Corner Archives 2001

We're almost there. Home free. The end of the holiday season is in sight. Well, I should say the peak is in sight. I've been running around so much this holiday season that I almost forgot that it was in fact upon us. It is easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of it all without noticing what you're doing. And particularly, without grasping the true meaning of what it's all about.

So I was thinking about the whole holiday thing and how stressful it really is. Generally speaking, it's one big drag. We go through stages of dealing with all the holiday stress. And I realized that these stages are very similar to the stages of grief. Check this out.

You know what I'm talking about. I'd say most of us are hitting stages 3-5 right about now. But I think I may be turning the corner to Hopelessness.

So what do we do? How do the experts get people through the Grief stages? Or are they there simply to remind us of how miserable we are without really serving to comfort?

This is what I propose. Make this list work for you instead of against you. Here's a new look at it.

Okay, I jest. However, the point I'm trying to make is that amidst the craziness, and the have-tos and gift-lists, remember to take some time to find your own truth.

You know what I want for Christmas this year? I want to be able to make a choice for how I'm going to spend Christmas, and have that choice be okay with everyone. That's all I want. And it's the one thing I'm never able to get.

Who cares about the gifts and the eggnog and pies. I mean, really. It's not about that. At least it shouldn't be. Everyone should be able to find their own meaning of the holiday spirit. We shouldn't be bound by rules and obligations.

I'm not a particularly religious person. I'd like to think I'm occasionally spiritual. But I will say this. At Christmastime I do think about the meaning of the birth of Christ. Not so far as the biblical tale. More so in the sense of enlightenment. And the great sense of hope. Because hope is something we all need to feel after this year.

When I was a little girl growing up in Belmont, I produced a tradition. Every Christmas I'd find a moment where I could be alone to sit in front of the Christmas tree. It started when I was very young. I'm not sure what inspired me but I was drawn to the idea of reflection.

So there I was, flannel pj's, a stuffed animal or two and my tree. I'd sit for an hour or so and think about things. Damn, now that I think about it, I was pretty evolved, intellectually speaking, for a little kid. I don't know what the hell happened.

This time spent with my Christmas tree has become a sacred tradition for me. I've kept it alive all these years. And it really does help me get back in touch with the magical spirit of the season. It gives me time to remember what meaning my life has to me. And I concoct lots of new dreams to fantasize about.

This year, find your moment alone. And find your spirit. When you find yourself unable to muster up the strength to do what you really want to do, remember, there are no have-tos, in the big scheme of it all. What really matters, is our own truth. So go find yours.

Part IV: Tapping Into the Power Within
by Jennifer Campbell

We are all born with an innate power and strength. It resides at our deepest core. It is our spirit, our soul, the essence of our truth self. This inner power is what fuels our hearts desire, our dreams, our truth, the vision of the life that we know, on an instinctual level, is how we are meant to live.

The society we live in does not encourage or support the embracing and embodying of this inner power. Therefore, we grow up slowly moving further and further away from that inner fire which is the flame of our authentic self. Many of us are unconsciously trying to smother this ever-burning fire within us, afraid of all that it represents for us, because to truly let our inner fire, our inner strength flourish is to allow ourselves to be 100 % true to ourselves. It is to be 100% authentic.

As we progress in recovery and move through our fear, it is so important that we begin to fuel our inner power, that we tap into the continues flow of inner strength that we all posses. There are many ways to begin to reconnect with and become reacquainted with this power. One of the easiest ways is by reconnecting with our physical body through activity.

Our physical bodies are amazing instruments. Each unique unto itself, each working in a beautiful orchestrated dance of breath and movement. We can begin to familiarize ourselves with the subtle sensations, and distant calls from our body, which echo our inner power through conscious and grounding activity. What kind of activity does that include? Anything that allows you to FEEL your physicality, that brings you into the present and into the amazing wonder of the human body. Our physical body is like the gateway to our true self. It is the mirror of what is happening internally on an emotional level. Our body is like the voice of our Spirit; it speaks to us clearly and gets our attention when things may be off balance.

A person can begin to access their inner power through many physical means. By exerting the body physically, allowing the heart to pump and allowing yourself to feel the strength of your muscles, the power and presence of your physical body, you are allowing yourself to BE in your True power in a very easy “day to day” kind of way. Have you ever noticed how you feel after any physical activity in which you listen to your body and are balanced and moderate in your exertion? Have you ever noticed how present you feel, how alive, and how sensitive you are? Your breath becomes deeper, and your body hums with the energy of being fully embodied. That is your inner power!

A more subtle way of connecting to ones power, is by practicing more meditative or contemplative activities such as walking, breathing, and yoga. These seeming gentle forms of activity, in my experience, actually allow for the quickest connection to the inner fire of ones power because they take a person to their core, their essence where the power resides, in a quick yet gentle way. The body willingly and gratefully opens up the power and strength that dwells within because the body is relaxed enough to melt into the fullness of its fire.

What brings you Joy? What leave you feeling fully alive? What allows you to breath deeply, to sit in your power and feel it fully, to allow yourself to be fierce and fearless? What ever that thing is, allow yourself to regularly practice it. By doing so you are answering the call within, fueling your inner fire, and embracing and exuding the power that is YOU!

My feet are throbbing and my hairstyle suggests that I have just walked out of a tornado. My right hand feels numb from all of the Cards that I wrote out over the weekend. My cats have knocked over our Christmas tree twice this week. I cannot even count the number of ornaments that they mistook for cat toys. I nearly electrocuted myself trying to hang up the lights outside and my calendar is full of events that overlap with each other. I am desperately trying to wait until I get onto my couch before I slip into that three-day coma that I so desperately need. Oh, the holidays! The most frightening part of all of this is that Christmas isn’t for another three weeks!

I don’t think that I am going to make it. Visions of last year’s financial disaster swirl through my head. In one second I am brought back to having my bank account approaching the negative range and each and every one of my credit cards reaching their limit. Ahhhh! I end up in this situation every year. I run myself ragged and I am only concerned with “getting everything done”. No matter how much I do get done though, there is always something else to be done. I refuse to believe that debt and exhaustion are the true meaning of Christmas. I am putting my foot down this year. I simply cannot go through yet another holiday season like this. More importantly, why would I choose to do this to myself? Why do any of us choose to do this? It’s completely insane.

I have made my mind up that this year I am going to do something different. I am going to just laugh. When things start to get nuts, I am going to step back and just laugh. By laughing at the insanity that has become the two month long holiday season, I might be able to actually enjoy the holidays.

For example, every single night I come home to some kitten-created disaster. Either she has pulled down one of the stockings, ripped the lights off the tree or eaten the tree skirt. After a week of getting angry, I realized that I had to stop getting so worked up or I was going to have to deal with the humane society knocking at my door. I stepped back and took a deep breath. She is a kitten, she does not know any better. So, instead of getting angry I started laughing when my boyfriend calls the kitten “The Grinch” because he claims that she is trying to steal Christmas. I went and bought extra (really cheap) ornaments to replace the ornaments that I know she will break in the days to come. I will not take this seriously; all I can do is laugh.

I’m not going to worry about the fact that Dad will not like anything that I get for him that isn’t on “his list”. Ugh...the dreaded list. Let me explain about “The List”. Every year after Thanksgiving dinner my father’s family exchanges Christmas lists. They are each several pages long and painfully detailed right down to the aisle in the store where the particular item can be found. For the last few years I have rebelled against this family tradition and tried to get my father something special. A wonderful surprise that wasn’t on his “list”. Well, I have also spent the last few Christmas morning’s watching my father trying to hide his disappointment and pretend to like the gift that I spent weeks searching for. This year I give up. I am just going to laugh about it and accept it. Why make it such a production when it is just not worth the stress. Dad & I will both be much happier if I stick to the list.

There, stressor number one taken care of. See how easy that was? The other thing that I refuse to do this year is reflect. Nope, not gonna do it. I am not going to think back to how I spent the past year and wish I could change certain things. I will not think about friendships lost or opportunities that have disappeared. This year none of that really matters. While who and what was in my past has made me who I am today, it is those that are currently in my life that I am grateful for. I can’t do anything to change the past and I am just going to stop trying. Instead of continually trying to make amends with my old college roommate, I am just going to accept that that friendship is over. While it served it’s purpose at the time, we’ve grown and it was in a different directions. So be it. I am even going to do the unthinkable…not send her a Christmas card.

Actually there are quite a few people that I am not sending Christmas cards to this year. Why write, “I hope that all is well and let’s get together soon.”? As horrible as it is, I don’t really care anymore how certain people are doing, nor would I like to get together soon. I write this every year out of guilt, nothing more. I am sure that they are just as happy to receive the card as I am to write it, so why continue the nonsense?

But, I digress… Laughter, remembering the true meaning of the holiday season and being honest to ourselves is more important this year than ever. With all that is going on in the world, we all need to let go of the things that aren’t important and truly value the things that are. The gifts, the cards, the decorations…none of it really matters. What matters are the wonderful people that I do have in my life, not the things that I don’t. What I need to think about isn’t the past. I need to think about my “right now”. The superficial stuff just doesn’t seem important in the least.

Last Wednesday night I left work at around ten. I was speeding to my mother’s house to pick up my irritated boyfriend who was locked out of my house. I was thinking about all of the gifts that I still need to get and how the lights in front of my house are lopsided. When I got to my mother’s house I dragged myself up to the front door full of resentments and “have to’s”. I walked in, dropped my bag on the floor, gave my boyfriend an unnecessary dirty look and said, “Let’s go.” Just then I heard a voice from upstairs say “Kiki?” I crept up the stairs to find my four year old cousin, Sean, standing at the doorway in his plaid PJ’s. He ran over to me and gave me the biggest hug that you could imagine. This sweet, innocent little boy didn’t care whether or not I had checked off all of the things on my to-do list for the day. He didn’t care about my broken ornaments. He was just happy to see me and give me a hug. I took him back into the bedroom and when I tucked him into bed, he gave me a kiss and said, “I love you, Kiki.” At that moment I was reminded about what is truly important during the holiday season. Family, love and true happiness. It’s amazing how the unconditional love of a child can really put things into perspective.

