The Sting of a Bee

There's a lot of stress whirling around in the air these days, and most of us are just sucking it in, allowing its evils to penetrate the fragile walls of our inner self as we are eaten away, bit by bit, like the last piece of cold pizza.  And for most of us, this stress will probably never ever go away, but merely hover among us like the moon and the stars, taunting us with its very existence.  But for me, I've found an interesting way to deal with some of the worst of what life has to offer.  It's a small dose of cerebral trickery that has helped me through some of the roughest of days.

Bee Stings

STEP 1:
Alright, this is going to hurt just a little.  Think of one of those times that you felt like somebody had literally punched you in the gut.  Maybe it was a moment you had been anticipating for a long time, or maybe you never saw it coming.  Nonetheless, think about how much it hurt, and compare that pain to the sting of a bee.   How much did that moment sting your heart, your body, your mind, your soul?  How powerful were the motives and the people behind it; how big was the bee?  Was it a mere yellow jacket whose looming havoc could just as easily been flicked away with the tip of one's finger?  Or was its wrath more like that of a Queen Bee's?   So wicked, so venomous, so horrid, that its quick injection into your veins caused every fiber of your being to convulse with the greatest pain of your life.  

STEP 2:
Alright, so now that you've identified the size of the bee and all the darkness hiding within its putrid pockets of pollen, it's now time to figure out just how you're going to pull its nasty stinger out.  A stinger that just loves to sit there jammed into your tender epidermis, making all around it bulge like a pus filled balloon.  You can of course do nothing at all, exposing the stinger, and the pain it emits, to those unfortunate souls all around you.  Forcing the world to watch as you wallow in your own self-pity, vomiting a clear liquid of misery and self-absorption until the stinger has completely festered up and become so infected, that you are no longer even a fraction of the "wonderful" person you once believed you were.

Or, you can grow some balls (or a vagina as Betty White likes to say "those things take a pounding")  and find the courage within yourself to empower your mind and body, so that you may fill up with just enough strength to begin the long game of tug of war you're going to have to have with this ghastly stinger.   And depending on how deep it is, you may even need to enlist a few gracious friends to help on your side of the rope, hauling and heaving that God damned thing until the force of its ultimate removal leaves permanent burn marks all over your hands.

STEP 3:
So it's gone.  Now what?  All is well again?  Nope.  It's healing time.  Time to figure out just how long you are going to let this SOB's poison run a muck through your thoughts.  How long until you've stabbed its demons directly in their hearts with your remedial dagger.  Because before you know it, as you become stronger with every passing day, this former mountain of reddening swell that once dwelled upon your inner strength, will slowly begin to lower its flags, and disappear into that small room in the back of your brain where life's lessons spend their remaining days.  And it all ties in with my belief that the way we deal with the problems in our lives is directly connected to how happy or sad we ultimately will be.  Because if you really think about it, all any of our problems really come down to is how they affect us in the long haul.   

And please always remember that you will most likely be stung by many a bee in your lifetime.  Some will be quite powerful, while others will just be power-hungry.  But the one thing to always keep in mind, is that in most cases, when a bee stings you, no matter who they are or who they think they are,  they will usually crumble onto the sidewalk at some point after the sting, leaving your better self to walk right over them, as you hear the beautiful crackle of their hollow carcass, crumbling beneath your humble shoes.


 

Splitting a Candy Bar

Our daily lives are cluttered with countless objects, some holding strong sentimental value, while others just seem to float around like specs of dust, merely there to satisfy our selfish, fleeting needs.  But sadly, most of these possessions and their attached memories will be ultimately forgotten through the passage of time, as the hope chests within our minds are continually filled with newer and newer objects, leaving less and less space for those older things that had once rang so true to our past selves.  But for me, there will always be one item in particular that I can honestly say has helped shape my life.  A thing so special it's been strapped securely to the cliffs of my memory banks, so it may not fall victim to the rapid river below.  A river so fierce, that it's forever determined to destroy all that is beautiful, as it drags life's most faded memories away from all recollection. 

And the reason this item has been so life changing for me, can be related to the simple act of arguing and how it affects each and every one of our lives.  If it be a dozen bloodthirsty texts sent and received over misinterpreted frowny faces, or a brutal duel between two overly sharpened tongues, no matter how or why a heated moment occurs, all that truly matters in the end, is the end.  A nasty fight with an even nastier conclusion has the power to shatter the bonds of even the closest of people, potentially to the point of no return.

