On Pet Peeves

It drives me crazy when people mumble.   I almost involuntarily judge others for saying “I seen it”, as opposed to “I saw it “or thinking that “why for?” is an appropriate question. I have a hard time going on second dates with men who talk about  video games for more than thirty seconds, but I like to discuss novels, movies, and trashy (and not-so-trashy) television shows. I simply do not believe anyone who says they never fight with their friends or lovers—and it irritates me that anyone would assert that. I could list petty pet peeves I have for hours… but nobody would give a damn. They all have their own lists of annoyances, and many of them are probably habits of mine.

If my life can be compared to that of the general population this means two things:

1.       We should not dwell too much on what other people do wrong. They get under our skin, like we get under theirs.  As long as they’re relatively respectful, truthful, and tolerant, all the other stuff should be looked over because they are forgiving our shortcomings, too.  If that nice, honest, accepting person enjoys some of whatever we enjoy, and usually makes us laugh, we have a friend. If we find that friend physically attractive, at least most of the time, and feelings like butterflies, or somersaults   or some other sensation that does not normally occur in otherwise healthy stomachs are felt, we can become lovers. If we are great friends and lovers for a while, hopefully we can subconsciously ignore the mumbling, the boring conversation, and the horrid grammar.

2.       We can stop berating ourselves for the faults we know we have that may irk our friends, significant others, coworkers, family, or any stranger we may meet.  We excuse their stupid quirks way too often for that. As long as we do our best to be respectful truthful and tolerant, they should accept us.   If they can’t, then we have to surround ourselves with people who can.

Of course, life insists on being more complex than these guidelines suggest. Everyone has different definitions of respectful and tolerant, and even of honest. If we’re lucky, the individuals who raise us care enough to pass down their convictions.  Painful, attitude-altering moments force us to be incapable of attempting to be compassionate and open-minded, and make us feel like lying is our only choice. When we are in that messy psychological state, it is virtually impossible for us to avoid focusing on their pet peeves. And, let’s face it; I’m a pretty fortunate girl, so it is entirely possible that my life should not be compared to that of the general population. I think when am in what Mad-TV’s Stuart (the star of their only sketch worth watching)  called “my dark place,” it is important to try to remember that in spite for everything, those two things are true… Nobody really cares what bugs me and I shouldn't care either. What matters is to try to do and be good.  As always, my hope is that it will help somebody else to read the thoughts that help me. 

On Hopes for the Future

Dear Future Child of America,

 I hope your whole family has the ability to take care of themselves, and meet their medical needs.  I hope you are well-fed. I hope you go to school and never worry if an act of violence will be committed.  I hope you feel like advancing your education is possible, and employment  is probable. I hope you come into a world that makes you feel significant and safe. If you do not, none of the other fluffy hogwash I am going to tell you that I wish for you matters at all. But, I’ll ramble anyway.   

 I hope you grow up proud of the people from whom you came. I hope you experience the comfort of deeply-rooted family tradition, and that those traditions are among your fondest memories. I hope you respect your parents because they taught you to respect others. I hope you respect your siblings because they have forgiven for all the petty crimes you committed against them as a kid, and enjoy you.   I hope you're lucky enough to get to experience the adults of your childhood well into your adulthood. If you do get that fortunate, I hope you realize what a gift it is. It is completely natural for the gift of family to annoy the living hell out of you though. 

I hope you go through junior high and high school without too many emotional scars from bullies or friends who become jerks. I hope that you hold onto childhood friends as steadfastly as you do those traditions I wrote about. I hope you make new friends in every phase of life, and when you find good ones, forgive them as if they're family. I hope you make your friends laugh, and trust them to cry with you.  I hope you stand up to good friends and allow them to stand up to you. You'll lose some friends along the way, because people are weird (yourself included). I hope you hug the ones you keep.

 I hope you think you are good looking because life is easier if you do.  You probably won’t though. So, I hope you know three lovely individuals who you actually believe when they tell you they think you are pretty or handsome. I hope no one ever gives you a definite definition of “good-looking”. If someone does, I hope you ignore them.   I hope that people have healthier bodies and minds by the time you realize that both bodies and minds can be sick.

I hope you feel sexy often, when you’re old enough to feel sexy. I hope that people stop thinking that sexualizing you at three is acceptable.  When you are an adult, I hope you enjoy sex guiltlessly, with whoever you choose to sleep with.  No matter your gender or age I hope, you really are hard to get into bed because you value your time, feelings, and health.  I hope you respect others’ sexual decisions, and recognize rape as an occurrence that starts with the rapist. Because, by the time you are of age to consider all of this, I hope we are raising fewer jackasses.

