“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude. Don’t complain.” ― Maya Angelou

I’ve long been a believer in this.  Often, we cannot control what happens to us.  We may be a victim of something like identity theft, abuse, rape, an accident or a natural disaster.  There’s not much we can do about those things if we can’t get out of the way.  We are affected by those events.  The next steps are up to us, though.

What do we do?

Do we stay in abusive relationships? Do we refuse to file charges? Do we live on hand-outs? Or do we cry about it for awhile, dust ourselves off and get back in there to fight again?

Do we volunteer to remain a victim or do we triumph over those events and become victors?

Understand that when I ask that question, I don’t ask it either lightly or glibly.  I’ve been metaphorically kicked in the teeth several times.  I am acquainted with the dark side of the street and I know people who know it much better than I ever want to.  All of us have chosen to pick ourselves up and get back into the fray.

• I knew a woman whose mother literally sold her for heroin money when she was a child.  This same woman was beaten and left for dead beside a road in the Southwest.  In pain, she worked everyday and raised her son.
• I met a woman in California who left her native Scotland to escape her abusive husband.  She now heads up an organization to teach abused (but victorious) women job skills and to get them clothing appropriate to go on job interviews and to work in.
• Then, there’s John Walsh.  I can’t even imagine taking the pain of my child’s murder and using it to catch others.  America’s Most Wanted has helped catch quite a few violent criminals.  And I, myself, once used a Code Adam to shut down a store when my son, then three, got out of the cart and hid in a round clothes rack.
• And, of course, there’s Richard Hagerman and Donna Whitson whose daughter Amber’s murder led to the creation of AMBER Alerts.

As with anything, there are shades of gray and most of us are Shades of Gray Victims.  We are Victors in one area, but Volunteer Victims in another.  I was a Victor over Hurricane Katrina.  A Victor over an assault. But, a Volunteer Victim to my own bad recordings and beliefs, which led to being a Volunteer Victim to my unhealthy weight and lifestyle for YEARS.  I am sure that when I sit down to really examine my attitudes, I will find that I am still a Volunteer Victim to some beliefs.  As I find them, I’ll just have to root them out!

If the situation is difficult, unpleasant or not to our liking, we must either change it, change our attitudes about it or change our location.  The change likely won’t be easy; but, if the situation is bad enough, it’ll be worth it.

Victimhood has a time limit.  Once that’s done, we’re either a Volunteer or a Victor.  Our choice.

Maya Angelou said that.  I’m not sure I agree with the wise woman this time, though.  We know better than to do a lot of the things that we do; but, we do them anyway.  We drink, then do all manner of things like dance in public or call somebody.  (Don’t act like you don’t know what a Drunk Dial is.) Worse, we drink, then we drive.

We also eat mass-produced hamburgers that aren’t even cooked on-site anymore. (Seriously, they microwave most of that stuff now.)  We know better than that, we really do.  We know that we need to eat more vegetables and that we need the vibrantly colored ones. We know that we need to eat less sugar, less sodium and (perhaps) less fat.  We know that we need to limit our intake of all white foods.  Or do we?

We’ve heard obviously biased claims for so long, what can we believe anymore? “Lose 50 pounds in two weeks by eating nothing but popcorn!” “Order these boxed foods and lose pounds and inches fast!” “Wrap your body in plastic wrap and lose two dress sizes before Wheel of Fortune is over.” “Order this bottle of questionable chemicals and lose ugly fat without changing your lifestyle.”  Hype.  Hype. Hype. (Hype – short for hyperbole – an extravagant statement or figure of speech not intended to be taken literally, as “to wait an eternity.”) These claims, by definition, cannot be taken seriously.

My advice to all of us is this: educate ourselves and eschew any diet that makes outrageous claims or that has us cut out entire food groups.  (I say that knowing that I’ve admitted to cutting out nearly all dairy.  I made that cut not because I think that everyone needs to, but because of how my own body reacts to it.)  Proceed with caution with any diet or lifestyle plan that promises outlandish rewards without work.  Let’s take that further: proceed with caution with ANYTHING that promises outlandish rewards without work.  Proceed with caution and be ready to throw ourselves into full-throttle reverse!