And that is why my father would always try his hardest to end the most terrible of arguments on the happiest of terms.  Each time stopping, softly smiling, and then asking if we wanted to split a Hershey's candy bar. And at that moment, I'd always find it strange how such a simple gesture could take away so much anger, and in turn, create the kind of honest happiness normally lost within the tribulations of life.  I'd then simply nod and give him a smile back, as he'd break the bar in half, making everything right in the world once again.  

And all these years later as I think back on my happy childhood and the strong bond I still share with my dad, I realize how things could have gone quite differently and am grateful everyday for his immense wisdom.  And I can only hope that someday my own children will find my father's tradition as magical as I did, realizing that its true meaning goes well beyond a sweet and sugary coating.
   

Sunday Calls

It is so sad how many of those seemingly meaningless stories that had once so abundantly flowed from my grandparent's lips have long since been forgotten.  It's just such a pity that Mother Nature couldn't have devised a better plan in raising mankind's maturity level just a bit sooner, so that today's bumbling youth could at least have the chance to truly appreciate the declining gift that sits right in front of them.  But unfortunately, this cruel world has decided to age these beautiful storytellers in such a way that their unique and wondrous tales are usually lost in a bubble of dementia, quickly drifting up towards the heavens, faster than we could ever have imagined.

But thankfully, sometimes the red in our eyes clears faster then expected, and those who choose to, will indeed see the things that truly matter in this world.  And that is what happened to me around the time my grandfather died, when my window of insight suddenly opened, letting in the fresh air of epiphany.  It made me realize that it was now time to start calling my remaining grandmothers on a weekly basis, and to begin opening my ears to the things they had been so quietly shouting at me since the day I was born.

So I began calling them every Sunday, no matter where I was or what I was doing; becoming a member of that very small, almost microscopic group of selfless people who I'd feared for most of my life.  But I soon realized that to be in this group, meant more than just picking up the phone.  It meant that not picking up the phone would now hold dire consequences.  This was because, to them, the very ring of my call was like the smell of crisp bacon.  The echo of my voice like an angel singing.  This unexpected effort that I had decided to put forth had become their addiction,  running through their souls like crack cocaine.  And for that to be lost, for those Sunday calls to be silenced, became much too awful to even imagine.  

It's hard to believe that I've been making these calls for almost seven years now.  The dialing of their number, the sounds of their happy hellos, feels almost like breathing. And in the beginning, I'd always figured they'd forever be the ones who reaped its reward, but surprisingly, that couldn't be any farther from the truth.  Their joy, their sadness, and the mere connection of our voices, has been more special to me than I could ever have dreamed.  And I can only hope, that one day, I can help rub the film from someone else's eyes, so that they may too experience the impact a simple conversation can have on one's life.

Slaughtering the Black Sheep

If you've never stared into the beady eyes of one of these disgusting creatures, then you're one of the lucky ones.  When we're children,  we don't even realize that we could possibly have the blood of one of these horrible animals running through our veins, until we can finally understand those whispers that had been coming from the dark corners of the family barn for most of our childhood.  The kind of whispers that can't possibly be heard through naive ears.  But now that you're all grown up,  you can finally hear and see everything quite intelligibly and he's suddenly just standing there, clear as day, in the middle of your kitchen.  He's snorting, and baaing, and shitting all over the place, as you finally realize where all that defecation on the bottom of your shoes has been coming from for all these years.

And then you begin to see the giant trough of selfishness this black sheep has been swimming in for most of his life.  You notice how he hardly ever calls his mother the Ewe, but when he does, and you happen to answer the phone, you notice how he tries to pretend that you're old friends.  And then there's those random days when the black sheep actually decides to come rambling down the driveway.  And of course you know it's him because you can hear his mighty hoofs clicking and clacking the whole way and you can see his mighty black chest puffed out like a turkey.  Then when he finally does come in, dragging his goat of a wife, he immediately starts acting like it was just yesterday that he and the family had rubbed tails.  He then tells of his heroic journeys running across fields of green, managing to impress the ignorant little lambs who think he's as cool as Dolly.  But to the ones who've been slighted by him one too many times,  they know all too well that he'll be gone before he even finishes that stick of hay he's been rudely chewing on and will be on his way back to that mystery pasture that nobody ever gets invited to.  

