Sorry, Is Just A Five Letter Word

 

How many times have you heard the words, "I'm sorry" or some other apology and even though your heart and mind told you they meant nothing, you allowed yourself that moment of "Next time it'll be different"?

This is a short encouragement and slight scolding.

Apologies are just words. Things won't be better until you get better. Not until you change direction, Not until you change your perspective. Not until you change partners.

Stop saying sorry, when you're not.

Reclaiming My Time

I just realized how much of a doormat I am. I don't know how it took me so long to figure it out BUT I do know why.  

There is a generation of women that were raised a little Donna Reed or let me bring it a little twenty-first century. Do you remember Bree Van De Kamp from Desperate Housewives? As repressed as I now see her, I loved her character. Yes, of course, she had that slight Stepford quality but there was nothing that Bree wouldn't do for those that she loved. 

Self-sacrificing, not a hair out of place, stand by your man Bree. 

But during the course of that show, something in Bree snapped. She began to realize that making everyone happy was driving her completely insane. She was slowly losing herself to the desires of other people. Bree was a doormat. 

Enter Ali

I spent a lot of time making sure I was perfect for a whole lot of people. I saw to their needs, desires, wishes. I sacrificed my energies to see them through, to help them overcome. I've been the encourager, the enabler, the wifey, the friend and put more in than I was getting.

Then I realized that people are selfish and no matter how good you are to them, their selfishness is what controls them. How did I realize that in my life?

Between April and May, I lost three important people in my life and the one person that I depended on to be my sunshine in my cloudy moment was too emotionally distant to care. It was at that rainbow moment that I realized that I was giving too much and needed to start...

Friendship

I saw this somewhere and it said, author unknown. I wish I could tell that person thank you. You made me a better friend and helped me to understand that to some people I was just an acquaintance. 

There is a difference between being an acquaintance and being a friend. An acquaintance is someone whose name you know, who you see every now and then, who you probably have something in common with and who you feel comfortable around.

It's a person that you can invite to your home and share things with. But they are people who you don't share your life with, whose actions sometimes you don't understand because you don't know enough about them.

On the other hand, a friend is someone you love. Not that you are "in love" with them, but you care about them and you think about them when they are not there. The people you are reminded of when you see something they might like, and you know this because you know them so well. They are the people whose pictures you have and whose faces are in your head regardless. 

Friends are the people you feel safe around because you know they care about you. They call just to see how you are doing, because a friend doesn't need an excuse. They tell you the truth, the first time, and you do the same. You know that if you have a problem, they are there to listen. 

Friends are the people who won't laugh at you or hurt you, and if they do hurt you they try hard to make it up to you. They are the people you love, regardless of whether you realize it.

Friends are the people you cried with when you got rejected from colleges and during the last song at the prom and at graduation. They are the people that when you hug them, you don't think about how long to hug and who's going to be the first one to let go.

Maybe they are the people that hold the rings at your wedding, or maybe they are the people who give you away at your wedding, or maybe they are the people you marry. Maybe they are the people who cry at your wedding because they are happy or because they are proud.

They are the people who stop you from making mistakes and help you when you do. They are are the people whose hand you can hold, or you can hug or give them a kiss and not have it be awkward because they understand the things you do and they love you for them.

They stick with you and stand by you. They hold your hand. They watch you live and you watch them live and you learn from them. Your life is not the same without them.

Author Unknown 

Lesson Learned

No More Commas

I've known a secret for almost two years now. I stumbled upon it sometime in 2012. It involved plane tickets, pictures and a trip that I was vaguely told about two months later. The person doesn't know that I know, but I know. The longer I keep this hidden, the angrier I get.

I'm guarded. VERY guarded. Over the years, I've been given more than enough reason to be. I don't like confrontation so often I walk away. That's probably not the best solution and I promise you it's not the easiest, but with my David Banner type personality most times I think it's best. 

My brother said something the other day that resonates in my mind. He said,

 "Don't put a comma in your life, where there's supposed to be a period."

That guy may be on to something. I've been holding back and sometimes

walking away from things saying that I'm cool with it, while it's still festering in the back of my mind. I need to bring closure and start fresh. The comma says "wait, there's more." The period says, "I'm done with this, right here."

TODAY'S ASSIGNMENT:
Find where you've been putting the commas in your life and say, 

I'm done with this. Full Stop.

It's time to do that and move on.

Now about that secret I've been keeping...

Adventures In Online Dating, Profiling

Setting up my online dating profile was worse than when I did my SAT's. One site I went on made me wonder if they were going to ask me to send in a blood sample. I know they clam to have a scientifically proven method of matching couples but this is just....

First I narrowed down the perfect online community. There was a commercial that I saw one night and I was sure I didn't like that site. You would be surprised at the many how many niche sites there are, for every ethnicity, every fetish, every preference. I even saw one only for farmers that I thought was pretty cool, but not for me.