The key here is that we have to educate ourselves on what is logical in a nutritional sense, in a scientific sense and in a lifestyle sense.  We have to pay attention to the fine print of diet aids and ads, and we have to really note where it says: results not typical.

This weekend, while in McCreary County, Kentucky – one of the poorest in the country – we stopped to ask directions from a guy at a gas station.  He turned, cigarette in hand and mouthed directions.  Stoma clearly visible on his neck, he could not speak; but, still smoked.  No, Ms Angelou. We don’t always do better.

And shame on us for it.

But, she also said, “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”

Let’s educate ourselves so that we really know better, then let’s challenge ourselves to actually apply that knowledge and do better.

A friend posted this on Facebook earlier this week:

Conviction sometimes comes from the most unlikely places. Chip and I received a letter today from one of the Compassion International children we sponsor. Her name is Wilne. She lives in Haiti. In the middle of her narrative about going to school and playing soccer, she told us that she gets water from a tank. She then asked us about our community and what we do everyday. This was a poignant moment of discussion for us. What do we say? “We turn a tap in our house and water comes out of it all the time.” “We use water to keep flowers alive in our yard.” “Our dogs have plenty of water to drink every day.” Of course, we’d never say these things to Wilne. Not only would it be insensitive, but she probably has absolutely no context for understanding such things. Her simple statement, however, did more to make me examine my ridiculously luxurious life than anything else has in quite some time. I pray I don’t soon forget it.

I thought about this on Saturday as I was touring the interpretive center at an old coal mining facility.  We adjust the thermostat, turn on the water, turn on the hot water, get dinner out of the refrigerator, turn on the dryer, etc., etc., etc.  Every day, we perform thousands of tasks of convenience that were unimaginable to even my mother as a small child.  She and her brothers hoed and picked cotton in the Mississippi heat.  I work at a desk.  Indoors.  With lights and air conditioning.

It’s tragically easy to forget how easy we’ve got it, how far we’ve come and on whose shoulders we arrived.  Men like the miners depicted in the photo died to provide energy.  More died building the roads, railroads, bridges, buildings, pipelines and all the other things that let us live with the convenience that we do.

We honor the soldiers who fought for our freedom – as we should.  Today, let’s honor the workers who worked for our convenience.

This is obviously not the first time I’ve said this; but, it’s necessary to remember to do those things that recharge our batteries.  As we approach the holiday weekend, this is the perfect time to think of restorative activities.  In our run-run-run world, we’ve forgotten to slow down.  For whatever reason, we don’t think of downtime as being productive.

Sleep is restorative for our bodies and minds, sure; but, waking relaxation is restorative for our souls.

For some ideas on waking relaxation, read Monday’s post of Nashville.com: Enjoying Water for Your Health.

Monday afternoon at about 5:30, there was a groan in Nashville that was nearly subsonic.  More feeling than sound, it was followed by a sharp crack, then a thunderous crash.  I heard it.  I felt it.  But the people around me spoke in normal voices, greeting each other as if everything was normal. It wasn’t.  My child walked away from me and into the security checkpoint and my heart broke.  The sound was as sonorous and as deafening as a calving glacier.  No one heard a thing.

I walked to my car, struggling to contain myself and I remembered when I’d had similar thoughts before.  When my friend Joey died, people acted like nothing was wrong, yet I knew that EVERYthing was wrong.  Nothing was right or ever would be right again. The world kept spinning even if my part of it was irrevocably broken. I will see my son at Christmas and, in the meantime, I will remember my solo routine.  At that moment, though, I wondered how many others I passed in my escape were also fleeing the growing sound of their own internal screams.  How many other parents were sending their children off? How many husbands and wives saying good-bye? I couldn’t hear their hearts breaking any more than they could hear mine.

I sat in my car, struggling to breathe in the sudden vacuum, when I decided that the foggy thinking that goes with grief and stress is the direct result of oxygen deprivation.