In a perfect world, I would grow some horns, and stop that damn black sheep right in his tracks.  I would bleat at him louder than I ever have before, telling him that life is just too short to do these kinds of things to the rest of the herd and neglect those little lambs who have always naively adored him.  And after he turns his wet nose up at me, and leads his goat of a wife out the door, I fantasize that I would then lock the fence to the family farm behind him, throwing him and his goat out for good.  But in reality, I fear that nobody would have the guts to stand with me, and only sheepishly lay in the hay, pretending that everything is alright.

So for now, we will all cut our hooves on the black sheep's eggshells as he, time and time again, interrupts what could have been great .  But I know, that eventually his time will come, and the farmer of fate will finally realize how he's treated the rest of us, and he'll be on his way to the butcher shop once and for all. 

Thick Skin

It is no secret that this world is filled with idiots and assholes just waiting to dig their claws deeper and deeper into your flesh.  Layer after layer they tear violently and ruthlessly at whatever is left of your tattered soul, until that is, you have no choice but to run to the nearest bathroom and let out the remainder of your emotions onto the grimy floor.

They say one must have a "thick skin" in order to deal with such monsters.  But does a thick skin really truly exist?  Or is it just another way of describing a person who can hold back the blubbering until quitting time?  I've of course met both kinds of people, those who always seem to get up no matter how hard they're pushed towards the pavement, and others who just lay there dead, helplessly waiting for Mr. pity himself to circle around the block once more to pick them up.  But whichever kind you are, the very second that first tear comes tumbling down your cheek for all to see, it's game over.  Because in that vulnerable moment,  whatever minuscule respect those bullies might have had for you in the past, is immediately thrown into the incinerator of life; its billowing smoke forming a cloud of toxic fumes that will forever move your way.  

So please stand tall and smile bright because believe it or not, your personal happiness is like a needle of poison into their icy veins. Your laughter will deafen them and that twinkle in your eye will blind them.   And each day you rise above and remain the bigger person, that venom you've injected will slowly flow through them inch by inch, until their insecurities and self entitlement explode into a beautiful mess of sweet revenge.

Living Selfishly?

Where exactly do you draw the line between selfish and selfless?  And what percentage of each should we fill our daily lives with?  The world is crowded with people from each spectrum.  People who choose to live every day for others, and some who do quite the opposite.  But who's to say either is right or wrong?  And how does one strike a balance between the two?

I've of course done many selfish things in my life, things I'd take back in a second.   But that's just a part of growing up and finding one's way through this war zone of life.  A war zone I assumed I was forging through quite evenly.  That is, until one day I had a rasping realization that I was in fact living life a little too selflessly, and to be honest, I was getting pretty damn tired of it.

Several years ago, I chose to do one of the most selfish things one can do in life; move away from everybody who cares about you.  These actions affected a wide range of people, causing anger and sadness among the ones I loved the most and the least.  But nonetheless,  it was just one of those things I had to do in life, so I took a deep breath, wiggled my toes, and made a giant leap for those unknown pacific waters.

But from the moment that plane screeched onto the golden brick roads of LaLa land, I knew I was suddenly changing as a person.  I was beginning to live life much more selflessly then I had before, and had no freaking idea why.  I had initially thought that maybe it was just a side effect of getting (sigh) older or the result of surrounding myself with a much higher quality of people(those who hated Sarah Palin as much as I did).  But alas, it was really something much deeper than that, it being a feeling of regret spawning from the guilt that I had felt from leaving everything and everybody behind.

At first though,  living this way didn't seem all that bad.  In fact, I was beginning to adore the person I was now becoming; instantly satisfied with how nicely I'd started treating everybody around me.  Had I really grown into the person I'd always wanted to be?  Well, that all changed one particular morning when the epiphanic pliers of life suddenly yanked my eyes wide open, making it all too clear that there was going to be a big price to pay for living at such a far end of the compass. 