So this season, I'm putting everything into perspective. All that have-to's down in mustville, will just have to wahoo doray without me.

The left-over turkey has been eaten and the holiday season has officially begun! There are many events that occur, both public and personal, to mark the start of the holiday season. In my family it is the infamous "Gravy Debate" among my aunts and my mother. The fighting begins about a week prior to Thanksgiving and continues on for several days after. As soon as I hear "What is she talking about??? What's wrong with putting a splash of red wine in the gravy?" I know that the holidays and "family fun" are just around the corner.

For many of us, spending the holidays with (or without) our families equals massive stress. It is for this reason that this week we are doing something a bit different on The Corner. The following are letters from members of our on-line group to members of their families. We all got a chance to finally say some of those things that may have held us back for so long. The purpose of this exercise was not to bash our families, it was to get out anything that needed to be said, yet hadn't. Good or Bad. For me, this was an extremely freeing task where I was able to put things into a different perspective and then move on. Everyone got a little something different out of the experience.

Try writing your own. Share it with us if you'd like, or just do it for yourself. Either way, the feeling of relief and closure that you get is pretty unbelievable. Send your letters to kristen@paysonroad.com and we'll gladly post them.

Dear Mom, I am not sure how I can even begin to express the gratitude that I feel because you are in my life. I have spent so much of my time focusing on the negative aspects of my life, that at times I have overlooked just how wonderful of a mother are to me.

I look at you with nothing but the greatest admiration. I know that for a long time things were hard for you, but not once did you ever put anything before me and my sister. You gave so much of yourself and were able to everything with grace, no matter how rough things were at the time. It was your struggles and the way that you handled yourself in those rough times that I remember. It was your actions at the most difficult of times that I try to live up to. I hope that one day I can become half of the woman that you are. You really are my role-model, as you are to so many in your life. You have showed me what unconditional love means and what it truly means to have faith and trust in another human being. Through out my life there have been many people that have given up on me, but not you. No matter how horrible I thought what I had done was, you always made sure to tell me that while you didn't like what I did, it didn't make you love me any less. Can you even comprehend the positive effect that has had on my life? Your love has truly made me who I am today. The lessons that I learned from you are the reasons I am where I am today. When I was younger, I had the most difficult time believing in myself. I constantly felt insecure and always doubted if I was "good enough". You have been the one person in my life that believed in me when I was unable to believe in myself. When I felt weak, you were strong enough for both of us. I can not remember one time in my life when you were not there for me, showing me how to be a better person. While I can remember feeling afraid of disappointing you at times, not once were my fears realized. No matter how many mistakes I made, you always encouraged me to learn from my mistakes, and then move on. You are my definition of grace, courage and what it truly means to be a woman. The time in my life that stands out the most is my Senior year in High School. I really had all but given up. I felt weak and emotionally beaten and didn't think that things would ever get any better. I was so afraid of letting you down and it was so hard for me to tell you that I wasn't the person that you thought that I was and about the mistakes that I had made. Now I can't imagine why I was so scared. I had felt like I just couldn't "do it" and you sat there with me and held me hand until I thought otherwise. You literally wiped away my tears and hugged me and told me that everything was going to be ok over and over again until I started to see that for myself. I remember a few years ago on my birthday I was in a particularly bad emotional place. I felt weak, scared, horrible about myself and just felt so lost. Well, that night you told me that when you were pregnant with me you had hoped to one day have a daughter that was intelligent, beautiful, kind, etc. You then went on to tell me that I have exceeded anything that you could have ever imagined. Do you know how that felt for me? You saw the good that I couldn't yet see in myself and gave me the courage to keep going and to keep believing. Mommy, I truly have nothing but respect, admiration and love for you. Basically what I am trying to say is Thank you. I just really want to express to you just how much you mean to me and how much our relationship means to me. Not only do I have the most wonderful woman in the world as my mother, but she is also my best friend. Thank you, Mommy. I love you always. Love, Kris

First of all, I want to say thank you for all you have done for me. I have had the luxury of growing up provided for, especially with school and the car. I appreciate those things more than I can tell you.

I want you to know that I know you did the best you knew how to do when you parented me. I know you didn't have a good father to model from, and I admire you for choosing to be so different from him in a lot of ways. You are a hard worker, a responsible man, and I have seen you become a faithful man over the years. That's why nothing I'm going to say is meant to underestimate who you are and who you have worked so hard to become.

I have a lot of hurt and baggage from some of the things you didn't give me. I have been desperate for unconditional love and acceptance. I have always felt the pressure from you to be a certain way, to act a certain way, that I didn't want to be, that wasn't ME. I am so pissed at you for making me audition for music. I hated every damn lesson, and I hate it how you always like you did me a phucking favor by forcing me to do that. I hate how you treat Mom. I hate you demeaned her for so long, I hate that you don't love her so I phucking don't know what love is between two people without conforming because that's what Mom has done. Do you have any idea? I just want you to apologize for not seeing me and for ignoring all of my desperate attempts to get your damn attention. I am so phucking mad at you for stealing my childhood--fear, control, was not for ME and you never noticed me. It's not all about you. I exist too. You don't even know who I am, and you don't even care who I am beyond what I phucking think. I am more than a damn brain that stores away info and gets good grades. I have more in my life than phucking ideas. I have wounds, and I have good memories, and I have great friends, I have interests, favorite things, and I have a faith that I have misunderstood for so long because I thought that God was just like you. God you have hurt me so much and I am so phucking mad and I'm fighting so hard to get better, to move past all the hurt that is you. Oh I am so phucking mad at you. Listen to me. Give me a phucking chance to breathe. You have missed who I am completely. You have not seen the good part of me--you always seemed to find the bad, the sin, the disappointing.

I am reclaiming everything that you have stolen from me TODAY. I am ME. I am disarming your damn voice in my head right now. I don't forgive you yet, but maybe one day I will. You are human, not perfect, and I must take some of the responsibility for expecting you to be perfect. I am burying that idea of you TODAY.

Dear Mom,

As I look at you now I see a strong, sensitive, courageous, independent woman. I admire the woman that you are day and feel a great sense of pride when someone tells me how much I am like you. You have overcome many traumatic events in your lifetime and have worked very hard to become the woman that you are today.

It is so unfortunate that when I was growing up you were not that same woman. I saw a woman that allowed others to control her thoughts and emotions. I saw a woman afraid to share her feelings because she might offend. I saw a woman who sacrificed her very essence to please those around her. I learned that this is the role that women played in the game of life.

Now as some years have passed, I look back at my childhood and feel great resentment towards you. Dad abused me emotionally and verbally for years and you sat idly by and let it all happen. I sat scared, afraid, and alone with no one to protect me. Locked in the basement listening to Dad tell me how worthless I was broke my carefree spirit. You saw it happening and yet did nothing to prevent it.

I understand that you were afraid, too. I understand that when you confronted Dad about how he was treating your children you felt the situation grew worse and more out of control than previously before. But why did you never take me aside and tell me that I was not that worthless person that Dad told me I was? I was an innocent child and you LET him abuse me for years.

I tried to reach out for help in the only way that I knew how. I cut myself for the first time at the age of 12. I could no longer deal with the emotional pain on my own and believed the physical pain was easier to deal with. I hoped that it might show you how much pain I was truly in. I told you that I had cut myself, and instead of this alarming you, I was told not to lie. This is when I knew that I was alone to deal with the abuse and that there was no one to save me.

Now, 14 years later, I am still fighting to overcome the years of emotional abuse that I endured. My eating disorder and self-injurious behaviors developed because it comforted and protected me from a family that did not love me the way that a family should.

I write this not to place blame, as I am an adult now and capable of making my own decisions. I am finally choosing to learn how to become a strong, courageous, disciplined, independent woman; much like you are now. I am writing this because it will help my healing process to continue.

I don't blame you for my eating disorder although I know that you blame yourself. There are many things that we both could have done differently over the years. It is time to move on, time to repair the broken relationships. It is time to forgive each other for the pain that we have caused each other to feel as I know that I have caused you pain, too.

I do love you, Mother and believe that in time we can have the kind of relationship that we both long to have. It will take time, determination, courage, and discipline. You have shown me now that you have these qualities. I am learning to bring these qualities out from my inner self. Together we can overcome the pain from the past and create a future of health and happiness.

I love you.

Mindy

Dear Gram,

It is very hard to write to you because I know that you are not here. There are so many things that I didn’t say to you that I wish I would have said. Unlike most of the family, I had the chance to say good-bye, but the things that I said weren’t from my heart. The truth is, I didn’t say what I felt because I didn’t believe that you would ever leave me...even when I saw youlying there in your hospital bed, forgetting everyone’s name except for mine, I never thought that you would leave. I would like to take this opportunity to say what I would have said to you then, if I had known that I would never see you again.

You were such a proud, strong woman, a woman I will strive to be like in the future. A woman who was always there for me when I needed to talk, or a shoulder to cry on. Gram you meant the world to me, and you left. How selfish it is of me to feel betrayed because of that, I know that you held on for as long as you could, and I have accepted the fact that you had to let go.

It is amazing how different much my life has become because of the fact that you are not here. Everything has changed so much. I don’t know how to deal with my problems, I don’t have you here to give me your advice, or share your knowledge. You aren’t here to intervene when mum is being irrational or when the family isn’t getting along. Things are different...life is different. Mum has changed a lot since you have been gone. She hardly ever seems to be happy. I think that the day that you left was the day that all of our little problems became the big ones that we have today. The funny thing is, the fact that we both miss you as much as we do is one of the only things that we still have in common, but we never really talk about you, it’s as though talking about you breaks mum’s heart. Missing you breaks mine.

