Until next year...

Season's Greetings!

This winter wonderland photo comes from a relative in the midwest. I'm off now on holiday for a week. Enjoy your holiday and happy new year!

Hello and goodbye... and hello again

The good stuff of everyday living, that place where we are most content and secure, is found in the middle of our relationships, careers, and education, to name a few. This year I learned that it’s often the hellos and goodbyes that outline how the good stuff begins, ends and changes us.

At the beginning of the year, I said goodbye to a witty, intelligent guy who showed me that after a year he wasn't ready for a serious relationship. It was a fantastic year. I learned that I was capable of loving deeply. I also learned that I was strong enough to say goodbye for reasons that mattered.

Mid-year I learned that a family friend was one step closer to losing her battle with breast cancer. I mentally prepared for the inevitable goodbye. After years of struggle, a strong fight, her body decided it was enough. I had no choice but to say goodbye when she passed away. I think of her often.

Last month, I said hello to a college ex I hadn't seen in two years. He was always a good guy, he just wasn't the right one for me. We picked up where we left off on better footing, covering unanswered questions, and moving on as friends. I met up with him last week for a movie and drinks, helping him answer his dating dilemma questions throughout the evening. We fit well as platonic buddies. Hello again, friend.

This month I'm mentally preparing for another goodbye, one close to my heart. My uncle is losing his battle with Leukemia and has already prepared himself for the end. I'm not prepared. I'm trying to stay strong and find that mental zone where I can help my parents through this difficult time while trying to face losing yet another person I dearly love and respect. I'm not ready to say my final goodbye but I’m beginning to accept it.

I say hello to 2006 with the lessons I’ve learned this past year. I look forward to a year of endless possibilities, new beginnings and, of course, inevitable endings. Most importantly, I look forward to the good stuff in the middle.

Unnatural habitat

“Where can I find Britney Spears?” asked the frustrated man to the clerk stocking CDs behind me. He was without a doubt a father, uncle or family friend in search of a memorable holiday gift for someone I would safely guess to be a female in her early teens. There we were, all of us wandering around this large music store, looking a little bewildered as we hoped to find something within an acceptable price range for someone we cared about but perhaps did not love and maybe only considered an acquaintance.

This was my last stop on my holiday shopping trek. I admit that I enjoy observing fellow holiday shoppers, the facial expressions alone speak volumes. My personal favorites are the men, especially men in search of a nice outfit in the women’s section of a department store. These men are not shopping for their sister or mother, definitely a wife or new girlfriend because they look like they’d rather be dealing with kidney stones. I can almost feel the tension sitting on their shoulders, the expectation weighing on them because they know the wrong gift or size sends the wrong message with catastrophic results.

Many women, on the other hand, are in their natural habitat when it comes to holiday shopping. I’m not much of a shopper but I know for the most part where to find what. However, some women take their shopping list and run… you over. Elbows are out, helmets are on, some women rarely smile (maybe that’s to avoid cracking the makeup) and they’re bold in their demands and treatments of sales clerks. I feel sorry for their spouses.

I always end my holiday shopping at the music store because it’s easy, fun, I always remember someone I forgot, and I usually treat myself to a little something while I’m there. I ended up with a stack of six CDs and the checkout clerk loved the pick on top.

“I’m a HUGE Coldplay fan,” he said, showing off the key chain he bought at their latest concert. “This is my absolute favorite CD,” he continued, listing his favorite tracks. Then he got down to the last two CDs in my pile and noticed, beaming, that I had two more of the same Coldplay X & Y album. “I’m a huge fan of Coldplay, too,” I said.

He asked if I needed a gift receipt for my CDs. I thanked him no. “I’m going to make my family and friends love Coldplay and all the gifts I bought them this year.” And on that high note, my holiday people watching and shopping came to an end…well, after making it out of the final parking lot alive.

Zig zag

Driving under multiple overpasses in San Jose.

Irreversible decision

Stanley Tookie Williams, gang co-founder and convicted murderer who later became an anti-gang activist, died by lethal injection this morning in California. I understand that what he did was wrong but it’s not a sound reason to take his life. It would have been more beneficial to our society if he was provided the opportunity to educate children, teenagers and adults about what he learned and why he became an anti-gang activist.

Wherever capital punishment is in place, crucial bounds to the conscience of a people are missing. Bounds against the criminal perversion to simply step over human life.
~ Prof. Dr. Ferdinand Kadecka (1874 - 1964)

You believe an eye for an eye until you're put in that situation. If they kill those guys, it really doesn't mean much to me. My father is gone.
~ Michael Jordan on the murderers of his father James

Take off the blindfolds

I can relate to Zach Rubio, the 16-year-old suspended for briefly speaking Spanish at school. We’re both fluent in another language, speak unaccented English, and have grown up with the opportunity and ability to understand more than one culture.

