No Time For Regrets...

I'm one of those weird people (oh shuddup! I can hear laughter ringing through the interwebs). I try to live my life sincerely and without regrets. I try not to look back and overthink why I made the decision I did and how it may be right or wrong. I often joke about what would have happened if I had taken that right at Albuquerque (huge Bugs Bunny fan) instead of the left, but I truly wouldn't change anything.

When my grandma passed away, I heard people saying "Oh, I wish I had listened to her stories when she asked me to" or "What I would give for just one more day." Funny enough, I always took the time because I had it. I listened to her stories even if I had heard it a million and one times. She would call me at least twice a day to see how I was. I took the time to visit with her and spent a lot of time with her. I was devastated when she died, but only becauseI lost one of my best friends. I often wonder what she thinks of my life now and how vastly different it is from what it was, but never a regret for words unsaid.

My dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, but still no regrets. We would talk often and 3 days before he died, we spoke for over 2 hours. We said everything that needed to be said and probably a few (funny) things that didn't. Like Grandma, I wonder what he would think of my life today and the changes I've made, but I wouldn't change a thing.

I divorced my husband of over 20 years. I did what I could and it wasn't enough. I got tired of the crap and gave myself an amazing birthday gift...I filed the necessary papers. Do I regret it? Nope! Not in the least. He's happy with his new life and I'm happy with mine. We're still friendly, but things were left too long to be fixed,

I followed my then friend to a new campus in a new city in a new state. Not a regret to be had. It was the best decision I could've made. I got a new chance at life. We had fun while it lasted. Experimented with things that made us both happier than we had been in a while, but shit happens and friendships fade. Still no regrets.

Dated a man who harmed me and did more damage to my psyche and body than anyone should endure. Any regrets? Not a one. Because of him, I found my strength and determination to walk away. I needed him for his part of my journey. He taught me more in 4 months than I'd learned in a lifetime. Not one single regret.

I guess my point is that, if at any juncture, I had made a different decision, I wouldn't be here. Something as simple as lifting my head and looking up brought me some of the most amazing people to walk this journey with. If I had chosen to buy the orange juice instead of the apple juice one day or taken astronomy instead of geology or dropped that creative writing class instead of trying it out or taken math my first semester instead of waiting or taking a math class that started later in the day, I may have missed out on so much. But I didn't. I'm exactly where I need to be...here!

So today, I leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Country...

But you can't take the country out of the girl. At least, that is what the old saying says and I have a feeling that it might be right.

See, I was a farmer's daughter and granddaughter. I was expected to work. Fun was something you did after the work was finished. I wasn't the kid who hung out at the mall with her friends. In fact, my friends seldom wanted to come over because I had chores to do. I was raised with this whole work ethic that you rarely find today. I've got to be doing something or I feel like I'm being lazy. And I HATE being lazy. 

Then, there is this whole country way of thinking. I love those quiet nights of sky watching. The stars filled the skies and shone around the beautiful moon in all the phases. Spending nights inside seems blasphemous to me. However, city living makes it impossible to simply enjoy the stars. When I take Diesel out for his evening walks, I get to observe the stars through the filter of street lights, but I'm also having to listen to the cars drive up and down the street, the buses running past the house, and deal with the neighbors who live too damn close.

I will admit there are  benefits to living in the city: my favorite is I can call for Asian food anytime and it will arrive at my door. (So far that is the only benefit I've noticed...food on demand.)

The other day, I had to take a drive. I was off to look at a different space for Diesel and me to live. I had to leave the big city. On this drive, I left the city limits and hit corn fields. CORN FIELDS and I cried...like literally cried. That is when I realized that I had lived in the city way too fucking long. This year is my second year and I am worn out, depressed, and so much less than I used to be. This new space was in the city, but a much smaller, quieter city. I drove across the bridge into this small town and took a deep breath. It felt as if I'd come home.I didn't get it, but I have decided to keep up my quest for new place in this small town. I would not be far from those back roads when I need to recharge my batteries. And I'd get to take that drive every single day when I return to the big city for work.

I'm a country girl, tried and true. I love being outside in nature. Taking walks through fields or forests is sooooo much better than the city parks. I would trade the smell of bus fumes for cow manure any day. And the country men are better, too, at least for me. They hunt, fish, play in the mud, know how to make things grow, and aren't afraid when their woman orders whiskey neat. 