I have so many memories of time spent with you that I think about whenever I am sad. As always, you are still there for me...even if it’s not in person. I am so happy that I had the chance to know you the way that I did, I’m happy that I am able to say that I have had a person in my life who has meant so much to me. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t feel like I have something that I need to tell you. Every time I have a problem, whenever I am sad, or depressed, or if I simply have good news I wish that you were here. You will never know how much you are missed, not just by me, but by the whole family. We all miss you so much. I will always love you to bits Gram, you mean so much to me. I promise that I will make you proud.

Love From
Andra
XOX

I love you forever, I like you for always, as long as I’m living your baby I’ll be.

I have so many things left unsaid. Thoughts and memories that eat away at my soul, that stay stuffed down so far, because I can't seem to find my voice when I am with you. Whenever I want to tell you something, I stop myself, knowing the outcome will only be my guilt.

Where oh where do I start? When I was born? Or for the 25 years that have followed. I don't mean to sound so harsh, but there are so many more times you have let me down, than been there for me. I sometimes wonder if the fact that I was taken from you as a child has left us without a bond that would have otherwise been there. I resent that. From the very beginning you weren't there for me. And somewhere inside, I think I have always known that. There are huge parts of my life that are blank, and what I do remember leaves me feeling alone. Without a parent. And as if that weren't enough, you don't know who my dad is. Did it never occur to you that might be information I would want. I was just a little girl when you told me that my dad was either George, or some guy from Tahoe, whose name was Joe originally, and as the years progressed, you said you didn't really know his name. How insignificant that made me feel. I think back through the years, and all the times I felt like I was in the way, and I don't want to just rehash year after year. I know you love me mom. What I don't understand is how to get past the fact that you don't know how to show me. That is something I will have to do, and I guess my reason for writing this is to start that process.

Through it all, I think what hurt the most were the years with Grandpa. He was so mean to me, and you never did anything about it. Instead you told me to just agree with him, even if I knew I wasn't wrong, because then he would be nice. You told me that I could just know I was right inside, I didn't have to express that to him. That was probably the worst lesson you ever tried to teach me. Thankfully, I didn't learn it well. Yes, that made my life a bit more difficult during those awful years with him, but I am still grateful that I didn't listen to you. Gosh, just in writing this, so many memories come out for me. I remember calling you at five in the morning, to let you know that I was with Rod, so that you wouldn't worry. How foolish I was to think you even noticed, much less cared. I remember walking back to the table, so embarrassed to tell them that you just got mad at me for waking you up, and that you told me next time not to call. Do you remember the day that I came home early from work, and asked you to go to Salmon Falls Bridge with me for a picnic? I do. I left work, went by the store, bought us sandwiches, and Crystal Geyser water(the sparkling kind I knew you liked) and came home, excited by the thought of spending some time with you, doing something special. I wanted the mother-daughter relationship many of my friends had with their moms. I also remember you telling me that you didn't feel like it. Some other time. Grandpa was in one of his moods, and he wouldn't like it if you left. I felt so deflated.

I remember your attempts to stick up for me with Grandpa, only after several glasses of wine, and perhaps a brandy or two. You and he would scream at each other, but in the end, nothing ever changed, and I was still tormented by him. "You are fat, ugly, worthless. You don't care about anyone but yourself. You are a pig and lazy and good for nothing..." You might not have said those words to me, but he sure did, and your lack of support just reinforced his words. THAT DAMNED HOUSE! It was so important to you. And he dangled it on the end of his branch, enticing you with the thought that you may one day own it. What were you thinking? Did you really ever think you would own it?! It was his power, his control. More importantly, why was I less important than that damned house!! That is a fact. Its not my perception of it. When John came back into your life, when I was sixteen, Grandpa had a new candidate to be mean to. When John was fed up with it, what happened? We moved. Lesson learned. John was important to you. I was not. Mom, I didn't(and still don't) begrudge you your happiness. I wanted you to have someone to be with you. But damn it, he was mean to me, just like Grandpa. The difference with that was that I didn't take it from him. I found my voice, and used it to tell him to go to hell! You all but disappeared from my life, once I moved out. Only when I made the effort did we even speak. Ok, that may be my own perception here, I am sure that you called, but I am not far off.

Mom, I don't remember my Halloween costumes from when I was young. I don't remember us ever going trick-or-treating together. Did we? I don't remember birthday parties beyond when I was six years old, and went to Chuck E. Cheese, and even that is just a foggy memory. Did I have them? Did you ever decorate our house, or make me a birthday cake, and sing to me? Please tell me if you did, because I sure don't remember. I remember being nine years old, and living in the ghetto. I remember that girl you met, Leslie Carlson. Boy was she a piece of work. I remember the endless nights of dart games and drunken people milling around. I remember her coming into my room, and crawling into the bed, smelling so bad like alcohol, I could barely breathe. She said she just needed to sleep, and that you told her she could come sleep in my room. Lying next to her, in that double bed with the oak headboard, I stayed so still, praying she would just quit talking. She went on and on about what a great kid I was, and how sad she was because she was fat, and no one loved her. Boy, I had almost forgotten about that night. Whatever happened to her? Whatever happened to my bed?

You left Cassi to raise me. She was the closest thing to a parent I ever had, yet I fear that raising me left her drained. I can't fight her demons for her though, and that leaves me feeling guilty. When I was a teenager, it was Cassi that kept me sane. I had so much resentment toward you, and it was she who told me that I would have to let it go. You had done your best. I often wondered if it would really make a difference in my life, if you were to die. That wasn't from a lack of love. Of course I loved you. I still do. But I wondered if my daily life would be effected, because you were such a miniscule part of it. Well, I had the chance to find out, when you went into the hospital two years ago. I fought my hardest, to get you the help you needed to survive. You don't remember the endless hours spent fighting with your doctor, looking for other treatment options, all the while the clock was ticking. You were rapidly losing the feeling in your body, and no one was doing a damn thing. Cassi all but left me alone to fight the fight. And I did. I did the best I could, but you are still paralyzed. I couldn't save you. I wasn't good enough. That night of the surgery, the doctor came out and told us that he didn't have a lot of hope for you. I knew then that it would matter to me if you died. The 3 months you spent in the rehabilitation center, was the only time in my life that I felt so close to you. I also felt such a great amount of stress, making sure that you were well taken care of, and worrying about what was to come. But those days in your room, watching Lifetime movies, making your hair, putting makeup on you, just talking, are days I cherish. Its sad to think that nothing short of you being stuck in bed, unable to move, would give me the feeling that you cared. That was probably the clearest your brain has ever been. You weren't drinking or smoking. You were taking care of yourself. We were closer than ever. Still that wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I had reservations about having Aunt Laurie come live with you. But I knew you wanted to go home, to the house you finally owned on your own. It was yours, and you weren't about to give up that freedom. I admired that, even if I thought it a bit naive. So I contacted the town, and went through all that work to get your house remodeled, only to hear how slow they were, or how they weren't doing things up to your standard. For goodness sakes, they were doing it for free. That house was a shack, with the sagging roof, ready to cave in at even the thought of another winter. It was all fixed, for free. Yet still when my decision was questioned by the almighty Grandpa, did you stick up for me? Did you tell him where to go? No you didn't, and the only place you told him to go was to the store, to buy you some cigarettes! You couldn't even be honest with me. Lying about your smoking. Never mind that I fought to save your life, and given the placement of your spinal cord injuries, you are much more susceptible to death with every puff you take. You lied to me about it! Where you so insecure about my love, so determined to please, that you would lie to me? How ironic would that be.

When I told you of my ED, I felt so guilty. There you were, beside yourself with worry. You begged me to stop and I hung up the phone feeling like the worst daughter in the world. You said you wanted to know how I was doing and made me promise to get better. That was a year ago, and you have raised the topic exactly 2 times, just to make sure I am 'all better'. God, the value of being 'all better' in our household, is of more worth than Bill Gates. Once again, you choose to just take the path of least resistance. Live in denial. Pretend everything is ok. I CAN'T DO THAT!

Just looking at this letter, I realize I could go on for pages and pages. It would all be the same thing. I remember the time you let me down. I remember the time I felt unloved. I don't feel worthy. I don't believe I can do anything I ever wanted. I wish you would have taught me to believe in myself. I wish you had learned to believe in yourself. I wish you would have taught me how to love. I wish you had loved yourself. I longed for the feeling of complete and utter trust that you would catch my fall. I still do. I wish you had taught me what a good man looked like, acted like. I wish you would have known that for yourself. Maybe you would have been a better teacher. I know you loved me. I know that you did the best you could. You fell short, very short, and I don't know how to get past that. How do I find my voice? Sure, I have said things to you. In the end, I feel guilty about it. You are always so quick with the tears, and the cries of the awful mother you know you are. You would never tell me that I am the awful one, yet I still walk away feeling that way. Is it wrong of me to speak my mind to you, knowing there is nothing you can do to change past events? What do you think of, when you lie in bed, unable to move, having watched the Lifetime Movie of the Week, for the tenth time? Do you conveniently forget the pain of my youth? Or are you too busy trying to forget the pain of your own? I know from my own experience with Grandpa, that your childhood could not have been the Leave it to Beaver fantasy I once thought it was. Does that mean I am destined to be phucked up, in the same ways you are? Will I ever learn the lessons you should have taught me as a child, and if not, how will I ever teach them to my own children? Please be the mother I have always wanted you to be, and guide me. Where do I go from here?

