In general, I do not give money to people who beg. It sucks. I don't like guilt. I don't have extra money to give to everyone who asks, so on some level, I have simply resolved to giving to no one. I also feel like when people ask me for money, I want to tell my story and ask if they want to help feed my kids, I mean, yeah, I have a job, but I have earned everything I have, and yes its hard.
But, I am done taking food out of my kids mouth to feed a stranger. I commit my time. I donate clothing, cell phones, cars and furniture and anything I have to help, but cash money is a hot commodity these days.
Fast forward to today. Maddi and I are at the grocery and a visibly pregnant woman approaches the car and says she is trying to get back to Boulder and the express bus is $5 and she just needs help getting home.
She is young and pregnant, and seems distressed. What to do? She also reminds us of an old friend who was pregnant last year. Personal accountability, as a human being, on some level.
I don't have cash but tell her to wait and when I am done grocery shopping, I will bring her cash.
I gave her a $10 after we finished and told her, I didn't know if she was hungry too, but good luck.
Maddi said, "what if she was a con artist"? Hmmm, who taught her that? I simply answered, maybe she is, but I remember being pregnant, and I was hungry all the time... and begging sucks. So, hopefully she really needed the help and gets where she needs to go, and my daughter has learned there are exceptions to every rule.
But, it weighed on my mind because I like to set a good example, I like to be consistent, and I want my kids to know that there are always exceptions, but doing the right thing is your choice, not reflective on how people accept it, or take advantage of it. That is solely on them.
Good day.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Bucket lists
I have never had a bucket list per se. I pretty much just live my life day to day doing the most and the best each day has to offer. I don't pass up opportunities. I try to capture every moment like it may be the last. Not my last, but the the last chance to do it.
On some level, I still have the youthful outlook of invincibility. I suppose that is what keeps me young in spirit. I am smarter, more careful, but I make choices based on the knowledge of future chance and the concept that things don't just come along at will. I appreciate each moment that comes my way.
My job has afforded me the destination accessibility for many ventures lately. But, my desire to seek them out has been the catalyst for the many cool activities I have seen and done lately.
I have aggressively pursued my adventures. Blessed to have the ability to get to certain places I would not have traveled to on my own. Blessed to be healthy enough to follow though with my pursuits.
Everyone, on some level has tasks, adventures, things that they want to do. Whether it is travel to a new city, see a sports team play, buy a certain vehicle, everyone has a "thing".
I turned 40 a few years ago, and prior to this birthday I had a list as long as my arm. I wanted to publish a book. Done. I wanted to run a marathon. Done. I wanted to live abroad. Done. I wanted to write an everyday cookbook for busy moms. Almost done. Point being - there was always something at the forefront.
Lately, since I've ventured into my 40's, I've slacked off. Nothing at the forefront. No pending desires that are taking over my time and money as I prepare, just really trying to enjoy each day.
Yes, I want to travel more. Yes, I have goals for my kids. Yes, I want to get better at golf. But, nothing seems as important as living in the moment. Enjoying every sunrise, every kiss, every dinner, every glass of wine, every run, every moment with my child, every chance to connect with another human being. The important things have changed and I didn't even realize it.
It's almost like I changed my perspective on my reception of life and how I attack it to breathing in each moment and letting it embrace me, for a minute.
These 12 people, whether they had a bucket list or not, will never get to fulfill their desires in this lifetime, and I breathe in slowly as I connect with life itself, blessed to be here one more day, with my kid, in my home, in my life.
Live it! It's short... and un-promised.
On some level, I still have the youthful outlook of invincibility. I suppose that is what keeps me young in spirit. I am smarter, more careful, but I make choices based on the knowledge of future chance and the concept that things don't just come along at will. I appreciate each moment that comes my way.
My job has afforded me the destination accessibility for many ventures lately. But, my desire to seek them out has been the catalyst for the many cool activities I have seen and done lately.
I have aggressively pursued my adventures. Blessed to have the ability to get to certain places I would not have traveled to on my own. Blessed to be healthy enough to follow though with my pursuits.
Everyone, on some level has tasks, adventures, things that they want to do. Whether it is travel to a new city, see a sports team play, buy a certain vehicle, everyone has a "thing".
I turned 40 a few years ago, and prior to this birthday I had a list as long as my arm. I wanted to publish a book. Done. I wanted to run a marathon. Done. I wanted to live abroad. Done. I wanted to write an everyday cookbook for busy moms. Almost done. Point being - there was always something at the forefront.
Lately, since I've ventured into my 40's, I've slacked off. Nothing at the forefront. No pending desires that are taking over my time and money as I prepare, just really trying to enjoy each day.
Yes, I want to travel more. Yes, I have goals for my kids. Yes, I want to get better at golf. But, nothing seems as important as living in the moment. Enjoying every sunrise, every kiss, every dinner, every glass of wine, every run, every moment with my child, every chance to connect with another human being. The important things have changed and I didn't even realize it.
It's almost like I changed my perspective on my reception of life and how I attack it to breathing in each moment and letting it embrace me, for a minute.
These 12 people, whether they had a bucket list or not, will never get to fulfill their desires in this lifetime, and I breathe in slowly as I connect with life itself, blessed to be here one more day, with my kid, in my home, in my life.
Live it! It's short... and un-promised.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Loving New Orleans
I have been so lucky - traveling city to city, not only domestically, but internationally, and recently over and over to some of my favorite cities. New Orleans has been an opportunity for me to embrace the culture of the southern region of the states - a portion of the country I have avoided because of my experiences in the south in the past and clumping that entire region together.
But there is no place on earth like New Orleans. Believe it.
The food, the music, the fans of the New Orleans Saints. Beignets, chicory coffee, the Quarter, brass bands, dirty streets and hurricanes. All the best and the grimy...making one of the most unique cities and a noted charming presence in the country.