We have only one significant difference: if I were to speak Swedish in a hallway, nobody would suspend me. It is, unfortunately and unfairly, a true statement; let me explain. I don’t pose a threat. See, Swedes are everywhere but we’re spread out and we blend. We’re considered okay because we’re Europeans and even though many people have no idea where Sweden is on a map, I don’t endure as many hurtful stereotypes and nicknames as my Mexican friends. I fly under the radar because I’m white. It always surprises friends when I hear someone speaking Swedish on the street and jump in and start speaking to them.

But I’m no different from Zach.

Fear is the only reason Zach was suspended. That’s why he poses a threat and I don’t. Nobody is scared of a Swedish person because there aren’t enough of us around to make anyone fear that we’re becoming a majority (and for the record, we’re not all white… Sweden is changing, too). There is no fear that Swedish will become the national language of the U.S., that Swedes will force everyone to shop at IKEA and eat meatballs every Sunday, that Swedes are using up all the tax dollars because we’re printing extra voting materials in a different language. See my point? It’s not only in Kansas where incidents like this suspension happen, it’s just not always visible.

The thing is, we are lucky and we don’t even appreciate it. In the U.S., we are surrounded by the opportunity to learn about various people and places, taste foods from around the world, spend time in neighborhoods with unique characteristics and energy, learn new dances or traditions, hear new music, and listen to languages we don’t understand while observing body language or facial expressions to try and understand. But rather than relish in our differences, many let fear overcome any ability to appreciate something foreign.

"Fear is not the natural state of civilized people." ~ Aung San Suu Kyi

Zach received an apology for his suspension last week. To me, the incident is a clear reminder that we still have a long way to go.

Something is missing

Here is a quote from a CNN.com story that disturbs me, said to a crowd of 2,600 yesterday:

I love to engage in repartee with people who are stupider than I am.

This was said by Ann Coulter, a conservative columnist speaking at the University of Connecticut.

It does not matter what side of the political fence one leans, this was a very unprofessional, immature way to address and handle an audience; even a jeering one. In all fairness, it is equally disturbing that pies were thrown at Ann during a 2004 speech she made at a different college.

I just wish I could understand why we don’t try harder to be civilized. It is disheartening that professionalism, integrity and maturity are words I rarely see put into action by public figures nowadays. Something is missing.

Baggage not worth keeping

Ah, baggage. I'm not talking about the kind we store in the overhead compartment on a flight, I'm referring to the kind that keeps us from moving forward: emotional baggage. It's a word that is whispered behind our back; nobody wants to be known for having baggage. The truth is that at some point, most of us are hanging onto a few unnecessary items but unpacking baggage is a realistic possibility; one I highly recommend and recently learned to do.

At a comedy club a few weeks ago, my friend Kelly and I were seated behind the front table where a group of five generated a steady supply of amusing material for the comedian. The group consisted of two couples and one single friend. As the entire audience soon learned, one woman in the group was seated between her ex-husband, who had his arm stretched across the back of her chair, and her new husband with whom she was holding hands. Her ex-husband’s new wife was seated next to him on the other side, they were holding hands, and she brought along a friend to the show who sat on her other side. I would guess that everyone at that table was in their mid-forties and, personally, I found it a bit strange that they could tolerate a night out together. And then my college ex called this weekend, after two years of e-mail only communication, and my mind changed about that group.

He needed a friend and I offered to lend an ear over drinks; non-alcoholic just in case. I met him nine years ago. We were on-off for five years, lived together for one, and beyond being a career reference for him (he's a good guy despite our personal issues), haven't spoken or seen each other since he and my former best friend started dating. We were still living together then and technically we were broken up, but at the time it felt like our ending was similar to a bad made for T.V. movie where the main character realizes the two people she trusts most aren't exactly who they appear to be; enter my baggage.

My ex and I were in the same class for one semester of college. By the second day of class, he moved to a seat next to me and remained there the entire semester. It took him three months to ask me out and three months later we transferred to different colleges. He decided on a college in his hometown, Los Angeles, and I moved to the Bay Area where my major was offered as a B.S., not just a concentration attached to another major.

He proposed to me, in a drunken state, on our last day of classes. I said no, I was only 19 and he was 24, so instead we kept the relationship going with frequent trips north and south. He was introduced to my friends and family and I was introduced to his friends and family. We explored everything in Los Angeles together from the Getty Center to Venice Beach and up north we covered Tiburon to Big Sur. He moved north after college.