Once upon a time, I had a boy tell me that he was going to add a level of sophistication to me. I tried. I tried hard. I'm not a sophisticated kind of gal. I don't drink martinis or Cosmos. I drink my whiskey straight, no ice, no water. I had a man tell me that I was his kind of woman because I come from a country background and I'm not afraid to put on some blue jeans and get dirty. He understood where I came from.

I'm a hard-working, hard-playing, hard-loving woman who loves to take a back road drive down a dirt road. And I'm not afraid to admit it! Give me a bonfire with a good bottle of whiskey over a club any night of the week!

What kind of girl are you...country or city? Tell me the benefits from your point of view!

Perfection is Highly Overrated...

I am more than a bit of a perfectionist. For me, the attention lies in the details.

If you come to my home, I am apt to provide a meal that is delicious with a dessert to make your mouth water. While you may not notice it, I will have spent days cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, mopping and scrubbing counters, sinks, bathrooms, etc. Everything will shine. And the menu will be planned and executed with precision. While you are in my home, I will be extra diligent with every day tasks like sweeping my floors of dog hair or crumbs. My dishes will be done and put away. And I will not ask for any help. In fact, I will insist that you put your feet up and relax. After all, this is your vacation, not mine. I will have had lists made of what needs to be done by what time and date. I will never make you feel like you are a burden or that your needs are silly.

But what you won't see is how tired I am or as much as I want you here, I can't be comfortable because I'm waiting for something to go off schedule. I'm not a "roll with the flow" kind of person. I need things to be perfect...or at least I used to.

Then, something shifted in my universe. I learned that it is more important to be present in the moment than for the floor to be swept and mopped daily. That all that is required of me is to love and be loved and that does not require the dishes to be done after each meal. That an hour or so of snuggling is more necessary than making sure the housework is done.

Being perfect is highly overrated! After all, the beauty lies in the flaws.

I have tried so hard to be perfect. Or at least what I thought everyone's idea of perfect was. When this shift in my universe happened, I saw that I don't need to be perfect for the world or even myself. The beauty of me lies in my imperfections. I've been told that my flaws are what makes me unique and the more unique I am, the more beautiful I am. 

I wish I had realized all of this before. When I was told how horrible my smile was or how guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses or how much prettier I'd be if I lost weight or how women my age don't color their hair with fun and funky colors and (more recently) how women my age shouldn't wear jeans like this: 

I love these pants! I wear them as often as I can simply because they are fun and funky! I dye my hair blue black with blue and green streaks. I recently added purple and pink to the mix. Why? Because I like being different. I don't do these things to stand out. I do these things because they make me smile and feel beautiful. If you don't like how I wear my hair, dress, or smile, that's your problem! There are people in this world who love me for my imperfections, my quirkiness, and my funk! 

So today I am encouraging you to embrace your imperfections! Wave your freak flag! Be the most genuine version of you! After all, none of us are getting out of here alive! Might as well have one helluva ride instead of worrying about what society says! 

Little Girl, Big Dreams Lost

My mom sent me this the other day:

I cried because I feel like I'm letting the little girl, who had such big dreams, down. She was determined to get out of that "one horse town" and become somebody. She was going to make a name for herself and change the world. I wanted to make a difference and I'm feeling like I haven't done half of what that young girl hoped for. Her dreams were so big...she wanted to write books and make a name for herself...to be her own woman, independent and strong. She didn't want to need people. She wanted people to be in her life because she wanted them there, not because she had to rely on others.

It's funny how Life can take our hopes and dreams, twist them around, and make them seem impossible. I mean, c'mon, I don't remember wanting to be a princess. I wanted to marry a man just like my dad. I was gonna be a woman just like my mom, except with the addition of the writing thing. I was going to have a big house in the woods with 5 kids and 20 dogs. My author name was going to be HUGE! 

And this is where I feel like I'm disappointing that little girl in the big farmhouse who had dreams of making her way in this world. My muse has left me and I have no idea how to start writing again. I'm afraid I will never write another word in any of my works in progress. And if I do finish a book, publish it, etc., no one will ever want to read it. My anxiety and fear take over and I can't catch my breath.

