Category: This and that

You Are What You Seek

~ Lenore Diane ~ 10 Comments
Amherst Shore, Nova Scotia by Jill C.

I am taking a risk here. I am going to take the “sharing too much information” to a new level, even for me. Please brace yourself and understand, what you are about to read may cause you to feel awkward and uncomfortable. You may even feel embarrassed for having read what I am about to share. That’s okay with me, because I am writing this for me and no one else. Feeling a little intrigued?

I had an ah-ha moment over the weekend. I realized, you are what you seek. Furthermore, I realized I have a tendency to seek disapproval, perhaps even disrespect. And, I believe I open myself up to receive disapproval and disrespect by placing a target on myself with my open and honest blog.

In past posts, I mentioned that addictions came in all kinds of flavors. Of course, at the time I was referring to ice cream, chips, etc. But lately, as I have been actively seeking negative comments, I realize that not all addictions are food (or even drug) related.

Today, I am calling out an acquaintance, without naming names. This acquaintance and I have met, and we share some of the same friends. Learning s/he was a writer (of sorts), I had hoped to connect with this person and talk about writing. Unfortunately, a connection was not in the cards. Though this person rarely spoke to me directly, s/he did write about me in the world of Twitter; and, this person did not speak kindly.

The point has come when I need to stop obsessing over this person’s negativity. Okay, the point came, went and is now overdue. I need to put aside my curiosity and need for approval, rather disapproval. Though I do not know the reasoning behind the negative things I have seen written about me, I feel the reason I seek out the negativity is due to another type of addiction.

Am I a stalker? I suppose in a ‘Twitter’ kind of way, I am. I think in this day and age, anyone accessing Twitter and following others is technically a stalker. And, I would actively search to see what sorts of Tweets were being sent to this person. So yes, again, I suppose I was a stalker. And well, I need to remember something my husband has told me for years: “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” Updating his statement to accommodate a Twitter society, I’m guessing he would say, “Don’t go looking for Tweets you don’t want to see.”

In addition to being a Twitter stalker, I spent a period of time living the life of an idiot by actively seeking disapproval and hatred. As I said earlier, this person (and some friends of this person) provided the disapproval and hatred by actively writing things about me that were not kind. According to this person, my craziness amused him/her. I suppose I am glad this person found me amusing, though I cannot say the same for this person. Sadly, the words this person typed about me brought me to tears for at least two reasons: 1.) the words hurt and 2.) I was stupid enough to go looking for it.

I assume that by admitting I have actively sought out Tweets by this person, reaffirms his/her belief that I am crazy. So be it. In the beginning, I wanted to meet this person, who I saw as a writer with large following of readers. And, in the end, I met myself, and I started writing again. At times, this experience was painful for me, but I got something positive out of it.

Amherst Shore, Nova Scotia by Jill C.

We live in a world where thoughts can be shared with countless, nameless, faceless people in seconds. Proverbial filters and holding of tongues are no longer. We feel safe hidden behind the keyboard, no censors holding us back. And, as we hide behind our keyboard safe in anonymity, hatred is spewed easily within seconds and runs rampant like a virus. Just like a porcupine raises its’ quills when needing to defend itself, the person called out for being mean, ugly, disrespectful, insensitive or rude is ready to attack. After all, it’s not the person spewing the hate that is wrong, it is the person actively seeking what is being spewed – right? As I said, my open blog makes me an easy target; no fake names, no hiding behind keyboards and no anonymity here.

I suspect, after reading this, you will once again Tweet about how “[expletive] crazy” I am for stalking you. That’s ironic, too. You’ve labeled me a stalker, yet you actively sought out my blog. Interesting. Anyway, carry on with your negative self.  I’m done. This was my Carly Simon “You’re so vain” composition. I did not deserve and will no longer seek your disapproval and disrespect. “Buh-bye.”

Help Yourself

~ Lenore Diane ~ Leave a comment

How many self-help books do you own? Need a minute to go count the collection you’ve created over the years? Or, have you passed your books along to others?

Lately, I seem drawn to book after book, promising me a better life. Please, don’t misunderstand me, I love my life. Still, with so many books within reach touting a better life – well, color me interested.

I think I am still coming off the “Eat, Pray, Love” thing. I never read the book. (Why does admitting to not having read the book take me back to my high school days and Cliff Notes?) I did – you knew this was coming – see the movie. And, though the movie wasn’t great, I find myself thinking about the messages portrayed in the movie. I have been accessing my library’s website daily, to see if a copy of the book is available. Hang on, I’ll check now . . . ARGH! Still unavailable.

Self-help books are destroying me. My over-analytical ways are only encouraged by the countless books out there claiming to help me. Who says I need help, anyway? Hush. I heard that.

“I’ll have to try that.” I hear myself say that statement time and time again, during conversations with friends and family. We are always offering our advice about this or that; assuming how we were helped will fit nicely and neatly in another person’s life. Though really, we’re all different.