I hope you work hard because someone taught you that it is the only way to achieve the many dreams that you have. And then, I hope you work hard because of the way it makes you feel, because it changes things. I hope you take responsibility for letting laziness get the best of you, because it will. I hope you value the people who push you to do better.  I hope you compassionately help struggling workers to do their best.  I hope you forgive yourself when you don’t do your best, so you can improve when you try again. Mostly, I hope you try again.

I hope you experience romantic love that makes you dizzy… for a while and cheerful for eternity. I hope that the “frogs” you kiss are decent humans, or that they at least make you see how decent you are. The chance of that happening is slim but it would save you a lot of pain.  I hope you have a 50^th anniversary party. I hope the guest at the party will hear your sharp-tongued comments from across the room.

I hope you travel by plane, and by book.

I hope you break important rules.

I hope you take care of people, and your community.

I hope you believe that climate change is real and our environment is precious.

I hope you see art when you look at the tagging on building of the roughest street in the poorest city.

I hope you can deal with a lot of unfair breaks.

I hope you grow old, read this and laugh hysterically at how idealistic I was, and that you have led the kind of life that allows you to be an idealist, too. 

(A video) On a cool Moment, Watch

On Breathing A Little Bit Easier

The following is a list of five things I can advise that you do not do because I have done or still do them, and they have made me crazy. I hope that my publishing this, will help somebody stress a tad less. If not, I guess it is a good reminder for me.

1.       Don’t turn yourself into a chameleon because you know how. I am very guilty of catering to my audience when it comes to social situations. I don’t make the same jokes in front of all my different friends—I don’t necessarily appear to have the political or religious beliefs. I have previously patted myself on the back for this because I thought I had a high emotional IQ; now I realize it’s just insincere. Really it’s okay to be yourself.  If you do not agree with somebody you can say so or elect to keep your mouth shut but you do not have to say anything to appease anybody, and they don’t have to like you.

2.       Don’t play the devil’s advocate because you know how. In my family, arguing is communicating and forcing someone to prove their point is something we do lovingly. Not everybody was raised by wonderfully obnoxious clan or people like us. What we would call a healthy debate can hurt them.  Unless you are really passionate about an issue (or someone is attacking you or a loved one personally), just relax. Ignorant people will not get too far anyway. In my opinion, being related to or close friends with someone makes this concept null and void, but that’s me.  Many disagree with that caveat.

3.          Don’t consider those who you feel the need to be passive aggressive with assets in your life. If you constantly feel the need to jab at a significant other or friend because of an issue about which you are uncomfortable   confronting them, it is probably because they scare you. What kind of relationship is that? I would argue from experience, it is not worth much.

4.         Acknowledge the things you do not accept. As a self-admitted people-pleaser, I have become extremely wrapped up in being “non-judgmental” and fearing people thinking I am judging them at all. Everybody has a moral code though, and so, everybody judges. I think it is important to tell people flat out that their behavior makes little sense to you, if they ask. Answering a question doesn't make you a bad person. If they don’t ask, don’t tell, but don’t beat yourself up for your opinion. It will help you breathe easier.  Of course I do think that good people try their hardest to judge actions rather than individuals.

5.       Trust your friends and family to know you are doing the best you can. If you let go a little and trust your loved ones to believe in you without explanation, they’ll do it, and you will have a lot less anxiety. You will probably irritate them less, too. 

On Color

I have seen snow on the ground as early as the first day in October and as late as the first day in May. In Michigan, winter never shows up when you think it will.  I really wish I enjoyed the snow, longed for the cold, and prayed for Christmas songs to come the radio; it would be nice not to dread the better half a year, every year. The mixture of grey skies and white snow stays far too long for me. My muscles ache even more than yours do in the cold and I feel trapped inside. I hate that feeling. I consider myself an eternal optimist in the summertime, and I wish this attitude transferred easily to the winter, but it doesn't. I don’t feel good again until the first time I get stuck.