Dear Family,(mom,dad,josh)

I have been suffering for a long time with all the pain I carry alone. I know you know I'm Bulimic and you think that there is no more hope. I've had a hard life with being sexual abused and emotional abused. I've been in rehab, jail, and in-patient for my eating disorder. You think my life is a waste at times and that I'm not the daughter you had in mind. I think I've come along way with dealing with myself and how I handle life. I struggle day to day with all sorts of different things and you putting me down to make yourselves feel good doesn't help me. I just want to live life with freedom and happiness. I can't change the past and what happened, all I can do is change the future and how I look at life now. I hope you know I love you because at times I feel you don't love me.

Love you daughter,

Gina

Dear Daddy, I don't know if you can even imagine how much of a struggle it is for me to sit here and attempt to tell you how I feel. I have dreaded doing this for as long as I can remember. I have never been able to honestly tell you how I feel and that still holds true. Where do I start? For as long as I can remember I have wanted your approval, yet never seemed to be able to obtain it. Maybe it is because you didn't know how to show it, but I felt like I wasn't good enough or I didn't deserve it. It was like you were embarrassed of me. From the time I was a little girl, right up until now. You still act that way towards me. Like you have given up on me and it doesn't matter what I do now. There is nothing that I can do to be that daughter that you want. When I was assaulted, did you try to make it any better? No, I felt even more ashamed . You couldn't even tell the people in your family what had happened and that once again led me to think that I was an embarrassment. All through high school this continued. NO, I didn't try my hardest, and yes, I should have done better, but ever time you told me how disappointed you were in me, I dropped down ten levels of self- esteem. Do you even realize the effect on me your words have had? How much of an effect they still have at times? Even when I would do well at something or accomplished something, you were always the first person that I would run to tell. Not once did I get what I was looking for. Not once could you say to me " I am so proud of you." Then during my senior year it was the worst. I had the most horrible time in high school. You judged everything by the fact that I didn't play sports and didn't get straight A's like other kids. Did you ever wonder why? Did you know me at all then? My senior year it got horrible. My biggest worry about getting help was that you wouldn't understand. So, Mommy told you. And when we went to the intake your responses was once again that I was a disappointment and that you didn't want me in re-hab b/c I would be with drug addicts...do you know what that conveyed? Duh, once again, you were not able to see what was really going on, you only cared about what other people would think. You couldn't even tell anyone in your family that I wasn't in high school because it embarresed you so much to have a drug addict for a daughter. It felt to me like you had stop being a parent to me then. I slowly stopped eating and hated myself so very much, but did you even notice? Can you even comprehend the struggles that I went through? Now, with that being said, I have come to terms with this. I just needed to tell you this and express to you what I have felt for so long. Often when I said "Dad, I'm fine.", I was fighting back tears. Often I didn't give you a chance to be my father. I take responsibility for that. I have accepted all of this and realized that at times just because I felt like I had disappointed you, it didn't necessarily mean that I had. I know that my perceptions were not always accurate. Daddy, I know that you love me, it is just so very hard for you to show it. And I am ok with that now. If I want you to accept me for who I am, then I need to accept you for who you are. No maybe we'll never have the type of relationship that we would both ideally like, but that is ok. I am who I am and you are who you are. It doesn't mean that I love you any less. I now know that it also doesn't mean that you love me any less. It might just mean though that we don't know each other very well and that I am not ok with. That is the one thing that I know that we both can change.

Dear Mum,

Wow, where do I begin? I'm angry at you. I think your an amazing woman. But I'm different than you are. And I want to be free to express that without guilt. I've been a good daughter. I believe that. And you have been a great mother in many ways. But you've always stifled me. And you've cut my wings and made me view the world from your limited way of thinking instead of allowing me to see it through my own eyes.

There's a few things I need to get off my chest. Part of me has never forgiven you for selling the house. And for allowing Nana to sell her house. Both of those houses were home for me. All I knew as home. And I felt like literally the floor caved in underneath me. It was like my childhood, the good parts of it, were taken away from me. I know why you had to do it, this isn't about the why or the logic or even understanding, this is about a little girl and her feelings.

I've also never completely gotten over the fact that you never came to see me on Broadway. Not only that you didn't come but that you've downplayed my dancing career. And pretty much everything creative I've done. I know you support and love me but you always made me feel like my dreams were unrealistic.

I'll never forget hearing about how you bumped into Andrea's parents and they asked what I was up to, and this was right after I left New York, and you said, oh, Sarah's taking the slow boat route through college. The slow boat route???? I was on Broadway!!! Don't you think that most parents would say something to the effect of, "Sarah's on Broadway! Isn't that amazing! She was cast right out of high school. But now she's decided to go back to school. She's doing great! " Something, resembling anything, complimentary or favorable. Or at least, not unfavorable. The worst thing was I had to find out about this from Andrea. It was so humiliating. And as a result of how down played my dance career was, I down played it. Didn't talk about it. I remember when I first told people in LA they responded with amazement and favor and I was shocked because I always thought it was a bad thing!

I bought into the fact that not going to college right after high school was bad. And that what I was doing was a silly little side thing not really a serious career choice. And it totally phucked me up. It took me years to get over losing my dance career.

I'll never forget what you said to me after the accident. "See, you should have gone to college. This was bound to end up like this sooner or later. Better sooner than later when your in your 30s. It would be so much harder for you to go back to school then."

Wow!   How bout, you can do it honey! We'll help you. You'll go to physical therapy and you'll get back on track. This is your dream. You've gotta go back after it. Don't give up.

I needed you to do that. But you didn't and it crushed me. I was completely deflated and didn't know which way to turn. Dancing was all I ever wanted to do in my life. I dreamt of nothing else. It was so much a part of me. It was the way I expressed who I was. I was absolutely in heaven when I danced. And I was good! I had talent. Maybe it would have ended in my 20s, maybe I would have regretted missing college. Granted, I loved college and I'm grateful that I went. But I wish I had the support to make a choice that came from my truth instead of your fear.

I know that my dancing must have hit a raw nerve for you because not only are you unable to walk, you're unable to dance. But, I felt like I was handicapped. It was hard feeling like my mother couldn't relate to what I loved and wanted to do. And worse to feel like she didn't understand it or approve of it or fully support it.

I've lived my life constantly stepping on and off the plate looking for the sign - Dad didn't give one, and you told me to play it safe. My own instincts were caught in the middle and I couldn't get in touch with them. I always wanted to take the chance and hit the heat but then I was caught up in this whole confusion of what you said, what Dad didn't say. I was so young. I needed your support.

Remember when I moved to New York after college with Jonathan? And I was looking for a job for so long. I was doing PA work when I could get it on films. I was broke. I desperately needed a full time regular gig. Finally, after months, I got an offer to work for Elektra Video. It was an assistant position to the VP of Production. I would have worked on the music videos. And it paid, not great, but decent. I could live on it.

Jonathan was moving back to Boston. And things were so crappy with us. I knew if I let him go, he was gone. And I was so scared to be on my own. And I had developed this insecurity as a result of the lack of support. I was afraid to make choices for me. So what did I do? I turned the job down and moved back to Boston, the production capitol of the country - NOT. No job to go back to. But you felt it was the safest thing to do and more realistic. To be fair, I think you would have supported me staying but it was my own lack of confidence. I threw my focus onto Jonathan, Jonathan you SHIT that you are. I love you to death but boy was I an idiot.

I have regretted that decision my whole life. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made.

Things do work out the way they are supposed to. I probably never would have moved to LA had it not been for the path I took back then. But the fact that I made that decision just makes me want to scream. I want to go back to that girl and say, "ARE YOU PHUCKING CRAZY!!!!!????"

It was my choice. And I take full responsibility for it. But the foundation I had built up that lead me to that choice, I learned from you.

Why is it that Cathleen was the one who complimented me and you didn't?

I know that your family was never big on compliments. AT ALL. I can't remember ever getting a compliment from you about my appearance. You know that even on my wedding day, you didn't tell me I looked beautiful?

You say so many things that are hurtful to me. And I don't think you realize it. It's like little toads jumping out of your throat and they just jump randomly without your knowledge and then they disappear without a trace so when I try to point out, "Look at that toad!" You say, "What are you talking about? You're being overly sensitive."

Case in point, remember when I told you about the problems Alex and I were having and that I felt like sometimes he would not be able to function without me but then sometimes I feel like he would and it makes me sad, and then I said, but I know he needs me. And you cut me off and said, "Don't forget Sarah, everyone's replaceable."

I couldn't believe you said that. I still can't. That was one big bad toad. And you didn't even realize what you said. It cut so deeply. I just sat there. The wind was knocked out of me I couldn't even respond.

There's been many little toads like that over the years. And when I was a teenager, I didn't know I could fight back. Here I was, left alone with my handicapped mother who was left by her husband, had cancer, and a million other crappy things happen to her in life. How could I complain?

You've always made me feel like I was bad. You would think I was selling drugs to school kids by the way you talk about me sometimes.

I'll never forget this as long as I live. Remember when I had just gotten out of McLeans, back when I was about 17. I know that it was a tough time for everyone because I was a mess, no one new what to do about me or with me. But I was getting back to normal life and doing well. So I wanted to go out with my friends. There was a carnival down at the high school and Meegan and I went. It ended at 11pm but we walked over to Jeff Rosenthal's house to hang for awhile. I think I ended up getting home slightly before Midnight.

I walked up the back steps to the house and there you were, at the butcher block table that was visible through the big bay window in our kitchen. To your left, Paul, to his left David Vanspeybroek. I will never forget the look on your face, everyone's faces. But particularly yours. You looked at me as if I was the devil. As if you had been called to the station by the sheriff to be informed that your daughter had murdered a family of five and fled the country. And there I was showing up at your doorstep.

I was 17! I went out with my friends! I wasn't pushing pills or shooting up with the kids I babysat for Christ sake! And it was only Midnight. But you held that over me for years. As if somehow, I had left you just like Dad did. And that I was just like him.