Now to set up that profile.

I tell you my likes and dislikes, I tell you my age range and the age range I'd be interested in. I decide on location. At first, I wanted to find someone halfway across the country, simply because I have 'issues'. Then I thought

Suppose this works out, you wouldn't want someone 3,000 miles away.

So, I narrowed the location grid a little. A LITTLE.

Every one likens the profile to a resume. It's putting your best foot forward. An audition of sorts. I studied marketing in college so here was my chance to 'sell" myself. Easy enough, right?

I met my first dilemma. 

I think I'm awesome. Because of that, I was afraid I'd run the risk of overselling myself.  I mean how do you say "I'm a pretty good catch" without sounding desperate?

I enrolled some unsuspecting friends. I asked them via one of my social networks to describe me in three words. They had no idea what how they were helping me. At the end of it all, I had a pretty good description of how I come off to people. I learned some things about myself as well.

After filling out my info, I waited.

Will You Remember Me - Vera

My paternal grandmother was the best grandma in the world (to me). She was straight talking and plain speaking. I miss her often. Every Sunday afternoon we'd go to her house for treats and if we didn't get them, she'd get upset with my Father.

She used to make a hot lunch for my dad every Wednesday and he would go to sit with her while they caught up. One Wednesday, either my dad forgot or was late going for lunch, my grandmother walked to his store, threw the packed lunch on the table and started walking back home. My father then got in the car and tried to coax her into the vehicle so he could carry her home. Long story short, my dad ended up driving alongside until she got to her house, where she went inside, slammed the door and locked him out.

She was a small framed, short tempered woman that raised her six children on her own after her husband died while the was young (late twenties I think). A strong woman that once said, when asked if she would marry again, "No other man is going to raise E____ children". She was stubborn. She was a seamstress/shopkeeper that still got home in time to make meals for her family. Even though it wasn't much, they were fed and educated and raised.

Once my parents when to a funeral and left us at her house. She said, "When mother and father forsake you, your old grandmother will take you up". I think about that to this day. It was funny the way she said it but also the best thing anyone could say. She was saying she was there.

I smile when I think about her. And I wonder what kind of legacy I'll leave and if anyone will remember.

Will You Remember Me - How Will You Remember Me?

So the story of the woman found in her apartment three years after her death, still bothers me. I want to be remembered!

I'm a church girl. My parents are preachers, so I've been in church all my life. I had a youth leader that I will never forget. She was the worst youth leader to walk the planet probably. Yes, I'm exaggerating. But she was pretty awful. I assume she hated the position and I often wondered if she even liked young people. 

Every time she came to youth meetings it was as if someone was infringing on her time and like we should feel privileged that she graced us with her presence. She was always engaging us in debates about whether being from the inner city made us "hood kids". That wouldn't be bad if ever so often she wouldn't punctuate it by scolding the girls in the group by telling them she wouldn't be surprised if they became teen mothers. 

Now that I think about her, she was slightly psychotic. Anyone that projects those feeling and those kind of ideals on impressionable minds and people she should be molding had to have some kind of loopy tendencies. Funny thing is, we (kids) never reported her. 

She also had authority issues. She was always at odds with the church overseers. I was a kid but it was obvious that she had issues. I remember the last time I saw her at church she went into the office, tendered her resignation and promptly exited the building. All during Sunday morning service. The church office was beyond the pulpit at that time so she had to pass the entire congregation to do that. Why not wait until the end of service? Dramatic much?

Well the other day in the newspaper, I saw an obituary with someone of the same name. I wasn't sure if it was her but my memories were filled with her shouting at us, putting us down and her general unfairness. Then I turned the page.

I remembered.

Will You Remember Me? Part 2

I often wonder who will remember me. I know my parents will and I assume my siblings will. But with my constant interaction with people I wonder how many of them would say, "That girl/woman...". I remember my grandparents often. I think of school friends one or two of them haunt my mind when I think of school fights and arguments.

I used to do youth work. I wonder if the kids there will remember how they often came to my workplace and stayed there until time to go home. I wonder if they'll remember pizza Fridays. I used to work for a Pastor, I wonder if he'll remember how spent days and nights for three months clearing up his accounting.There was point where I worked at a school, it was in the cafeteria but I wonder who remembers the lady that they had to pay, the one they said always made them smile.

As a singer who will say a song I sang touched them, made them think, gave them goosebumps. I was at a street festival a few months ago and ran into a director that I had worked with. With his eyes lit he said, "I thought about you last week. I was listening to the radio, I turned it off and thought, 'Ali Cole, that girl could sing her a__ off, I wonder where she is?' and here you are." I wonder...

Who will remember me?