Sometimes “getting stuck” for me, literally means getting stuck—in the snow. Unfortunately, each winter dozens of snowy sidewalks in Kalamazoo, MI, where I attended college, go un-shoveled. This is probably annoying for the average person but for me, a girl in a wheelchair, it causes utter despair. After taking a ridiculous amount of time to get dressed, and re-training myself to ignore the aching pain in my legs, being instantly immobilized by a huge pile of barely frozen water can make me cry.  The compassion strangers show me during these experiences renews my optimism.  No matter how many times it happens, I am always surprised when someone stops walking to class or pulls their cars over to dig my incredibly heavy power-chair out of the snow.  The majority of those who do even go as far as to follow me for a while, to make sure I do not end up stranded a block down the road. Some of my more cautious friends have warned me against telling these people too much, just in case they are actually mass murders or arsonists.  In my mind, that thought process only perpetuates the gloominess of winter.   I have listened to these kind folks complain about their families, helped them with homework, and even dispensed romantic advice once or twice.  I am clueless as to whether or not any of that really made a difference, as they are, I suppose, clueless as to whether I make it to my destination safely.  It is not the end result that matters, though. The simple fact that in the most inconvenient circumstances, and without grantee of a positive outcome, we extended a hand to each other brings color back into my world.  

Before I moved to Kalamazoo to attend college, I got stuck in many different ways.  The middle of every winter day in elementary school included the tremendous and horrendous task of putting on snow pants. The teacher would allow me to start dressing for recess five minutes before the other kids and they were still ready a good ten minutes before I was.  For years, I was stuck inside alone (other than the teacher) until my snow pants were on.  This made finding my friends on the playground very difficult and led to a lot of lonesome recesses. Then one day in Mrs. Laboon’s third grade class, a friend of mine, who was ready before all the others, used her extra time to assist me.  Mrs. Laboon was told explicitly by my Occupational Therapist not to dress me, but after seeing me come back from playtime frowning so often, she must have decided to look the other way when  my friend did. And just like that the blackness of being left out faded, and my eyes saw color.

Three years after that, on December 22, 1999 I had very extensive surgery on my legs. The lower half of my body was stuck in a spread-eagle position for ten weeks, the pain medication I was on made me indescribably sick.  I couldn’t bathe independently, had to use a bed-pan to go to the bathroom and barely ate. By the time my parents decided to stop giving me the pain pills, I was eleven years old and weighed thirty pounds. Being without them was agonizing also. Each tiny muscle in my legs felt like it was individually lit on fire. Compassion seemed to pop up everywhere though.  Almost everyone I knew or had even had a conversation with, sent gifts or came to visit. Friends and family spent hours of their own time comforting my parents and me and spent their own money trying to make my day better. The most shocking and wonderful burst of color came from my sister.

My sister and I were pals as toddlers, but during the early years of my adolescence, we pretended, very convincingly to despise one another. She teased me about anything and everything I did or said, called me spoiled and lazy and we often physically fought.  During the time I was recovering from the operation, she complained that I was getting all the attention, but she never left my side. She slept, ate and did her schoolwork, sitting at my bedside. It was the first winter during which she did not play in the snow she loved so much.  It was then that I realized she didn’t just love me because she had to; she sort of liked me, too.

Winter will always be a season of difficulty for me but it is in times of hardship that we see the best in our family, friends, and in strangers. I know that sounds cliché, but when I’m stuck it is a beautiful truth, a truth full of color.

(A video) On Depending on and Helping Others

On Equalizers

This first paragraph deals with disability because I can fully develop this example. My apologies if my transition to the actual point  of this post is careless.

Occasionally, People with disabilities have thought processes that read like this:

I'm sick of looking different, and sick of feeling different. I'm sick of making jokes about the parts of my life that can be indescribably bizarre. I wish I didn't have to be so open with people about the flaws that I forced to wear on my sleeve. I wish one able-bodied person would say to me "I wish things weren't so hard for you." I'm sick of fatigue and knee-pain and weakness. I'm sick of feeling defensive every time someone tilts their head when they talk to me, and even more sick of people tilting their head out of misguided sympathy. I'm sick of feeling like I have to prove to people that I'm not stupid and I'm even more sick of feeling like it might be a waste; maybe I am what they think I am. 

Then one speaks to a friend, a coworker, or a significant other and realizes that while every experience is unique, no emotion is. Everyone who has lived with a disability,hidden their sexuality,  dealt with a broken heart, or the unbelievable pain of losing a loved one too soon, lost their life savings or never had a dime to their name; everyone who has been stigmatized for their mental illness, or prayed for a tumor to be benign or hoped for a spouse to wake up,has suffered. We have not all felt lonely, frightened and inadequate for the same reason, but we have all undoubtedly felt lonely, frightened, and inadequate.These feelings are often the cause everything bad: addiction, thievery,selfishness, adultery, hatred, and even death.  Unfortunately,  emotions (particularly  negative ones) are the only real equalizer in this imbalanced world.I think this might mean that the only way to overcome our pain and feel joy is to help others feel fulfilled in their lives.These aforementioned "equalizing emotions" have forced us all to play on the same team. Nobody wins if somebody feels like they're losing. The only way we can ensure that less of us commit crimes, struggle with addiction or hurt those by whom we are surrounded is to admit and embrace the truth. We are an us. We all have a vested interest in making sure our fellow men and women are happy. In fact, if we want our children to grow up a better place than we did, we have a duty to do everything we can to assist them in becoming so.  