I had begun to stretch myself so thin that I had become virtually invisible.  A human stomping ground for those who saw my kindness with only ignorant eyes. It was like I was in a nonstop game of eggshell walking with a constant leap to level ground.  I was Dorothy's straw man, a bleating scapegoat, and was saying yes, much more than no.   But alas, I couldn't blame anybody but myself.  I mean, when one throws themself out there to the wolves, they can't be naive in thinking they won't get a few bite marks here and there.  Possibly even the occasional stint of rabies.  So that's when I knew things had to change.  It was time to stop worrying about one selfish act, and start living more for myself.

So as of today, I've started to sprinkle a little "me" on my morning eggs.  Taking each fight; each altercation; each disagreement I have with those I "disappoint", with a humongous grain of sodium chloride.  And the lesson I've learned through all of this:  Always proceed with the utmost caution before you decide to bend over backwards for somebody.  Because you just might be unconsciously helping yet another wailing baby who's feverishly pretending they cannot walk.    

The Unforeseen Sibling...

It was one of those moments that shocks you for weeks or even months after it happens.  A newly discovered dimension of life that's thrown at you right out of the blue, causing every cell of your brain to leap out of its skin.  I was sixteen, my younger brother fourteen, when they broke the amazing news to us.  News that our adolescent minds couldn't have ever envisioned in a million years: my mother was pregnant and we'd be welcoming a third sibling to our family.  

My brother and I had grown up undisturbed for more than a decade.  Fourteen years of playing and fighting spent in tandem.  But no matter how many moments one may share with their own brother or sister throughout their childhood, it is almost impossible for either to truly observe the other's journey into maturity.  Each is simply too naive, too wrapped up in their own growing up to observe anybody else's.  But now, being sixteen, my trek to adulthood had nearly come to an end.  And with the coming of this new addition to our family,  I soon realized that I had been given a simple gift.   It was a gift that I could chose to ignore or decide to embrace with open arms.  It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to nurture and hopefully impact this unforeseen person as he embarked on his own childhood journey, but this time, I was armed with a clear set of eyes and a much fuller head of wisdom. 

And that journey began just a few months later as I first held my baby brother in my arms, suddenly wondering how I could have lived sixteen whole years without this amazing person in my life.  It was like he had drenched every fiber of my soul with a saccharine of bliss, stretching the chambers of my heart to fit one more.  And as the years came and went; as my little brother grew and thrived right before my eyes, I found myself changing right along with him.  Finally realizing the true power one can hold by simply hopping to a higher branch, and allowing themselves to peer at life from an unfamiliar angle. 

Today my baby brother is almost all grown up, the years between his birth and now have somehow  breezed past me like the wind.  But no matter how much time does pass,  I'll forever cherish the chance life gave me to see things differently.  And I'll always look at my baby brother as that one missing puzzle piece, a puzzle piece to a riddle that we all assumed had already been solved.  

The Rainbow

One of the best perks of living in this great state of California, is the fact that it almost never rains in the summer.  We go for weeks and months, day in and day out, with cloudless blue skies and beautiful sunny days.   But once in awhile, a glistening drop of precipitation is felt on one's forehead during the summer stretch, normally mistaken for a lawn sprinkler or some passing car's windshield fluid.  It's almost like we forget how rain feels, how it smells, or how it looks.  Our minds immediately searching for what artificial copycat could have possibly thrown its drizzle our way.  

Last Sunday was one of those days.  My husband had picked me up for our usual trip to Trader Joes.  But as I got into his car, he excitedly began to tell me how his windshield had been spotted with moisture while he'd been inside at work.   I of course, still in the trance of summer, didn't quite believe him until, I myself, looked up at the sky above, suddenly seeing a spectacular rainbow forming for all to see.

And of course I've seen rainbows before, everybody has right?  But I've never actually taken the time to selflessly tear myself away from its vivid glory.  To in turn, actually observe how its magnificence was affecting everybody else around me. So as we continued to drive down the street, I suddenly began noticing the spell this rainbow had seemed to cast upon the rest of the world.  One by one, I watched people of all ages, young and old, turn and look up into the sky.  Each one stopping their busy lives for just a second to look, adorning their faces with huge smiles and wide eyes.  I found it absolutely amazing how such a simple phenomenon, a phenomenon most people had seen dozens of times before, could bring even the most distant strangers together for these precious few moments in time.  It was one of the most special things I had ever witnessed in my entire life.