There were so many things like that. Even today. Remember when Alex and I came home in July and we were supposed to go down the cape. We were so tired. We went out the night before, again till Midnight, woo hoo! I'm 34 not 11. So, we were supposed to get up early to get a jump on the cape traffic. You did your usual routine of cranking NPR and cracking open my door so Sebastian could jump on my head. I heard you talking on the phone to someone, I think it was Cathleen. You were complaining about me, in that voice, that tone that resonates in my brain like a sifter sucking out the better parts leaving me with dead matter. It was 7:30 in the morning. Here's what you said, "Well, of course, Sarah blew it. She's still sleeping. They went out to all hours of the night."

Lock me up! Cause I am going straight to hell faster than you can say, that glass is half empty.

The problem with the scenario Mum is that, I didn't leave you like Dad did. And although there are things about me that are like Dad, I'm not Dad. I didn't cheat on you. I didn't come yell at you while you were in the hospital convincing you to sell the house because I needed cash. Dad was a shit. I know he was. And I am not him. I stayed by you. I've always been there for you and always will be. Dad is selfish. I'm not selfish. He has some good qualities too. And so do you. I thank God I was blessed with a little bit of both of you.

I think what fears you the most about how alike I am to Dad is that spirit. That spirit I had as a child that could literally just take off like a rocket.

I found this picture of the three of us. You me and Dad. I was about 10. It looked like Christmas judging from the Santa hat on Dad's head. We were sitting on my bed. I was in the middle of you both but my knees were pointing inward toward Dad. You were sitting slightly away and you looked, not angry, but disapproving and maybe a little hurt or left out. He was wearing that Santa hat, sucking his thumb and making a funny face. I was laughing and smiling at Dad like he was the funniest greatest person in the world.  You could see it in my eyes. A picture says a thousand words.

The truth is, I did worship Dad. I spent my whole life running after him only to end up face down in the mud over and over again as he turned toward me for a brief second then walked away, continuously. And I hated him for leaving me alone with you. Because I was a kid. I couldn't take care of you. I just wanted to be a kid. I wanted to do stupid things and dye my hair pink and make out with cute boys and normal stuff a kid does. I didn't drink. I didn't do drugs. For Christ sakes, I didn't even have a license so I could crash your car. Yes, I had problems. But God damn, they could have been so much worse. I was a good kid. But I was a kid.

But as much as I worshipped Dad, I loved you too. I worshipped you too. Just in a different way. My love for you is very deep. I have more respect for you then anyone on this earth. I just want you to see me for me and accept that. And I want you to know that I haven't left you. And that I do love you. No matter what.

This letter is not to express anger or hatred or make you feel guilty. Although, damn it's pretty angry. And I realize it's very honest. I feel like I've ripped out a page from my diary and sent it to you. Nothing is anyone's fault. It just is. And as I said before, it's just about a little girl's lost feelings.

I hope that someday we can have an honest talk about all this, without the anger. Because it would really be nice to be real with you - with all that comes with that, good, bad and ugly. And not feel like either one of us has to apologize for our feelings.

I do love you, always

xo S

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It's that time again, the holidays. The time that all of us bearing the tattooed Scarlet Eating Disorder Letter on our chest come to fear the most. Thanksgiving is bittersweet for me. For it marks the date of my recovery from my eating disorder. But on the other hand, it also marks the date of the start of it. Yes, I guess you could say I came full circle.

So every year I'm faced with this conundrum - do I celebrate victory or do I mourn the past? Well, seemingly it's a no brainer. Of course I celebrate victory! But it is hard to completely forget where it all began. And recently I took a long trip down memory lane that brought me even closer to the beginning.

Last week I went home. No, not home for the holidays, although it resembled the experience - sparring matches with the dysfunctional family, getting the inevitable holiday cold, having too much to drink with my friends, eating continuously, getting in a car and driving everywhere, oh and yes, changing a tire in the freezing cold, in the middle of nowhere, Shirley, Mass to be specific. Yeah, it felt like the holidays. Although I didn't go to a football game. I can think of one friend who would chalk it up to - my crowning glory as a drama queen rather than "seeming like the holidays". Nevertheless, it evoked my weak spot for sentiment as I drifted into nostalgia.

Because I got sick, I ended up staying in town longer than anticipated. But gratefully, I was able to spend the time with several people who are very special to me including one of my best friends who I grew up with. He lived around the corner from me. We met in CCD when we were nine. Jimmy Curtain and I used to walk to school together every day. My hometown of Belmont is only 4 square miles. So you can walk one end to the other fairly quickly. School was about 2.2 miles from my house. Back then it seemed like 50 miles which prompted us to beg our mother's for rides constantly. Driving down the path to the high school today makes me feel like a wimp. Although my mother insists that 2.2 miles is quite a distance for a kid to walk to school. I think she's just trying to lessen her inner feelings of, "DAMN I'M A SUCKER!". Ah, maybe it is a bit of a hike. In any case, it seemed like a long way at the time. But it afforded Jimmy and I the time to talk and laugh about everything. We had so much fun.

Jimmy and I reconnected over the past few years and on this trip we went on a pilgrimage down the (sadly) longer path to, this is your life. Starting with Aram's Diner in Cushing Sq. where we used to hang out sometimes after Jimmy finished his shift at Ben Franklin's 5 and Dime next door. He swears he doesn't remember working there. How could you forget working somewhere? Even the clerk remembered him. Ah, Jim, but you did work there. Just about the time I worked at the Brigham's across the street. That didn't last long. I think after I dropped a hotdog on the floor, put it back in the bun and served it to a customer, it was all over.

Mr. Hotdog Eater, whoever you are, I am so sorry I made you eat that hotdog I dropped on the floor of Brigham's. It was my first day and I was afraid I'd get fired for dropping it. I guess at the time I didn't realize that serving a customer food from the floor was a worse offense. I know the floor was pretty clean cause I recently mopped it. But I'm still sorry. I hope you didn't get some incurable disease or intestinal problem, or worse.

Jimmy and I cruised around Cushing Sq. which was the square closest to where we both lived. It looks like a 50s town, untouched by modern society. Many of the stores have remained the same for decades. In fact, when I was 14 I remember a movie company came to town to shoot a film in Cushing Sq. because it took place in the 50s and they needed something that looked authentic.

The film starred Matt Dillon. I had a huge crush. The writer was a man named Gene Shepard who was known for his autobiographical story about growing up in 1940s Indiana, A Christmas Story. It starred the kid from Messy Marvin fame and produced the memorable line, You'll Shoot Your Eye Out!. He was the father of the Wonder Years format. Brilliant writer. I spent the day talking to him and found my new love - writing. I completely forgot about Matt Dillon. He wasn't as impressive in his trailer with a can of beer, (believe it or not I think it was Schlitz), and cig butts hanging off his lip. Or maybe I was just so enchanted by the realm of story telling I forgot about the realm of teenage crushes. In any case, it was a great day. And I left it with a purpose.

This visit brought up so many vivid memories like this. Good memories. And Lord knows there were bad ones back then. But they weren't revealing themselves.

We continued by stopping by our old high school, Belmont High. Oh my God, I can't believe we went back! But we did. We visited the auditorium where we had both participated in so many things, plays, musicals, chorus, band. It was a sweet moment for both of us.

Strolling around the hallways we found the school had remained safely the same. Except for a few newly drawn murals and some up-to-date posters, it was fairly untouched. We were told even our principle, Foster Wright was still there. But we didn't go visit. We'd had enough visits to his office whilst in school. And I always thought he was kind of an ass.

There were only one or two familiar teachers still holding out in the 16 years since we graduated. Just when we thought it was bad enough to discover that our former high school teachers had retired, (and were old!) the new teachers were younger than us. And not just a couple years younger, we babysat these kids. Now that's a slap in the face/ass cold water down your back. Yikes!

Jimmy and I finished our homage to our youth by flipping through old yearbooks. As if the teacher thing hadn't depressed us enough. Although both of us were happy to report that we're now neither fat nor bald, just slightly less intelligent and shorter.

After Jimmy left, I continued on my own. I went to my old neighborhood and walked around. I trudged up the Rez overlooking my old house. It was cold. A night like I remembered when I was a kid. Still and frigid. I could see my breath and didn't hear a sound. Rare that a car would pass through the silence. Looking down at my old house, I cried. I don't know why but it just brought out so many things. And yes, this house is on Payson Road.

It's where it all began for me. Everything. I spent my entire youth in this house. My eating disorder was conceived there. I lost my virginity there. Fell in love for the first time in my driveway. Learned how to ride my purple banana seat bike. Buried my cat in the backyard. Lost my innocence when my father moved out. Wrote my first story. So much history. All of it.

There was a lot pain growing up in that house but oh so much happiness too. And the culmination of all those memories just broke me down. I wept endlessly. And it was such a release. Cause I'm not a crier.

I think part of me wanted to go back and see if I could fix some of the problems. I literally mourned the loss of my childhood. Wishing I could have another day of making out in my driveway and thinking that was all that mattered in life. I wished that I could go back and hold that little girl in my arms and tell her everything would be okay. And that she should never stop believing in her dreams.

To steal a phrase from someone with far more insight than I, (Jenn Campbell), there is such a healing process that needs to happen with an eating disorder in regards to ones childhood and the loss that is there.....If anything, I think a part of recovery is learning that the "Big" Sarah has the strength to meet the needs of that little Sarah within. Well said Jenn.

We take so many things for granted. After September 11, I think a lot of people had this realization. I took that town for granted and all the special things I had growing up. Because these memories are what great stories are made of.

What I discovered about myself on this trip is that, deep down, I really miss the simplicity of growing up and the simplicity of my hometown. As a kid I had such big dreams, still do. And as I got older I couldn't wait to get out of Belmont, and Massachusetts for that matter. I wanted to go somewhere where greatness happened. But what I realize now, is that greatness happens there. It happens within the people you surround yourself with. And I was blessed, am blessed, to be surrounded by so many wonderful people.