Hear Me Tell You to Stop

On What I've Learned From Those Who've Left

On January 13th, my family and I lost our matriarch. We're lucky in that my Grandma was 86, and lived most of those many years in great spirits. We are also lucky that people came from ten different states to bid her goodbye and show us support. It doesn't surprise me that so many people wanted to pay her homage. I was fortunate enough to know her well. She was as loyal as they come, a willing listener, a dispenser of brutally honest,and heartfelt advice, the life of MANY parties, and a rock for her husband, children and grandchildren. She was my sister and my last grandparent; we'll miss her and think of her more than daily.

The romantic in me wants to believe that she and my Grandpa are in a paradise  just above us, drinking martinis,laughing, kissing, and maybe occasionally exchanging a word or two with our other friends and relatives who have previously passed away. The realist in me says, this might be it. Maybe my aunt, my uncle, my mom's infant brother and sister, my grandma, her friends, my grandpa, his friends, maybe they're gone. The writer in me takes comfort in the fact, that as long as I am telling stories, they'll be in the minds whoever chooses to read my self-involved nostalgia. If they are gone though,that means,we have one chance to be the kind of character other people want to cast as the good guys in their prose.I'm 24, and I really don't have any right to tell others how to live, but I know the things that make my deceased friends and family the protagonists in my mind, and it's my blog so I'll be sharing those.

• My Grandma appreciated a well crafted joke, and made everybody believe they were interesting. 
• She took pride her appearance, both physically and socially. She was always well put together and kept private what needed to be kept private. 
• My Grandpa never failed to look on the bright-side, and saw fun around every corner.
• They were both fierce friends, and never put up with anybody speaking ill of those dear to them (even if they spoke ill of them sometimes).  
• My Dad's brother Johnny, never spoke ill of anybody.
• My dad's sister Eileen, didn't give much thought to what others might say about her, which is what made her so hilarious. 
• None of them ever missed a chance to toast to something magnificent. 

I could go on and on about what I've learned from these, and other people who are no longer with us, but it all boils down to three things. Be good. Ensure that you have a better time than you think possible, and be you. There's a unfortunate and large possibility this is your only shot.  

On Being an Ally

I am a proud member of three online communities concerning disability. It is beyond helpful to connect with people with experiences and challenges similar to my own. A few days ago, I read post that bothered me. A couple of the members wanted to create a poster about how to be a good ally to your disabled friends and/or family members.  

I guess one could make a case that this is a good idea, because there are many people who get nervous when they have to interact with those of us with disabilities, and it is usually due to the fact that they have never done it before. That being said, it annoys me for two reasons. The first being because this poster was not directed the general "naive" public but at individuals who they already consider to be an important part of their lives. It has occurred to me that maybe I am super fortunate in having family and friends who [seem as though they] are totally comfortable being with me in public. However, it has also occurred to me that the people who started this thread have non-friends and ridiculous relatives who mistreat them and that is obviously upsetting. I have just learned to be a valuable asset in someone else's life, and have nothing to deserve better friends or more accepting family than anybody else. Life is horrifically unfair.

The second source of my irritation came from the fact that a poster like the one they were planning on creating, could cause people to think all of us with disabilities want all the same things in an “ally”. For example, one of the instructions they give is: Don’t help unless you are asked. I am comfortable asking three of my many wonderful friends and acquaintances for physical help, and one of them has a disability, too. The rest of them just have to infer that I am struggling and ALWAYS help without being asked as they know I’m too stubborn to tell them I need them.  Another one is: Ask permission before touching my body and/or my wheelchair/crutches/walker/cane. I really could not care less, if someone moved my walker. I would much rather them do that than bump into it; I am extremely anxious about inconveniencing strangers. I do think it is a good idea to ask permission before touching another’s body, disabled or not. This doesn't mean that the aforementioned guidelines are bad, but they would not work for me. No two relationships are identical, and no two people are the same, even if they have a disability in common,

So to be a good Ally a disabled person in your life:

1.       Get to them. Think about what they like and dislike how they treat you, etc…

2.       Go from there

You could probably use these rules for any friend you encounter.