Though written words and another person’s experience may inspire, I find more insight and inspiration by doing the most simple tasks. For example, when I am making and packing my son’s lunch for school, I find a peace making his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Sometimes, I get lost in the spreading of jelly across the peanut butter, attempting to cover the peanut butter perfectly, while creating an artful spread of jelly.

I find self-help in the calming (and yummy) scent of freshly made cinnamon toast. I find self-help in looking out my living room window and catching a glimpse of a deer running through the yard. I find self-help in sitting down with Joe, mesmerized while he reads to me from the books he brings home from school. To me, self-help is easily attainable when you grab hold of the good moments in life. And, when the bad moments hit, well – perhaps that is when the books are helpful. The books give us something to read through, escaping our momentary feeling of madness, until the dust settles and we see the good again. Perhaps we’re not looking for answers in the book, as much as we are looking for a diversion.

I’m not in a state of madness at the moment. Although, if you know me, you know this could change at any second. Still, as I continue to wait for a copy of “Eat, Pray, Love”, I find myself becoming obsessed with the countless self-help books being released daily. With so much help available, I may need to find a self-help book on how to learn to need more help. And, to make non-significant matters worse, next week begins the last season of Oprah. ACK! Oprah’s last season!

I wonder how many books will be released helping folks deal with Oprah’s final show: “Oprah: How to Live After the Show Ends”. Hmm . . .  Anyway, I’ll continue to check the status of “Eat, Pray, Love’ at my the library; and, in the meantime, I’m willing to bet I could find a self-help book to help me deal with my obsession of self-help books.

Musings of the Mind

~ Lenore Diane ~ Leave a comment

Please indulge me. Typically, my rambling posts take place on Friday; however, I feel the need to ramble today. So many thoughts are filling my head, I fear I will explode if I don’t release some of the pressure. Some of these ramblings may be repeats. My apologies.

My friend emailed me last night, providing me with an update on her Mom. The news was not good. We all hoped (and prayed) the chemo was working to reduce the size of the tumors. Unfortunately, the CT scan showed the chemo did not work, and the tumors showed signs of growth. Fortunately, my friend’s Mom started a new chemo-cocktail yesterday. Again, we turn to hope and prayers to yield the results we want.

My friend is off to see her Mom later this month. She’ll get to spend quality time with her Mom – just the two of them. As my friend shared the news with me that she purchased the tickets and made the plans, I remembered my Dad.

January 1994. My family had mentioned Dad seemed depressed. My family had mentioned my Dad was not acting like his normal self. Though no one in the family knew what was going on with my Dad, it was apparent something was happening. Mid-January. I buy a ticket to fly home the 2nd week of February to be with my Dad and family. Late January. We find out my Dad has Lung Cancer.

February 4, 1994. I receive a phone call at work. It was my sister. My Dad was admitted to the hospital. Another sister of mine was working with Delta (she’s a flight attendant) to help me get a plane ticket to Atlanta. I leave work, and head to my place in DC before heading to the airport.

I think I arrived in Atlanta around 4pm. My sister-in-law’s parents met me at the airport and drove me to Piedmont Hospital. The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever (as did the flight from DC to Atlanta, for that matter). I don’t remember what my sister-in-law’s parents told me. I was in a daze. I was nervous. And, my stomach was in knots just like my stomach is in knots now, as I retell the story.

Walking with my friend through her Mom’s Cancer battle, takes me back to my walk during my Dad’s battle, his incredibly short battle. I met my friend (and another) prior to my Dad’s death, and my friend (and the other) got me through my Dad’s death.

I didn’t have the prep-time my friend has with her Mom. I was called. I boarded a plane. And, I saw my Dad – unconscious. He was in and out of consciousness before I arrived in Atlanta, and my Mom and siblings told him I was on the way to see him. But, I didn’t make it. He did not regain consciousness after I arrived, and he died shortly after midnight, February 5th. My Dad was gone. And, I did not have the kind of closure that eases the horrific sting of death. I admit there is a selfish side to me walking with my friend, as her Mom battles cancer; walking with my friend helps me come to terms with my Dad’s death.

He’s been gone for 16yrs. The intense pain I felt when he died has lessened significantly. But, as those of you who have lost a loved one know, the pain never truly goes away. And, as sick as it sounds, I find it comforting to feel the sadness again. I find it comforting to feel the pain. It is as if my Dad is with me all over again. Though I don’t remember him as the man hooked up to the respirator, unconscious. I remember him smiling, smoking, drinking, joking and being the burly New Englander, striking fear in my friends with his deep voice and subtle humor. I remember his laugh. And, I remember him answering the phone by saying, “Yell’oh.” (That’s Yankee for ‘Hello’.)

Hmm . . . maybe my head isn’t overwhelmed with countless thoughts at once. Perhaps my head is just filled with thoughts of my Dad and thoughts of my friend and her Mom. No. Really, my head is filled with other stuff, too. But compared to family and friends, the other stuff is just crap. I won’t sweat that other stuff, and you shouldn’t either. Now, reach out to a loved one by phone, email or better yet – send a card or letter via snail mail. Why not?