A while back I wrote a quick poem/story about searching for the little girl who was still inside, suffocating on the lack of dreams the adult version refused to believe in. I cried as I wrote it because I had laid all of my dreams aside for others. I pushed everything aside in order to make sure others got to pursue their dreams.

 I do remember her: she splashed in mud puddles, danced in the rain, played in the fields, sat under a willow tree and dreamed of the future. I still see her idealistic idea of what love and relationships looked like and how they lasted forever.

The adult version is so far off from that little girl's dream. The craziness and monotony of life has a way of stripping away the rose hue that colors our world as children.

Maybe it is time to go dance in the rain again, splash through a mud puddle without worrying about ruining my shoes, and believe in that forever love. (I'm told it exists!) And get back to dreaming those BIG dreams again! Maybe even make a few come true!

In the Eye of the Beholder

Last night a friend tagged me in a Facebook post about being beautiful. I needed to upload and post 5 pictures of myself where I feel at my most beautiful. I cringed. I had a small panic attack. I am not known for posting "selfies" online. I have a lot of image issues.

Let me explain:

I have very crooked teeth. I have had them my whole life. There was never enough money to afford braces so I learned to live with the smile. I was told to cover my mouth, smile with my lips closed, anything so no one could see my teeth.

I am not a small woman, never have been, never will be. I have rolls, always have. I was told how much prettier I'd be if I lost weight. I've tried, but I LOVE food.

I wear glasses. "Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses" was something I heard repeatedly as I went through high school. I got contacts and wore them constantly. Guys didn't make passes at me then either.

I wear make-up and do my hair...when I feel like it. My grandmother always had earrings in her ears and her bright pink lipstick on her mouth. "You never know who you're gonna run into."

My feet are HUGE...like a size 11 huge. Dad used to say we'd be better off buying me gunboats to wear. I've never been horribly self conscious about them, but they are substantially obvious.

My eyelashes are short and stubby. I have one pupil that is larger than the other. I have a double chin. I have thinner lips. My cheeks are chubby. My "trunk" looks like a hoarder is hording way too much junk in it. And I get easily distracted. Maintaining focus is hard for me. My life is in constant creative chaos.

HOWEVER:

I've been told my smile is beautiful and lights up a room. So what if my teeth are crooked? It's a smile uniquely mine.

I'm a bigger girl. That is one thing that will never change. However, I eat healthier foods, I don't snack very often, and I am learning to take care of this body of mine. It is a body that has been called voluptuous and sexy on a few occasions.

I wear glasses. I can't change that. I need to see! Years of contact wearing destroyed the blood vessels in my eyes enough that I've been told that even wearing a pair of contacts for 10 minutes could cause me to lose my sight. So I buy flattering frames to make me look like the sexy nerd girl that certain men like to flirt with.

I put my make-up on when I'm feeling insecure. I put it on like a light mask to hide myself from the world. If I'm not wearing make-up around you, then I feel secure enough to let you see the real me. My hair is colored (because the gray makes me look too old), but rarely is it straightened, curled, or done in any way. I like the waves that have come with age and the bounce that is there.

My feet? Well, I can't change them. So, I put them in cute shoes...when I can find them. When I do find them, I tend to buy multiples simply because I can't always find cute shoes in my size.

As for the rest of me...well, I can only change so much. Most of it I have to live with. And I'm learning...I"m learning to see the beauty in myself.

Let me share some things I've learned while I did this little challenge:

We are not made to be perfect. We are made to be unique and individuals. Our bodies are ours. They are what makes us...us. We don't need to look like whatever celebrity is popular at the moment (not a pop culture sort of woman) because even THEY don't look like themselves. Air brushing, touch-ups, professional make-up artists and hair stylists, SPANX, etc. keep them looking like their "natural" selves. The things we see as flaws in ourselves are what the people who love us see as beautiful. We are imperfectly perfect just as we are.

The friend who tagged me in the post stated how you fall in love with someone's laugh, the way their eyes shine, the way they talk with their hands, or the way they move. We can't necessarily see someone's beauty simply from a photograph.

To wrap up this post, I'm going to quote an old adage: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." I'm not beautiful to everyone and that is okay. BUT I am beautiful to someone...a lot of people if the comments on my Facebook post are any indication. Beauty isn't merely in looks. It is your heart, your compassion, your intelligence, your wit, your mischievousness, your confidence, and so much more.

