Monday, December 2, 2013

Turning the grey back into black and white. Pt. 1

At 37 years old, I feel like I can finally get a grip on what "it" is all about and I have to say, that I am one of the lucky ones.

I would like to write a series of entries about this topic, as it is long and sometimes ugly- sometimes beautiful too. But I would like to step into the world that no one ever talks about, that is until they are stuck dead in the middle of "the grey".

There is a moment in your life as a woman (maybe men too but I'm not so sure) that you realize you have no idea who you are. This isn't when you are 18 and moving away from home, or when you are 21 and you are moving back.
It isn't even when you are in your 20's and you are graduating from college (did you finish? not the point). It isn't when you get married or have your first (3) kid.
This moment I am speaking of isn't about age or wealth or time or anything like that. It is this moment when you look at yourself in the mirror and everything you have come to know, love, hate, relearn, accept, change- is completely foreign.

You are in the grey.

IF you are lucky you will find your way back to the black and white days. The days when you are owning what you are doing and enjoying the journey, having good days and bad days but you aren't drowning, you aren't constantly searching out what it is "you do".

I had the grey and there was a point when I really thought I would just be forced to deal with it and maybe I will be back there one day. But I am convinced that knowing what makes me "tick", the thing that I "do".
It's not being married or having kids, those are the things that I love but what I am good at is a different journey. I'm not finished. I am not in vivid color, I sort of think that would be perfect and I don't believe in perfect. I think perfect is boring and I don't need that. But to know what it is that I want and to have a journey set in place- even if it changes a million times throughout my life.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

How their death shows your salt.

I am not writing about the death of a movie star this morning.
I am not writing about the death of a friend or relative. 
I am writing about the death of a human.

Yesterday, like much of the world, I read the sad news of Paul Walker's death.
I was instantly sad with the sight of his picture that was attached. It was a somber photo. He was looking down and had a smirk. I was sad about his death, the untimeliness of it all... 

About 10 days ago I lost a friend. 
My neighbor of 10 years.
He was not only my friend but he was a son, a husband and a Father. 
He was an eye, I always felt, watching over my house and my family when my husband was away. 
He was the man that we smiled and and waved to on a weekly basis. 
He was always smiling.
He worked on his boat and smoked the salmon that he caught, always sharing. Always smiling.

The sudden passing of my friend, 54 years young, has kept me in a constant state of worry. 
I worry about my own mortality. I worry about my husband. 
What would he do without me? Or worse yet, what would we do without him?

I am sad and in a somewhat dark place, as death tends to lend itself to the dark side. I am coping though. Remembering the good, trying not to focus too much on the fact that I will never see him again.  That his children will be without him. His beautiful wife. Her sadness is my sadness. I will be a good friend to her, even though I am paralyzed to help. I can do nothing to make her feel better. I can only be her friend and that will have to be enough- for both of us.

Before going to sleep last night I couldn't believe the jokes and rude comments about Paul Walker's death. There were people who were actually saying his death didn't matter. There were "friends" of mine that were writing about what they believed to be unjust shock waves- "if it had been De Niro".... seriously, I read that.
People are attempting to make jokes about the Fast and Furious movies, how he wasn't a good enough actor to be sad over. 

My stomach turned and I got really really angry.

What if this was my neighbor? What if someone wrote that about my friend?
That is the way it felt, because Paul was someone's neighbor. He was someone's son and friend and he was someone's Father. 

Would these "friends" say this about their neighbor? How they weren't good enough to be remembered? I can't say that they wouldn't. I can say that they are no longer people I associate with because I can take a lot, I can read ridiculous political opinions and still be your "friend". You can talk about Obamacare all you want, or the war or the GMO's. You can ask me to support something I don't believe in, you can talk about your God. I can really see the difference in all of us. I can accept, not support, a lot of things but I cannot accept, support or even be remotely associated with making light of someone's death. 

They are dead. 

They are gone.

Never coming back. 
Not to be in anymore movies, or smoke anymore fish.