Later that night, in looking back at what the predicted forecast had been for the day, I soon realized that it was never supposed to rain at all; not one weatherperson in all the land had foreseen anything less than perfect weather.  Personally though, I think rain had been in the plan all along.  And no matter what you believe in, in this life or the next, I know that somebody up there had been watching, knowing that the world, if for only a few priceless moments, was in desperate need of a sincere moment of happiness.


 

A Moment in Time

From time to time I try to wrap my head around the big occurrences that ultimately influence the direction a person may take on the journey of life. Of course 9-11 is the big one we all think about these days; the people who woke up just a little bit late and missed their flight or those who didn't go into work and surely would have died if they had.  They're the big things that happen that put our lives into a complete tailspin, sometimes forcing us to readjust the path we were previously taking and walk a more clean and careful course. But then I sometimes think about how even the smallest of things can make just as much of an impact, or sometimes even a greater one.  That quick smile you gave the guy bagging your groceries, or the thirty seconds you took out of your day to hold the door for that pregnant lady.  They are the little things that we forget about almost immediately after they happen; the things that not only shape our lives, but the lives of those who we had briefly connected with.  Ever think about that guy who helped you pick up your keys in the parking lot a few years back?  Maybe those precious few seconds when your two lives touched caused him to just miss getting into a car accident.  Or maybe it did just the opposite.  Or what about that woman whom you let go in front of you at the register.  Maybe you unconsciously helped her run into her true love, or maybe you helped her miss him forever.  How many times has a small connection with a complete stranger changed their life or yours?  Most of us will never know, right?  You could have the best intentions and hurt somebody or the worst intentions and help somebody.  All it really boils down to is timing, and how the people you love, hate, and don't even know, influence those fleeting but invaluable moments.  

The Unfiltered Husband

When my husband and I started dating almost nine years ago, after the cloak of honeymoon falsities had finally let the light pour in, I soon realized that I was getting involved with one of the most bizarre and unique individuals I had ever met.  He was living his life almost entirely unfiltered, and had been for quite some time.  Never cowering to a stranger's second glance or stink eye, he didn't care what anybody thought, as those who knew him stood nervously in the shadows, chagrined beyond belief.

So as you can imagine, in the beginning of our relationship, quite honestly, it often felt like I was dating a two year old.  He would sing and dance in the middle of a crowded mall or belly laugh, right out of the blue, at something that had happened several weeks ago.  His inability to become embarrassed sometimes even made me feel scared out of my mind, especially when he'd blurt out some off-color "Goodfellas" quote during a late night walk through a bad part of town.    

And surprisingly, his capabilities could even extend farther than mortification, soon developing into an amazing argumentative tool to be used during disagreements.  This would especially be useful if I threw one of my own tactics at him and stopped talking, shutting him out until he apologized.  After this, he'd counter my attack with a threat to do something completely obnoxious until I opened back up, sometimes screaming in the middle of a packed restaurant or pulling his pants down in the middle of a busy crosswalk.  I'd of course always eventually crack, waving my white flag rapidly as I anxiously watched his pants slowly fall down past his knees.

He was like some superhero who held this incredible power that far surpassed ex-ray vision or being able to fly.  It was the strangest quality I had ever experienced in a boyfriend and although I should have taken off running long ago, something made me want to venture further into his very eccentric world. And as I did, his muck spattering my face from all directions, I suddenly noticed that I had fallen in love with this crazed oddball.  He was the first person who had truly made me reevaluate myself for the better, as I suddenly realized that the only thing really holding me back was a social norm that had been unconsciously instilled in me by my parents.  And simply, this crazy man had just found a magical loophole against this social pull, and was holding his hand out, urging me to escape along with him.

But unfortunately, most changes start with baby steps, and even after almost a decade of turning cherry red from his nutty antics, I'm still trapped in the cultural web of life, grappling with a handicap most of us don't even realize we possess.  On the contrary though, my husband has definitely changed me, forcing me to look at life differently; turning my perspective up-ways and sideways until I was much too dizzy to stand.  And isn't that what life's all about? Seeing the world through as many eyes as possible?  He's mastered something most of us won't even attempt in this lifetime, living life to its fullest, no matter who is watching.