So go forth and shine like diamonds, you beautiful beings!

Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged

intelligence

Pronunciation: /inˈteləjəns/

The ability to acquire and apply knowledge and skills

If there is one thing I hate above all others, it is when people make the assumption that I am stupid or uneducated based on what they assume I read, watch, and/or listen to. Let me explain a little bit about me:

I am an author of paranormal romance. I have been working on a BDSM series. I also have written contemporary romance.
I love to read romance. It is one of my favorite genres. It doesn't mean that is ALL I read. I enjoy lots of different genres: horror, sci fi, non-fiction, chick lit, urban fantasy and LITERATURE. I have read every James Herriott book ever written. I own hardcover copies of The Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, The Portrait of Dorian Grey, Portrait of a Woman, Don Quixote, Tom Sawyer, Peter Pan...you get the idea. And I've read them all.

I am, basically, a music junkie. I listen to everything from classical to rock. Beethoven, Mozart, nature sounds, Celtic Thunder, Pink, Josh Groban, Merle Haggard, George Strait, Luke Bryan, Rhianna, Enrique Iglesias, Tanya Tucker, and the list goes on. I grew up listening to country music and it is the music I listen to most often. It is comfort food for my soul. Doesn't mean I'm some dumb hick. Just means I'm comfortable there.

As for the movies/tv shows I watch, I seldom have time to sit and watch anything. When I do, I turn to the shows and movies that feed me in an emotional or mental capacity. I've been on a Netflix kick for the last month. I've watched shows that make me laugh. The world is such a dark place these days so I go to my list and find things to watch that make me smile. I had a The Ranch marathon (Sam Elliott, Ashton Kutcher, Danny Masterson) and laughed out loud. I fell in love with Grace and Frankie (Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin) and I'm working on The Gilmore Girls because I LOVE this show. The mother/daughter dynamic hits every emotional chord a person has...especially if that person is a daughter. I have watched every single episode, but I can watch it over and over again.

You see, I'm not a person who believes in wasting my time. I know what I like, how I like it, and when I like it. I don't do something because everyone else does it nor do I listen to the critics. If I did, I would never discover new bands, new authors, or new shows. But I don't believe the world or social media should dictate the things I allow myself to enjoy.

Here's the reason for this rant:
I have someone who believes it is okay to put me down simply because of the things listed above. I've been told I limit myself because I won't "explore" what this person thinks I should. I don't have unlimited hours in my day to lay around and watch television or read books that don't interest me. Like I said, I don 't believe in wasting my time. My time is a very precious commodity these days. I spend it doing things I love with the people I love. This doesn't mean that I'm unintelligent because of my likes or dislikes. I think I'm incredibly intelligent, but I don't feel the need to reiterate it on a daily basis. I have wisdom and knowledge. I study up on the things that have a direct impact on my world or those who reside in my world. I don't believe I need to use million dollar words to impress upon people the level of my intelligence. I have made some very poor decisions in the last couple of years because I listened to people who didn't have my best interest at heart. But I'm also a big believer that this doesn't mean I have failed. It simply means I've learned from that experience. I've started listening to my heart and following it where I need to go. Here is where the old adage of "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" comes into play. If you have never made a mistake, that is awesome. However:

There are so many varying degrees of intelligence and no one has the right to make you feel inferior. We all know things that others don't. Some of the most intelligent people I know never graduated high school or went to college. And some of the most unintelligent people stand in front of a classroom of students who are hungry to learn, but cannot instill knowledge.

So, do you wanna share? Tell me about the lessons Life has taught you because you truly only fail if you never try. Show me I'm not alone here!

Fighting the Fear

   

                                                       


I hate to admit it, but I am scared. I am fearful of so many things and I allow them to hold me back. Being insecure is part of my comfort zone. Being insecure is all I've ever known. I meet people with confidence and think, "Wow! How awesome are they?" But to be confident, I'd have to believe I am good at something, that I have something to offer the world, that I matter. And I'm aware that for my life to begin means that I have to step outside of my comfort zone.