Going home for the holidays is tough. Who can say that growing up was perfect? And most people do deal with what I like to regard as the satiric family experience. So when we think about home, and facing the holiday drama it brings up a lot of anxiety. I was so nervous about going home, and I didn't even go for the holidays. But I felt all the tension that comes with. The fact that I hate to fly didn't help. But I gained something from this trip that I think I've overlooked before.

Home is not heaven or hell. It's not an idyllic place that we build up as the protector. And its not the scary den of confusion and melodrama we worry about. It's gotta be somewhere in between. And for me, and everyone who struggles with an eating disorder, it's the in between that we have a hard time finding.

So I'm trying to find that place, in the middle. And remember the smaller things that really made me smile. Things that so often these days we take for granted. We forget about them in a sea of fear, and fury trying to keep moving faster and faster through life.

My advice to all of you heading home for this holiday, slow down, and remember the things that you have forgotten to appreciate. It's easy to look at home as the big bad devil. But when we do that we forget all the great things. This trip made me remember them. And I'm grateful for that.

I have always had trouble throwing out old clothes, especially if there is a fond memory attached. So, when I was invited to an 80’s costume party, believe me, I was prepared. To get me in the mood I put on Roxanne by the Police, and headed down to the basement to retrieve my memory box. While rummaging through some old Teen Beat magazines, featuring Rob Lowe on almost every cover, I came across my 'old' clothes.

After some debate, I decided on a pair of yellow Hang Ten shorts that went perfectly with my Loverboy top. I threw on a pair of big loop earrings, and tied a black bandana around my head. Fortunately clogs are back ‘in’, so I wore the brown pair I had recently purchased. The icing on the cake, a pair of white sockettes with pink pom poms on the back of each. I left for the party looking like a character straight out of Pretty in Pink.

The party was literally a blast from the past. I Don't Like Mondays was blaring from the speakers and I was surrounded by Don Johnson and Madonna wannabe's. It was obvious that I wasn’t the only one with a memory box, because everyone's outfits did the 1980’s proud.

Guys wore two piece Adidas track suits; denim jackets with rock band logos printed on the back; see-through mesh tops and half-shirt muscle shirts. One guy actually wore a pair of overalls, no top underneath and a pair of cougar winter boots. He looked soooooooooo "80's".

Most of the women either did their hair up big or just curled up the bangs. They wore big sweaters with v-style belts on the outside; kimonos; lace gloves; jeans with white hi-heel shoes; leg warmers; stirrup pants; off the shoulder sweatshirts. It was a whirlwind of neon, mismatched colors.‘

Footloose, Come on Eileen, Tainted Love…. the music, the clothing, the euphoria of it all had us yuppies clambering together sharing in the excitement of reliving a magnificent era. Everyone united together, each lost in his or her own memories of the 80’s, each feeling for the moment.

There is something mystical about the 80’s music that manages to send everyone’s memories racing back in time. It certainly worked for me. When Jack & Dianne blared through the speakers, I found myself slipping into a trance. I could visualize and feel it so clearly, as if it were only yesterday. There I am at High School with my girlfriends. We look awesome in our tube tops, Jordache painter paints and 2” Coca-Cola shoes. The hair is perfectly feathered on each side and the light blue eyeliner is thickly drawn on. I can hear the words to the Triumph classic playing, "I'm young, I'm wild and I'm free, got the magic power of the music in me." How apropos is that?

Everyone looks so young and innocent. There go the nerds rushing off to class ten minutes before the bell rings. The typically giddy girls discuses in great detail last night’s episode of Dallas. And yes, the cool guys, in their fringed leather jackets, are playing a version of ‘Switching to Glide’ on their air guitars. What dweebs.

Unfortunately, just when my reminiscing was in full swing and I was about to find out Who shot J.R., I was jolted out of my trance by some guy at the 80’s party. Dressed in wrangler jeans and a tuxedo t-shirt, he dragged me to the dance floor to get "down, down, down" to Rock Lobster. Just one of the many alien-like dance steps from the 1980’s.

There was something so magical about the 80's. For me it’s a mixture of many things; high school, the cool clothes, my youth, my girlfriends, and most definitely the "pop, pop, pop music…..." Every 80’s pop song I hear takes me back in time and has me "Remembering When." Today, twenty years later, it is just as magical as ever.

Linda, thank you for taking us on a ride down memory lane. This was particularly "apropos", for me as I grew up in the 80s. The references you noted literally brought tears to my eyes as I laughed hysterically remembering some of these ridiculous images, that I too regard fondly as "magical". I especially loved the reference you made to you and your friends as "yuppies" which is a bizarre thought considering, the term "yuppies" was spawned from the 80s. I was never one of them. I was in high school thus too young, and regardless of age, too unpretentious. At least for the 80s Yuppies which conjure images of BMW's, Wall St. Journals and law degrees, a house and a half in Lexington, Massachusetts and a a cottage down the cape, 1.5 kids - or at least the promise of, booming investments, several big letters after their name and some Ivy on the wall, equally impressive friends and with yachts equipped with martini bars and several pairs of weekend khakis, a Golden Retriever named Trent and a Mother-in-Law with a pink and green head band, Papagallo loafers and unlimited credit from Talbots.

Memories from Halloween's Past: A Collection of Stories - intro by Sarah Mason

I've been working on my Orange belt, from our new BFC program. The program is pretty cool, if I do say so myself. It's designed as a reward/incentive program but it's based on the concepts of the Chinese Martial Art of Kung Fu. So as you go along you get a belt to mark your journey up the road to recovery. I'm on my Orange Belt which is the second step. In order to get a belt you have to do something from a list you create of things that make you happy or that helps you on your way to fulfilling your dreams. The idea being to take the focus of the disease itself and onto the good things about our lives that do make us happy.

So, I was sitting on my porch having breakfast, just relaxing and taking a moment for myself - this being one of my happiness list items. I decided to write in my journal about my favorite memories of Halloween. Halloween has always been something that excited me. Many of my favorite childhood memories involve Halloween.

After I finished my list I had such a smile on my face. It remained there all day. And I realized that everyone could benefit from this. I know I'm not the only one out there with a profound memory of the trick or treat holiday.

Following is a collection of people's most significant Halloween memories. If you have one you would like to share, send in on over and we'll post it. Email, halloween_memories@paysonroad.com

My Halloween Memory - by Sarah Mason

Adolescence was not kind to me. In childhood, I was oblivious to the issues of body image. But that soon changed when I hit the teen years which thrust me into a barrage of teasing and ridicule for having a little extra padding. At ten, who knew, who cared! Although sadly, today, people start worrying about their body image much earlier. But for me it was John Mangano in the 7th grade who called me an elephant in Mr. Rodman's class. I remember it distinctly. He was showing off his new Pink Floyd, The Wall album and I asked if I could see it too. He said, "Why would an elephant want to listen to Pink Floyd?" Now, I wasn't an elephant. And I don't fault John for his nasty slip of the tongue. We were 13, a horrible age. It wasn't even a very colorful slander. You'd think he could have come up with something a little more inventive like, "fatty".

But it affected me very dramatically because I really hadn't been aware of there being anything wrong with my body until he deflated me so cruely.

From then on I dove into the world of diet obsession - a topic for another article. I was not bulimic yet. In fact at this point I was still relatively on a healthy diet path. And I lost quite a bit of weight by the beginning of my 8th grade year.

I hadn't really dated yet. I had sort of dated at camp and then there was Michael Amato who I used to hang out with after school in Denise Mavillia's basement. I think we kissed maybe once or twice. In fact, we did and it was at a Halloween party in my basement. I made a pumpkin piñata. But I'm getting off the path onto another story...

Point being, I wasn't a swinging hottie that had all the boys lining up to walk me home. At least, I wasn't aware of that being a priority in life. All of a sudden I was aware of the fact that in order to be a guy magnet, I had to lose weight. And I never really experienced what it was like to have someone notice me for beauty.

I spent the summer between 7th and 8th grade shedding the pounds that John had so graciously pointed out to me. And by the start of 8th grade, I was looking a lot thinner, noticeably.

My two best friends at the time, Jenny Howick and Andrea Fitzpatrick and I got together for Halloween. We thought we were so cool. We decided we would dress up as old movie legends. We raided my mother's basement where she kept boxes of her and her sister's old dresses from the 40s. Not sure who we were, I think Andrea was Greta Garbo and Jenny was Lauren Bacall. I was just, a 40s movie gal I guess. Cause I certainly didn't have the boobs for Marilyn. Nonetheless, there we were, all decked out and ready to go...somewhere.

You know, I don't remember where we went. We were walking. My home town of Belmont, Massachusetts is only four square miles so it wasn't too tough to get around on foot. I think we walked up to the Middle School. There was something going on maybe it was a dance or party. Because I remember distinctly walking toward my house from the Middle School, which was just around the corner and up the street.

I lived on Payson Road....ahhh now ya get it....and Payson Road was across from the Cambridge Reservoir which supplied all the water to Cambridge despite its geographical location in Belmont. It was totally cool to live there. It was this giant hill that in the winter we sled down. And it was always good for mock runaways as you could walk around it for an hour pouting till you got tired and cold and decided to get over it and go home.

We walked past the rez talking about the usual 13 year old stuff...boys and probably at the time, Sean Cassidy. We were all pretty chilly - no coats only these silly little dresses. And we were made up as well. Looking back it frightens me. We looked like a troupe of former child beauty contestants still shootin for the crown. Jenny and Andrea were both very beautiful. Still are I'm sure.

I never thought of myself as a pretty girl. Partially because, looks and beauty were not emphasized in my family and back East in general. Certainly not the way they are in LA. My parents never showered us with compliments. Even on my wedding day there were no good wishes of how beautiful I looked. So, I was pretty uncomfortable with the idea of being regarded as such and had never ever heard it before.

