario. You may have a sense but you can never truly understand the private pain that people carry and what may cause it to open. Our words have impact.
On the flip side, in a time of great pain came unbelievable joy and tenderness. One colleague who knew nothing about what was going on in my life sent me an unsolicited email not 30 minutes after that painful conversation telling me how great I was and how much they valued me. She will never comprehend what a life line that simple email was to me. I have saved it as a reminder of the power of words and what a small act can do to change someone’s day and possibly their life.
Another colleague sent me an e-card and their quiet concern was palpable behind my closed doors as I tried to regain some sense of who I was. It was the smallest words, the easiest deeds, the simplest look that made all the difference between surviving and thriving.
It doesn’t take a dramatic situation for these moments of kindness to make a difference. It only requires awareness that we are surrounded by beautifuly flawed, complicated and very human people. Words matter. Deeds matter. Small kindnesses matter. You matter.
Holidays–the best of times, the worst of times
It is Thanksgiving–only the 3rd I have spent away from my family. But the imprint of my family life is so deep that I can’t help but let the memories play like a slide show in my mind. Today I am feeling bittersweet about life and wishing that I could just let the joy in without the sadness. But it is there and it is a part of me.
The ongoing devastation in Mumbai has put me in a reflective space. I very much want to enjoy the day and to think about how happy my life. But the inhumanity splashing across the TV screen has triggered that nerve that makes me go to a darker place to contemplate life and its value.
I think about inner demons, outer demons and the crap that we pass down from generation to generation. How we all have to find our way in the dark to some degree or another. About how good people have to struggle and the oblivious get to coast through seemingly unscathed. I think about all of the pain.
But there is a beauty to this sadness. It is something that I have witnessed in my own family for generations and generations. We are scrappy. We are resilient. We are survivors. In whatever way we can, we get by. We work the land, work our backs, work our minds. We get through. I see this everyday in the world too. Mumbai will get through. It will never be the same, life will seem permanently altered. But it will get through. We all just need to get through.
But my goal is to be the first generation of thrivers. Not just survivers. It is on days like this that I force myself to sit with my thoughts. To process them in whatever way that I can and not to push them down just to get by. To numb the pain to make life ok. I want to be able to hold the sadness in an appropriate way while also holding tight to the joy that surrounds me.
The joy of a family who loves and supports me. The joy of a new family whom I am getting to love more everyday. The love of an amazing man who supports me in more ways than he could ever imagine. It is such a powerful feeling that it forces me to believe. To believe in a better world where eventually we all might be able to not just survive, but to thrive.
Blessings on all of you this Thanksgiving day. May you all thrive no matter what circumstances you face.
Do and Hope
I am lost in the lives of those I have never met. Those who came before me and paved the road to my future. If only I knew what I was supposed to do with that gift.
I have recently been obsessed with my genealogy. I am trying to trace my lineage as far back as possible. Why, you ask? Well, partly out of curiousity. And partly to make sense of my history so I can begin to make sense of my future.
Were my family members royalty? Explorers? Politicians? Military heros? No. It turns out that they have mostly been farmers and tradesmen (carriage makers, roofers, home builders, silversmiths, etc) for generations. They worked the soil and built with their hands. And I suspect that they never had much money to show for it. But it explains how the work ethic and working class values have been handed down in my family through the generations. You do what you have to do to make a living.
Why am I not built the same way? I am a dreamer who thinks about what is possible. I am of the generation that is lost in options–which door do we choose and what are the consequences? I was told that I could be anything that I wanted to be and that is crippling. At 35 I still do not know what my path is and I am not satisfied just getting by 9-5 everyday. Every fiber of my being cries out for more meaning but the path is undefined.
Maybe that is why I continue to look back. Tracking down the path of what was is more concrete than the path that is yet to come. I continue to look to my ancestors for guidance and clues, but I know that the answer is within me. I wish that Jean Venne (born 1621 in France) could whisper in my ear and tell me what my destiny was but I assume that won’t be happening any time soon.
What will I want my family to discover about me hundreds of years from now? What will my legacy be? Perhaps it is time to stop staring out the window wondering and utilize the motto of my Matheson ancestors–Fac et Spera–Do and Hope.
The Lesson Never Learned…or can it be?
(Note: Today I found this entry into my notebook from December 2006 and it wasn’t half bad so I thought I’d post it. The sentiment still rings very true and the happy changes to my personal life just prove that good things can happen when you let them).