I'm scared of failure which I allow to keep me from writing. If I don't write, then I can't fail, right? WRONG!! I'm failing myself by not trying. I'm aware of all of this. However, with my depression weighing on me like a Mack truck, I just wanna throw in the towel. Instead, I write my blog posts. I put all of my feelings out into the universe and release them. I am hoping that my scattered and random thoughts will make sense to the people who need to know they're not alone.

I get up every day and go through the motions of my life. Walk and feed the dog, shower, eat, get dressed, go to work, go home, walk and feed dog, eat, crawl into bed, talk to my sister, and pray sleep comes easily. Some days, I go to bed laughing. Others, I cry until I'm exhausted. And the rest? Well,I allow my brain to run wild and tell me all sorts of horrible things. 

I chuckle as I write this because I have so many people fooled. If you met me on the street, you wouldn't believe that I'm the woman I am. You'd see my smile and think "She's so confident." We'd speak and you'd say to yourself, "She's so friendly." You may overhear a conversation with someone I know and think "She sounds so funny and intelligent." But it is the fear that you are missing.

You're not seeing the fact that it took me two hours to work up the courage to leave the house. You don't notice the white knuckles as I cling to my keys. You've missed the routine of parking in front of the store so I don't have to interact with many people. You don't see the fear behind the smile and the thought process of "Please don't let anyone talk to me!" And gods forbid if someone should reach out to touch me! 

I was in a math class in college two semesters ago. I chose to sit in the back of the class, in the far corner. My nose was in my book. My earbuds securely in my ears until class started. I was getting in my zone. Then, HE walked in. You know, the one guy who has a smile on his face constantly and has such a charismatic personality that you can't help but smile back? Yeah, I got that one. He'd walk into class everyday and he'd want to chat. Being the only other person in class, we'd visit. Then, he did the one thing no one does...he put his hand on my knee and squeezed. Inside, I was losing my shit. Outside, he saw nothing wrong. This continued until I grew used to his touch, then he took my hand. He'd hold it for a brief moment. He always had his hands near mine, fiddling with my binder, twirling my pencil, just being the outgoing man he is. One day, he walk into class, borrowed my notes, returned them and he hugged me! And all the negative thoughts, the panic attack, the "oh gods, he's touching me" thoughts went silent. He just held on. Tightly. I hugged him back and attempted to let go. He did the one thing I never dreamed would happen to me...he held on when I tried to let go. I worked so hard to keep my shit together. I was close to a panic attack, but I didn't have one...until later. I went home from class that day and cried. A panic attack set in when I realized what had happened...I let someone get close enough to feel the rolls of fat on my body, to smell the essential oils I wear as perfume, to smell my shampoo, to notice my breasts aren't perky and perfect. I was petrified that this man would touch me again (and he did...a lot!!!!). He was constantly touching. This was hard for me because I am a person who CRAVES touch. That physical brush of skin against skin, body across body...I yearn for it, but to have a complete stranger (and a beautiful one at that) reach for me first was both amazing and terrifying. 

I am aware that I have lost weight over the last two years. I buy clothes that fit me now and look nice. I don't buy muumuus and large patterned items. I don't dress in all black anymore. Stretch pants and yoga pants are for home use only. I wear jeans and skirts, bright colors, things that reveal and show off my assets. I'm very proud of myself...however, I am still overweight. 

I fear standing out. I don't want people to notice me, but they do anyway. I scurry along the sides of a room like those furry spawns of Satan I hate so much (mice). When someone speaks to me, I often find myself looking around as if I'm thinking "Are you talking to me? Why are you talking to me? Why do you think I should speak? "

I'm scared to allow my voice to be heard. I don't want people to look at me and think "How stupid!" I know I have a brain and common sense. I don't consider myself intelligent though the man from math class thinks I'm smart! 

I'm on a college campus of about 4,000 students on a somewhat daily basis and I rarely speak to anyone. I sit in class with my mouth tightly shut (unless I'm called on) and take notes. Every semester, I will have 1 or 2 people I will speak to on a regular basis, but once the semester is over, I don't talk to them again. In this electronic age, I am more content to keep my earbuds in and my nose in a book for fear of people thinking that I'm too old, too fat, too stupid, too something, to be there.

However, I'm trying. Mr. Charismatic Math Man has me talking to so many different people that I have no choice but to interact. In fact, because of him, I may have made a friend (or two) who I actually text from time to time. I owe this man a debt of gratitude and maybe a plate of cookies.