How many people do I pass on any given day whose worlds have just been irrevocably broken by death, disease, or disappointment? Was that inattentive driver of the blue Charger grieving? Is the slow checker at the grocery store struggling? Is the confused customer ahead of me overloaded with trials? How many people do I judge harshly and unfairly rather than patiently or compassionately? Yet, how quickly do I expect that same patience and compassion from them?

If interpersonal skills are climbing gear, the compassion mask should be in front where I can reach it better to share with those in the vacuum.  My ego pick should be around back so I’m less apt to use it to chip away at others.

After all, their glacier may have just calved, even if I didn’t hear it.

I work with a young man who is a new father.  At a recent company picnic, his wife brought their tiny baby girl.  I looked at that sweet, pink confection and thought……”Whew! I’m so glad that’s not me!”

Don’t get me wrong – I loved being the mother of an infant.  I loved feeding him, crawling around on the floor with him, rocking him, and having our own little world; however, I had it easy and I know it.  While he had some issues those first two weeks, after that, he slept the night through pretty much from then on.  He was only a little fussy when he teethed or was sick.  He had a sweet disposition and a very “go with the flow” nature.  To balance the scales, any second child of mine would have been the spawn of Satan,

But I didn’t have a demon, I had a sweet, easy baby.  I spent most of the first few weeks worrying that the hospital was going to figure out that they had given that baby to a complete idiot who had no clue what she was doing.  I was just sure that they were going to realize the error and come get him. I remember when he was just a couple of weeks old.  He was screaming and I was squalling right there with him.  I felt like a complete failure – I didn’t know why he was crying!  Aren’t mothers supposed to know that kind of thing?!  My mother chuckled when I shared the cause of my distress. “Why do you think you’re supposed to know that? Mothering is just like everything else – you have to learn how.  You’ll get it.” And I did.

I also finally got what she had meant throughout my life when she said that I would understand how much she loved me when I became a parent myself.  That’s one of those things that’s just impossible to describe, isn’t it? It’s like explaining color to someone blind since birth.  I don’t even know that I’d know how to begin.

Today, my son leaves for his second year of college.  I know that I have it easy.  Many, many mothers before me have sent their 19-year-olds off to war.  Mine is only going to college.  Then again, so was Christopher Lane.  When Jaegar isn’t with me, I worry.  I always have and maybe I always will.  Protecting him has been my job for a long time now and, while his leaving is the way things are supposed to be, it’s a long way from easy.

A friend posted this on Facebook this week: “Since the day he was born, the best part of everyday for me has been seeing his face & listening to him talk about anything at all. I moved him into his dorm today and I’m leaving Oxford now. You all said that “when the time comes, you’ll be ready.” Well, I AM NOT! If any of you lying bitches would like to apologize, you can find me at the Peabody Bar for the next 24 hours.”

Save me a stool, Emmy.

As my son prepares to leave for college, I am maudlin.  He is excited about getting back to Tacoma, seeing his friends again and getting back into school.  I, on the other hand, am stocking up on tissues while working hard to resist the lure of my old friends – comfort foods.  Bittersweet times like this lead to introspection for me.  (I’m beginning to suspect that lots of conditions lead to introspection for me.)  As I sank deeper and deeper into the bitter, a received a heaping dose of sweet when I heard from not one, not two, but FOUR treasured friends of long-standing.  Just knowing they are there will help me walk through these difficult next few days.

Read more in Thursday’s Nashville.com – Friendship and Personal Wealth.

I like mine attached. So does my friend Connie.

A couple of years ago, she was diagnosed with Type II diabetes.  Her doctor was busy writing out a prescription when she said, “Wait!  Don’t I even get a chance?” He asked, “Do you want one?”  She said that she did and he prescribed a new way of eating, instead.  You see, she’s seen diabetes up close and personal with family members who have lost digits and whole limbs – people whose dignity has been compromised by a disease that they chose not to treat. Now, two years later, she’s 25 pounds lighter and her diabetes is completely controlled with diet.

