Saturday, September 13, 2014

Top 6 Reasons Why She Didn't Leave

Every now and then I get a little reality check, a little comeuppance.  See, for me, one of the best parts of getting older is that it's given me increasing control over who I get to (or have to) spend time with.  And generally, I guess I spend time with people who have a certain level of empathy or at the very least understanding.  Plus, I never read the comments on online forums.  That helps immensely.

But after the video of the "minor physical altercation" (as described by his attorney) in which 212-pound NFL running back Ray Rice punched his fiance in the face so hard he then had to drag her unconscious body out of an elevator, I made the mistake of reading some comments.  One theme cropped up.  In the words of one particularly pithy idiot, "Staying is the same as asking for more."

Now, I assumed everyone knew this, but let me set the record straight for those of you who aren't familiar with how partner violence works:  Abusive relationships don't start with a KO in the elevator. 

Monday, September 1, 2014

The Shortest Distance Between Two Points

I write about a lot of shit.

I mean, forgive me for stating the obvious.  If you've been reading this blog, you know that already.

And sometimes people wonder why.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Preparedness: I'm No Boy Scout.

It's probably time we discuss the MBTI, or Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, a temperament test developed by Isabel Briggs Myers and her mother, Katharine Briggs, and based loosely on Jungian archetypes.  I am a HUGE FAN of the MBTI, and have spent the last decade foisting it upon introducing it to my loved ones, co-workers, and innocent bystanders in the produce aisle.

Here, allow me to foist it upon you: Go here and click the DO IT button.  It's fun, I promise.  Then paste your results in the comments section, below.

KIDDING.  I mean, go ahead, if that's your thing, I'd love to know what your type is.  But if you flinched at the thought of publicly broadcasting your results, there's a good chance we already know that your first letter is an "I" for Introvert.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

A One-Man Egg

Some tragedies crystallize our collective fears more than others.  Celebrity deaths, in particular, are great candidates for this, a human synecdoche for all of our societal woes.  A year or so ago, Cory Monteith died of drug addiction, and I watched my daughter process that loss--someone she hadn't met, sure, but an individual who also represented something concrete and positive for her.  We talked about addiction, and decision-making, and the conjoined emotions of grief and anger.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Appropriate Attire Required

My daughter recently competed in her first indoor rock climbing competition, thereby proving once again that my kids are infinitely more badass than I.  Climbing is a great sport, full of great people.  Climbing, like any sport, selects for participants who have the characteristics to enjoy it.  In this case: independence, perseverance, focus, and not necessarily fearlessness, but the willingness to "feel the fear and do it anyway" which I find so very baffling.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Fear and Panic: My Beaches

The only thing that scares me more than the thought of drowning is the thought of my kids drowning. Which I picture a thousand times, in graphic detail, every time they set foot near the ocean.  I can see the waves knocking them over, snapping their little spines, their eye wide in terror as the water closes over them, while I fight and struggle through the undertow to try to reach them, but never in time....And then I hear one of them shriek, and I wrench my focus back to reality, only to see her splashing happily, throwing herself into wave after wave, spluttering out the salt water, oblivious to my fear.

Here's the weird thing: I am a really good swimmer.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Keeping the Wolves at Bay

When things are going well, I exercise a lot.
When I exercise a lot, things go well.

These are not mere coincidences.  When things are going well, I exercise a lot, and I feel great, which means I look at least halfway decent (or, as I now hear so often “good for my age”*) and people sometimes say to me, admiringly, “Wow.  You exercise a lot.  You must really enjoy it.”

Heh.  No. I do not “enjoy” exercise.