Why do we as women live the same lesson over and over? Why are we so blind to the lesson never learned?
Each little tear to our heat leaves a scar until there is little left to give. We lock our hearts tight, cage our souls…only to do the same things all over again when the familiar promise of love comes along in a new package.
We want to be loved. We want to be the only woman who matter. The one who heals, fixes and takes care of the man. We want to be the mother, savior and lover all in one. Our identity is inextricably linked to our ability to be the choosen one.
So when the promise of fulfillment comes into view, we go to work. We dress the part, say the right words, smile, tempt, plan and manipulate our way to success. This citadel can and will be conquered.
But men are not our answers. They will not fill the deep need to be validated, to feel speical. Because no man can deliver that with consistency, nor should they have to.
Only we can learn to heal those wounds and to provide for our hearts. Only we can dismantle the fortress of pain and disappointment that we have built to try to protect our hearts.
It is us who can make better choices. It is time to get off the merry go round and to love ourselves with as much passion as we hoped to feel from others. Only then can we truly be free and ready to accept real love.
Sometimes you just have to shake your head
In an effort to save money and live more responsibly, I had been forgoing my usually trip to the local Starbucks for the last month or so. This morning I couldn’t fight the urge for a tall Chai so I decided to break the rules for a day.
As is usually the case, I noticed that there was yet a whole new crew of people working the morning shift at the counter. So much for becoming a regular when the players are always changing. Anyway, I ordered my tall Chai and the young man behind the counter asked me “what size?”. So I said, “TALL….CHAI”. Strike one for the barrister but not a deal breaker.
The total came to $3.41, which could be the plot for a whole different blog. Is the Chai dipped in gold or something? Is it a magic cup that won’t burn my hands or destroy the environment? But I digress. As to not get a lot of extra change in my pocket, I handed him $5.01. Oh silly me.
However he rung up the purchase, it didn’t calculate the amount of change. He sighed and had this “oh crap” look on his face. I decided to give him a moment to figure it out for himself but as he reached for his cell phone to use the calculator I said, “1.60″. He either ignored me or didn’t believe me. So I spent a couple minutes more at the counter while he voided out my transaction and re-rang it to figure out how much change I was due.
I couldn’t help but shake my head as I left thinking about how much technology has “helped” us. To the point where people don’t know how to make simple change without a machine to do it for them. Are our critical thinking skills doomed in this new world of fast and easy technology? Have we become so lazy that now we are incapable of accessing those parts of our brains? Pardon me while I go use spell checker to make sure I haven’t made any spelling errors. 
To Mom or Not to Mom…that is the question
Now that my mid-thirties have arrived and I am now in a seemingly permanent relationship, the thoughts about motherhood naturally keep crossing my mind. Many of my friends are now mothers and as I watch them go through the process of pregnancy, birth and then child rearing, all it does is make me continue to go back and forth on the subject.
Deep down I have always known I would be a Mom in some capacity and that I definitely want at least one child. But I think beyond the fears of how drastically your life changes, I think my greatest fear is over one nagging question. Would I make a good mother?
Dear friends and family members of course are quick to say yes. Partially out of their own desire for me to have kids (family) and because of the positive traits they see in me. But do they really think about the things I wouldn’t be as good at? I have a very low level of patience which doesn’t seem to be improving with age. I am highly emotionally sensitive (in a good way) and I tend to feel and think things very strongly. I have low energy to boot. All this makes me skeptical about taking the plunge.
What makes a good Mom? Is it nature? Nurture? Or both? Do I have the right equipment in me from my past and examples around me to be the Mom I would like to be to my child? Can I find the energy and tolerance for the noise, chaos and the constant work of Mom-dom? Am I too bogged down with my own baggage of the past to really be an unselfish parent to a child? I don’t have any answers to these questions and the more that I think about them, the less sure I am.
But one thing gives me hope. It is a stupid, small detail but it works for me. I have what I have deemed, “The Mom Instinct”. Whenever I am in the car either alone or with a passenger, if I have to stop quickly my right arm automatically flies over to hold back the sometimes non-existent person in the car. It might be a bag of groceries or it might be a friend but my automatic instinct is to protect them. It might not count for a lot but it is something. I know that I would fight tooth and nail to protect my child and keep them as safe as possible.
Oh I’m sure I will have at least one baby. And I won’t stop worrying and doubting along the way. But at least I know that my instincts are in the right place and I have a lot of love to give. The rest I’ll just make up as I go.