We started this week with the question: What if you were dying?  It’s a nice (if morbid) balance to bring the week to a close by again addressing the effects of obesity on health – the serious effects.

I recently spent time with another friend who has some serious decisions to make.  She is obese and has to decide what she’s going to do about that.  I love her and I love her precious spirit, which is one of the kindest and gentlest I know.  I’m not telling you anything I didn’t tell her when I say that if she doesn’t change her lifestyle – and soon – she’s going to die.  It’s her choice whether or not to fight for her life; but, I sincerely hope that she does.

Several of our conversations were very frank and quite possibly offensive to her; however, I was never intentionally cruel, spoke from experience, not judgement and saw no value in dancing around the issue. I asked her to let me know when I crossed the line into her bubble and, while she never yelled “Uncle!” I’m pretty sure I was all in her head space.  I tried not to go too far into it and I try not to go too far into anyone else’s space here.  As I’ve said several times before, food is not the issue for obese people.  There is some other demon at work there and I would be heartbroken to think that I strengthened someone else’s demon.  However, I cannot stand on the sidelines silently and watch someone I love and treasure kill themselves.  I won’t nag; but, I won’t be complicitly silent, either.

When I was young, my mother used to tell me all the time that “to whom much is given, much is required.”  As it happened, that particular little saying turned into a nightmare of self-accusation for me; however, its core truth is untouched by the nightmare.  If I have the knowledge to help, I am required to help, or to at least offer to.  I was also reminded of that at a training seminar yesterday.  Both my professional and my personal passions require me to offer help to others. What adults choose to do with that help is out of my hands; however, I have to offer.  Deirdre Sullivan said, “In my humdrum life, the daily battle hasn’t been good versus evil. It’s hardly so epic. Most days, my real battle is doing good versus doing nothing.”  My conscience will not leave me to stand by and do nothing.

I can lead a horse to water.  After that, it’s up to the horse.

Still, if I can lead, I must.

You know how some days are just a half a bubble off plumb? Yep.  Yesterday.

I knew the day was suspect when Rush’s Tom Sawyer came on the radio right when I got to the office and was getting out of the car.  That’s one of my favorite songs and to hear it while I was driving to work would have heralded a good day.  But, that didn’t happen.  The song played right after I got to work.  It played five minutes late.  (Oh, stop it.  You know you’ve thought that same thing at some point.  You might have been 16 when you did it; but, you’ve done it.)

The day wasn’t exactly bad; but, through it, I experienced a special appreciation that time moves only in one direction, you know what I mean?

You see, my son leaves in less than a week to return to college.  This is the way of things and how they should be – that children grow up and leave home.  I’m beyond thrilled that he is strong enough to leave and venture off to the other side of the country – after all, he’s got to educate himself and get a job so that he can afford good home for me in my old age.  Just so you know: I don’t want a cheap one, either.  Regardless, he is my heart and I miss him when he’s not here.  Last Autumn was all kinds of ugly when I left him at school.  I expect this time won’t be as bad, but, I won’t be taking any snapshots to commemorate. I started thinking about his departure this morning.  Tears were shed.  The day’s mood was ruined.

And then I missed hearing Tom Sawyer.

I allowed those two events – neither of them major in the scheme of things – to affect my mood in a profound way.  In speaking with people throughout the day, they would say, “you can (insert solution to whatever it was we were talking about)”  My immediate, internal response was to think of a bunch of reasons why I can’t.  Well, that’s no good.  If I allow myself to be distracted with Can’ts, I’m doomed.  If I’m not my best cheerleader, I’m really in trouble.

Let’s face it, there are those around us who would like nothing more than to tear us down.  They offer nothing positive.  They throw rocks.  They don’t offer any solutions.  As Alfred said to Bruce Wayne, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.”  My job is two-fold: 1. that I don’t allow them to destroy me, and 2. that I don’t become one of them – not to others, not to myself.

As I dealt with my First World problems yesterday, I struggled.  I struggled, not to win, but to just make it across the finish line.  Today is a different day, though.  Today, I’ll shoot for the win.

Because I truly do think I can.