Enter my best friend from high school. A curvy, lively attorney who completed her undergraduate degree in three years, also lived in the Bay Area, and flirted with every guy I’d ever dated. I thought nobody I dated would fall for that and invited her everywhere with us. Then, he fell for it and her. Since we were broken up but living together, I had asked her not to pursue him until I moved out. It didn’t happen that way and I carried a chip on my shoulder for a good year, okay two, because of the sour ending. When he called me on Thanksgiving that year just to say hello, two months after he helped me move into my own apartment, I didn’t step outside for the rest of the afternoon.

Funny, then, how at present day I didn’t hesitate to be there for him when he called. She broke off their year-long engagement and I honestly was not happy, I was sad to hear the news. They made a good couple. Plus, I thought they were already married so it came as a surprise.

See, after that Thanksgiving I realized all I was doing was setting myself up for failure with self-pity, Haagen-Daz and the occasional switch to Ben & Jerry’s. There really was no reason for it, we clearly weren't right for each other and I was just holding onto the hurt and disappointment of how it ended. Emotions get the best of us sometimes but slowly and surely I began to heal. Bad memories faded, good ones remained, I got rid of the ice cream, started dating again and life resumed. I didn't even flinch at his call.

And I understand now how the group in the comedy club can enjoy, not just tolerate, an evening out together: by getting past that chip on the shoulder, or baggage, and moving on. I always considered my ex a very genuine and nice guy, it didn't seem fair to hold a grudge several years later because he wasn't the love I thought he would be; he was certainly the friend I knew him to be. So, I will take the time to show my support, or grab a drink and listen to him vent about his broken engagement, because some baggage is not worth keeping and his friendship is not worth losing. Consider my baggage unpacked.

Savvy research

I read an interesting article on MSNBC today titled When Murder Hits the Blogosphere. You may recall November headlines from Pennsylvania about the 18-year-old boyfriend who allegedly killed the parents of his 14-year-old girlfriend while she stood next to him. The article centers around the following:

...as the story of the double murder and the two missing teens hit the news, hundreds of curious, savvy Web surfers found Kara and David's MySpace profiles and Xanga blogs. It didn't take long for reporters to begin doing the same thing. A photo used by numerous news Web sites was also from the MySpace profile of Kara's best friend. MSNBC was first to report the teens' interests found listed online.

This fascinated me because I would never think to research the teenagers beyond the news story. I would wonder what provoked the alleged murders but I probably wouldn’t start hitting all the MySpace type sites. However, in all fairness, I do have a tendency to google any new guy I date just to make sure things check out properly; sometimes information pops up, sometimes it doesn’t.

The point is, it’s not uncommon to have a blog or MySpace profile. It’s an easy way to stay connected and share our thoughts or expertise on various subjects with anyone. And like most things, there are risks involved. In the case of the teenagers involved in this incident, some of their friends linked to their MySpace pages were subjected to high volumes of comments and messages from people who knew nothing about them or the situation:

Some MySpace users even traveled to the pages of Kara and David's friends, glutting their comment space with hate-filled invective. One friend of Kara's cancelled her account.

When one chooses to have a site, even if it’s a MySpace account intended for friends, it’s considered public. Discretion is advised. And a good rule of thumb: don't do, say or write anything that you don't want to read on front page news.

Friday morning commute

You can see the silhouettes of cars and trucks on the bottom overpass heading north.

The process of maturing

It’s funny how maturity shapes us without any ability to pinpoint the exact time it occurs. It’s a natural progression without timelines.

For me, this realization came during a recent game night with friends. There we were, a group of adults playing Catch Phrase and Guesstures while drinking Appletinis and beer, and it hit me that I was in a different phase of life. I had conquered another step in the direction of maturity.

I never thought I would outgrow Legos, Hot Wheels or Barbies, then it was MTV I couldn’t live without, and next came the college parties and library study groups followed by the bar scene and late night recovery food at diners. That was the time when it was unclear what direction I was heading in or who I was and where I wanted to be.

Here I am now, exchanging recipes with friends and trying to remember their kids birthdays, enjoying the game nights and knowing there’s no other place I’d rather be on those evenings. I don’t jump to the comics first when I read the paper anymore (but I still read them) and I wonder why the teenager in the car that just passed feels the need to race everyone to the next stoplight.

That’s when I realize I’m not old, I’ve just been there. I used to be the speed racer, I’ve had friends take my car keys away from me until I sobered up, and I’ve made plenty of bad choices along the way. But I’m maturing, it’s subtle but it happens when you least expect it.

And when I want to tell someone younger than me why they shouldn’t do this or that, I try to bite my tongue. You mature through the experiences that shape you and we should all have a chance to figure things out on our own with enough help to make smart decisions along the way.