So there were the three of us were, struttin our little stuff in these stupid high heels that we could barely walk in. When we saw this car parked along side the rez. There were three boys inside. And we could see even from a distance that they were not in our grade. They were much older, ooooooo, high school boys. None of us recognized them. But they looked damn cute. Cuter and cuter as we approached the car. We were nervous so none of us went out of our way to stray from the path. But I just had to have a look. So I turned my head and looked back at the front window and smiled. This incredibly cute boy stared out at it me in a way I had never experienced before. I thought I had done something wrong. He looked like he had visions of a ghost or something equally alarming.

He jumped out of the car and started yelling at us. I recall him saying, "hey Blondie, what's your name! Don't go." I knew he was talking to me because I was the only blond. But I still was confused. We just kept walking. I turned back and said something like hi. I honestly don't remember exactly what I said. He yelled out, "How bout Gorgeous!" And I turned bright red. We kept walking. He eventually gave up and got back in the car. We reached my house and called it a night.

I don't know why we didn't stop and talk to them. Maybe we were scared. Maybe we were trying to play it cool - doubtful that our thirteen year old intellect could maneuver that concept. But whatever the reason, we just walked on by.

I never found out who that boy was. And I'm sure he never found out who I was. We wore the disguise well as it made us appear far older than we were so I'm sure he thought we were high school girls.

I've never forgotten that moment and that night. And yes, the details are fuzzy but that moment when we passed by his car, I'll never forget it. I still remember his face in the window. And I've never regretted the outcome of the event. I think I enjoy the mystery of it all. Somehow if we had met, this memory would have changed. It wouldn't have been this sweet moment that I've cherished forever. It was truly a turning point in which I realized that maybe boys were attracted to me. This was a brand new discovery for me. I certainly did not get confirmation of any physical beauty from my family. And I'm still uncomfortable with my looks as someone who's struggled with body image issues for so many years.

Even as I write this, the first thing that enters my mind is, be modest, are you sure you should tell this story it makes you sound like you think you're hot! You conceded b*tch! Chill Sarah Chill!

I'm sharing this memory because I hold it so near and dear. It's really a coming of age story - A transition into a new stage of life. Not a loss of innocence because it was a happy affair. And it was really an indulging moment. Which is something I have always struggled with. The idea of being able to congratulate myself or feel good about something or delight in the idea of discovering something complimentary about myself. This moment was pure. It was pre-fear, pre-eating disorder angst. I was able to embrace it fully and hold onto it in my heart. Something that thereafter I was never fully able to do.

I will always reflect upon this memory with a blissful smile. And remember that feeling of exuberance and excitement. Thank you, whoever you are, mystery boy. You gave me a memory that will always ignite my spirit.

In this year of recovery, I have done so much soul searching. Whenever I start an exercise that requires me to think back to my childhood, I realize how little I remember of being a child. I do have a lot of individual memories of my childhood, but at the same time, there are so many things that have escaped me. This time was no different. I remember exactly 3 costumes from when I was a child. At 3 years old, I was R2D2. When I was 4, I was a gypsy. And then I don't remember anything until I was 9, and I was a bumble bee. It makes me a bit frustrated that I don't remember the night though and what we did.

One Halloween comes to mind, from when I was a bit older. It was the Halloween of my 16th year. my best friend was a French maid (complete with her size 2 figure) My size 7 figure just wanted to disappear. I chose a skeleton costume. I liked that it was all black, I thought it would make me look skinnier. I think back to that time, and I feel sad for that 16 year old girl, who didn't have a sense of self. My body naturally doesn't get much smaller than a size 7. But instead of loving it, I spent the next few years abusing it. This was long before I began to purge, instead abusing it through exercise and diets.

Back to Halloween. I remember stressing so much, thinking nothing would fit me, and I ended up choosing that costume, just wanting to hide my body. We went out trick or treating, and ended up at a friend's party. And everyone thought it looked so freaky, but cool how I was able to hollow out my cheeks with the make-up. I was by no means a skeleton, but I remember one girl saying, "Dang, you look SO skinny". That made my night.

After that year, I spent every year, finding the costume that made me look the skinniest and hid all my flaws (perceived or real). Mermaid one year, thief another (all black, very slimming), cat (same thought) the next. Taking the fun out of dressing up, each year, just a little more.

These days, I usually spend the holiday focused on my niece. Halloween is really such a kid's holiday, and I love to see her eyes shine, as she gets dressed up for the night, to go out and 'scare' the neighbors. It's such an innocent time. This year she is Pikachu (not my idea--I SO wanted her to be Minnie Mouse) and she tried her costume on for me and came out to show it off. I jokingly said, "OMG, where did Megan go?" She didn't know I was kidding and was so excited that I really thought she was Pikachu. She said to me, "Oh, Auntie, I tricked ya! I am gonna get so much candy, cuz they will think I am pikachu" She asked me what I was going to be for Halloween, and I thought for a moment, and said, "Me". She laughed and laughed, replying, "silly Auntie!"

But its not so silly. I am happy where I am at, and being Me, sounds like a great treat to myself for this Halloween.

I had to call my mom to see if she could provide me with Halloween memories of past. She said that Halloween was never that big of an event for us. She told me I always dressed up, but never made too big a deal about the day. She remembers dressing me as a gypsy when I was four, that I asked to be a gypsy, so I could wear all her long necklaces and scarves. I remember dressing as a cheerleader when I was 9 or 10, and my mom helped me make pom poms out of crepe paper. I'm pretty sure I went as a ghost one year, in a white sheet with holes for eyes (how original)! We also made candy apples each year, and used pillow cases to collect candy on our trick or treat journeys. We lived in the hills, so walking up and down the streets was hard, and we couldn't go too far down because the roads became too windy, with no safe sidewalks. My mom says she used to sort all her candy when she was young, the good ones from the not so good ones, the lollypops from the chocolate from the sweet tarts... I remember doing that too, and told her that - she said she must have made us all do the same thing! Get that candy organized!

Unfortunately, my most prevalent Halloween memory takes place in 7th grade with a not so happy ending. I had a boy girl party. We bobbed for apples and played charades and made homemade pizzas and watched a scary movie called Dreamscape. My parents were doing bills in the dining room and were arguing. I heard doors slam and raised yet whispering voices. And I had never heard them argue before that. The next morning when I woke up, my mom told me my dad had left and was never coming back. And he didn't. They got divorced.

In talking to my mom about that last night, we both agreed that most likely the reason I don't remember any other specific Halloweens is probably because I've blocked them out, or that the only Halloween I choose to remember is the worst one. Still, somehow Halloween remains one of my favorite holidays... The candy, the costumes, the decorations, the sounds, the crafts, the jack-o-lanterns! I even dress my dogs up! I've been able to get over the 7th grade Halloween and move on. Hopefully I'll be able to find some pictures of my childhood Halloweens, and I'll write about them next year!

One of the funniest memories of Halloween I recall is the year my sister and I decided we were going to make our costumes. I was 14 and my sister was 10. We had our mom take us to the supermarket and we asked the night crew if we could look through the boxes they had emptied that day stocking the shelves in the store. We found egg boxes. Perfect! They fit over our bodies, weren't too big and we figured if we cut some of the length of the box we could actually walk around in them. As we loaded them in the back seat of my mom's car we were excited as we traded our decoration ideas.

We didn't have a lot of time. We got the boxes two days before Halloween. So, the day before Halloween, right after school, we started painting. We were crafty. We painted the boxes completely white. As soon as the white dried, we began stenciling circles all over the boxes and painted them black. By the time we were done, it was almost midnight. We stood in front of our parents, paint all over our face and hair but we were done. We were a pair of dice.

After taking some pictures on Halloween, we set out, proud of our costumes and excited to go trick or treating. We went all over the neighborhood. We laughed and played and went from one house to the next. After about three hours of non-stop trick or treating, the weight of the box started to wear me down but my sister's excitement kept me going. "Our goody bags aren't full enough Cin! Just another hour." At one house, I knocked on a door and no one answered. I rang the doorbell again and again. If I remember correctly, it was the house of a school friend, I knew his dad, so I didn't feel like I had to leave. I was waiting for them to come home.

After a while, we decided to move on. I remember us laughing and hollering about the fact they weren't home. How could they do that to us? It was Halloween after all. Where was my candy??? We were giddy and being silly. I was running in my dice box not really looking where I was going and I fell. I tripped on one of those little rocks that people use to outline their landscaping. My goody bag went flying and candy was everywhere! When I tried to get up, I couldn't! Imagine me lying on the ground thinking about all of the time I put into making this costume. Whadda ya mean I didn't cut it short enough? Why didn't I think I needed to cut the box above my knees?

To this day, whenever my sister and I share this story we end up laughing uncontrollably. It is probably one of the silliest things we have ever done together. Most of all, when I remember that day, I am filled with the memory of one of the best feelings in this world. To laugh so hard you cry. Thanks Cath, for one of the funniest Halloween's in my life.

I've always been the strange jumble of inconsistencies. For one thing, I'm actually pretty smart, but when it comes to making decisions, I always manage to confuse myself and everyone around me. Now that I'm working on recovery, it's actually a little easier to laugh at myself ...sometimes.

It was 1979. My family had just been transferred across the country, from TX to IL that spring, and I was 9 (just turned). I was still struggling with fitting in with the neighborhood kids.

Apparently, this was the year my parents decided that I was perfectly capable of making a costume decision all on my very own. I was extremely worried about what to be, so I thought and thought and thought, and then I just gave up. Guess what I dressed up as. An old lady. No, I'm not kidding at all. I still wonder what I was thinking then. "No, I'm not Sarah, I'm Sarah in the future!" No, actually that would've been more creative, if I had said that.