The people - the most genuine, real, down to earth American people - the culture of the south, the heart of America in soul. The concept of diversity and love.
Music, sweet music.
Music and food define love and how we treat each other - think about what New Orleans gives to its own community and all the tourists that come down to embrace the love. Undeniably, from the heart - they put their foot in it. Your plate, my plate, every note, every sultry voice, spreading love into the night and to anyone who wants to listen and enjoy.
Again, I am blessed, but if you haven't been down south lately, New Orleans is back!
But there is no place on earth like New Orleans. Believe it.
The food, the music, the fans of the New Orleans Saints. Beignets, chicory coffee, the Quarter, brass bands, dirty streets and hurricanes. All the best and the grimy...making one of the most unique cities and a noted charming presence in the country.
The people - the most genuine, real, down to earth American people - the culture of the south, the heart of America in soul. The concept of diversity and love.
Music, sweet music.
Music and food define love and how we treat each other - think about what New Orleans gives to its own community and all the tourists that come down to embrace the love. Undeniably, from the heart - they put their foot in it. Your plate, my plate, every note, every sultry voice, spreading love into the night and to anyone who wants to listen and enjoy.
Again, I am blessed, but if you haven't been down south lately, New Orleans is back!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Living in Terror
I came in late last night - quick overnight at home and as I relaxed and fell asleep with the fan on me, I thought of nothing but sleep. Within 3 hours I was awakened by a car door slam and then the sound of fighting.
I looked out my window to see a car pulled over on the side of the street, lights on, and a man atop another in the middle of the street. Although the streetlamp exposed the scuffle, it was hard to make out the who, the what, the why. I then heard a voice. A voice hurrying the fighters back into the vehicle. I had to assume they had seen me peering out of the window directly at them.
As I contemplated calling the police, the voice jarred me into reality. I live alone. I travel a lot. I am now a target.
A man punching the daylights out of what looked to be a teenager in the middle of the street at 3a.
What do you do?
And as fast as it drew me out of bed, the tires on the mini van squealed and the driver drove both men away into the darkness.
I re-ran the conversation, all the sounds over and over again in my head. Was this a gang related beatdown? Were these two drunk buddies that finally broke the last straw and decided to throw down? Was this a father figure beating a teenager who was out of line? These are the thoughts that went through my head.
Something told me it was domestic. Maybe the way the receiver of the beating slunk back to the car and got in silently. It also wasn't a loud altercation. NO cries for help. No voices at all, except initially when the car door slammed. I heard a man's voice saying, "...I told you...". Then after repeatedly punching the victim in the face and head, the voice of the woman driving the vehicle signaling them to depart the scene.
Regardless, my thoughts surrounded, would they come back? Would they break in and give me a beating because I witnessed the event? What the hell just happened?
Re-living the scene over and over again.
Getting out of bed over and over to look into the street and the cars. Trying to recognize my worst fear.
Finally falling back to sleep hours later of sheer exhaustion.
I sat on the toilet and quietly peed listening for any sounds coming from downstairs and outside. I thought about the fear the victim must live in daily to take a beating like that and get back in the car with these people. I thought about how much I don't know about my neighbors. I thought about how I made a conscious choice not to live in fear after two home invasions during my twenties.
It crossed my mind that I need to move. That I love my house and I love downtown but I am alone.
I am not protecting anyone. No one is protecting me. I don't want to lie awake at night reliving someone else's terror.
No compassion in the world can absorb the victimization of another human being.
And I look forward to my hotel room tonight so I can sleep well again.
And this makes me sad as well.
The irony: it's Independence Day.
Where is my freedom?
I looked out my window to see a car pulled over on the side of the street, lights on, and a man atop another in the middle of the street. Although the streetlamp exposed the scuffle, it was hard to make out the who, the what, the why. I then heard a voice. A voice hurrying the fighters back into the vehicle. I had to assume they had seen me peering out of the window directly at them.
As I contemplated calling the police, the voice jarred me into reality. I live alone. I travel a lot. I am now a target.
A man punching the daylights out of what looked to be a teenager in the middle of the street at 3a.
What do you do?
And as fast as it drew me out of bed, the tires on the mini van squealed and the driver drove both men away into the darkness.
I re-ran the conversation, all the sounds over and over again in my head. Was this a gang related beatdown? Were these two drunk buddies that finally broke the last straw and decided to throw down? Was this a father figure beating a teenager who was out of line? These are the thoughts that went through my head.
Something told me it was domestic. Maybe the way the receiver of the beating slunk back to the car and got in silently. It also wasn't a loud altercation. NO cries for help. No voices at all, except initially when the car door slammed. I heard a man's voice saying, "...I told you...". Then after repeatedly punching the victim in the face and head, the voice of the woman driving the vehicle signaling them to depart the scene.
Regardless, my thoughts surrounded, would they come back? Would they break in and give me a beating because I witnessed the event? What the hell just happened?
Re-living the scene over and over again.
Getting out of bed over and over to look into the street and the cars. Trying to recognize my worst fear.
Finally falling back to sleep hours later of sheer exhaustion.
I sat on the toilet and quietly peed listening for any sounds coming from downstairs and outside. I thought about the fear the victim must live in daily to take a beating like that and get back in the car with these people. I thought about how much I don't know about my neighbors. I thought about how I made a conscious choice not to live in fear after two home invasions during my twenties.
It crossed my mind that I need to move. That I love my house and I love downtown but I am alone.
I am not protecting anyone. No one is protecting me. I don't want to lie awake at night reliving someone else's terror.
No compassion in the world can absorb the victimization of another human being.
And I look forward to my hotel room tonight so I can sleep well again.
And this makes me sad as well.
The irony: it's Independence Day.
Where is my freedom?
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