So, I put on a dress and pulled my hair into a bun. How did I prove I was supposed to be old, you ask? I put fake cobwebs on myself! My mom has a photo of me standing by the front door, wearing a dress, my hair in a bun, draped with fake cobwebs. And I'm hunched over. Actually, what makes it even more curious? For some reason I'm carrying a suitcase! Apparently I'd been still for a long enough period of time for spiders to have moved in, but now I was an old lady with travelin' on her mind! I swear, I'm so embarrassed for myself I have to laugh.

Needless to say, I only went one more year making my own costume decision, determined to redeem myself. Know what I was the next year? A smurf. A five-foot, ten year old, blue from head to toe, smurf. And if any one out there remembers what a smurf is, then you also know why I let my mom do all the Halloween planning from then on.

As for my Mom's ideas? Well, trust me, showing up at a pre-teen sock hop dressed as a clown is a story best left for another time.

Happy Halloween Everyone!

How September 11th Affected Me: A Collection of Thoughts on the Subject

Four weeks have passed, yet things aren’t even close to being back to normal. I am having a hard time even remembering what “normal” was. I can go through my day for a few hours and not think about all that has gone on, but eventually at some point in the day I am reminded of the events that have taken place since September 11th. One day it might be that my boyfriend is an hour late getting off the train because of problems in Penn Station. The next it might be that it took me over two hours to drive to work because the police were searching every car going over the bridge. At another point it could be having a conversation with someone that lost a sibling or a spouse. Every day I am reminded of just how much my world has changed.

You also see other things that you wouldn’t normally see in NY. Everywhere people are going up to Firemen and Police Officers and shaking their hands in gratitude and admiration. People are realizing what true heroes these brave people really are. Flags hang proudly from doors, windows and poles showing the American spirit. The national anthem plays at sporting events, yet it has taken on a whole new meaning. Tears roll down people’s faces as they sing about their flag and the country and beliefs that it stands for.

So, while my emotions are riding a roller coaster, which keeps going in loops of anger, pride, fear and sadness, I have to try to go on with my life. I must get up and go to work. I must spend time with family and friends. I must do things that I enjoy. I must run my daily errands and I must go on business trips even though I am petrified of stepping foot in an airport. I must live my life and you must live your life. That is what Americans do. We will not give someone else the power to take away from us what was fought for 225 years ago and continues to be on a daily basis. No act or group of people can take that away from us. Our courage, strength and freedom are ours.

People wrote in last week about what this experience has been like for them. Each and every email gave me a different insight into this tragic situation. Each story helped me to see things in a way that I hadn't before. No matter how different the stories are, they all contained one similarity - each one written by an American who feels loyalty to their country. Following are a few of these stories. I hope that they do for you what they did for me.

Please continue to send your stories to kristen@paysonroad.com. We will continue to add them as they are received.

- Kristen Herbert, Editor

How September 11th Has Affected Me...

by Tahara Hasan

Every year around this time, my mom asks me what I would like for Christmas. And ever since I was little, I have always responded with the same answer whenever someone asked me want I wanted. World peace. While the person asking the question probably thought I was being extremely difficult and not helping them out, a good part of me was serious. I didn't mean that they had to be the givers of this gift. It was just something that I really wanted. Now more than ever.

Like everyone, my life has changed after the events of September 11, 2001. I look at the world differently. I look at our country differently. I look at people differently. I am amazed at how the United States was truly "united" and so desperate to help their fellow citizens. I am also amazed at how after this tragedy, I can still see people not united. I want us to stand together. I want to hear those once cheesy but now appropriate songs on the radio. I want people to reach out to help one another, not as citizens of a country or members of a race or religion but as human beings. Human beings who are different on the outside, but all have the same emotions on the inside. I don't want people to forget how it felt to be joined in spirit and prayer just because a few weeks have passed. I know two people that were caught in the middle of the attack on New York City. I could not calm myself till I knew and saw that they were both okay.

Now every time I see them I am overwhelmed by this feeling of love that just makes me want to hug them and never let go. Then comes the sadness that I feel everyday for the people who had their lives taken from them and the lives who had people taken from them. I feel like I am standing outside myself as I pass the flyers in Penn Station that show the faces of the missing. I feel angry when I see the people on 6th Avenue selling anything they can print the American flag or the Twin Towers on.

My experience has been different from that of many of my friends. My father immigrated to the United States from Pakistan over thirty years ago and he is the only member of the family on his side that lives here. A few months ago, my uncle, his wife and two children came to visit from Pakistan. My cousins are only three and seven. I wonder what they think of all of this. Those two little sweet, innocent faces. I pray everyday that my family over there is safe. I am scared for them. I know that many Americans have a misunderstanding of people from part of the world but every time I think of my uncle and his family, I think of the gentlest, kindest people I know.

I am worried that some ignorance over here will lead to harassment of my family here. I feel like I am becoming paranoid. I fear the reports on the television that mention Pakistan. I see people look at me and I wonder what they see. Am I being judged because of the way I look or my name? Or am I so defensive against it that I am imagining stares and questions unspoken. Sometime I think it is a little of both.

I am confused. Someone very, very close to me asked me how I felt about the little Palestinian children dancing in the streets in celebration of the massive loss of American lives. I looked at this person like they had three heads. I don't understand how anyone could feel anything but sheer, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching sorrow. And how could someone so close and important to me judge me because of my origin and think I thought that that celebration was justified?

All of a sudden, I have become the little girl who only wants world peace. I am afraid for Americans. I am afraid for my family. I am afraid for our world. Here is a twenty-five year old woman asking her parents about a world she once thought she knew. Are they as scared as I am? What do they think will happen? My father tells me that he is a fatalist. I am not sure if he is using the term incorrectly but he defined it as following the stars and whatever they have written. Basically meaning that he will live his life as he was living it. By taking one day at a time. Moving on does not mean forgetting or leaving behind.

There is a line from a Garth Brooks song. The song depicts a battlefield scene, Christmas Eve, Germany, World War II. An American soldier and a German soldier have for one moment put their differences aside and reflected on what night it was and where they were. Upon this reflection, the German soldier turns to the American and says, Here's hoping we both live to see us find another way. I pray that we all live to see as all find another way. God Bless us all.

by Leslie Freeman

I woke up Sept. 11 to the sound of Nick cartoons. As is customary, I rolled out of bed in a fog, turned the channel to Channel 2 news, and started the water for my bath. I was half asleep, and saw the first tower in flames. Honestly, it didn't register, although in retrospect, I can't imagine how it couldn't have. I went about my business, and slowly awoke, as I took a bath. I started hearing about what was going on, and got out of the bath to watch the news. It's weird though, because I was still able to get to work on time. I wasn't glued to the TV. I got in my car and started hearing the commentary and all of the sudden it hit me. And I felt this terrible blow in my heart that words cannot explain. I walked into work, and it was very quiet. We were all in shock. I became constantly glued to the news, unable to move, or even speak. Friends called, and I would answer the phone, only for us both to sit and watch the events in silence.

Being a twenty-something myself, this was the first time in my life where I ever felt as though the events of the world affected me. Certainly I felt bad for the victims of the Oklahoma bombings, and Desert Storm, but it really never affected me. This time was different. Never before had I questioned my own freedom. It has always been something I have just taken for granted. Less than that really. I have never been able to even comprehend what it would be like to live in any other conditions than those of our country prior to September 11.

For those who challenged my belief that I would always be safe in America, I felt such an intense anger raging inside. We are America. How dare someone challenge us? That anger gave way to a sense of patriotism that again was newborn for me. Yes, I have pledged allegiance to the flag, and sang along to our national anthem, but I never felt anything. In the wake of tragedy, every flag or act of patriotism I see brings tears to my eyes. This has been such an incredibly life altering event for everyone in America. Whether or not there was personal loss, I believe it has changed us all forever. We are different people than we were, just three weeks ago. This is not an event that will fade with time. It was a wake up call. We are all vulnerable. For me, more than the sadness, anger, and fear, it brought growth.

Growth in my spiritual self. Many people run to church looking for the answers in troubled times, and this was no different. For me, it renewed my need for spiritual growth, and not just for the weeks following the event, but as something that I feel the need to commit to on a long-term basis.

Growth in my political self. I need to know more about my country and what goes on in world affairs. I have never had any interest, many times forming my opinions, based on what friends or family think. I felt ignorant, and ashamed to know so little about the ways of the world, politically speaking at least. This kicked into gear my need to educate myself.

Growth in my patriotic self. I have felt the pride of our country in so many ways. Seeing so many people come together in the spirit of America is one of the most moving things I have experience. It gave me a renewed sense of hope in the kindness and compassion of people. And finally what this taught me more than anything else, was that we must live our lives with a sense of pride and honor in ourselves. I think of all the times, I have hurt my body and all the times I have imposed restrictions on myself in my suffering. This just reminded me how precious life is and that I should be thankful for mine.

by Jodi Beuder

I found Kristen Herbert's article on The Corner last week to be very touching, honest, and inspiring. I, too, have never felt more pride, more fear, more anger, more frustration, and more love for Americans, than I have in the recent weeks. And I am a Californian! I have no idea the true effects of the terrorist attacks from September 11. I have only seen what was on TV and in the newspapers and online. I have been able to choose to turn the channel or put down what I was reading, simply because it was too hard to bear.

I have never felt so sad, but at the same time so sure that things were going to be all right. To watch the way Americans have rallied to come together, to watch how we have again become so patriotic and proud, has inspired me to believe in so much more again. For those of us that have survived, literally, we will be OK. We can be together and we can be OK.

by William Kirtland

The day of the WTC tragedy, I was working in Manhattan. I remember thinking that “this could not be happening” and how surreal it seemed, like somehow I would wake up the next day and this would never have happened. My workplace was silent, listening to 1010 WINS give us updates on the horror that was unfolding. Phone lines were tied up all day, and communication was near impossible; there were loved ones that we could not contact to be sure that they were out of harm’s way. We were afraid of more attacks, and we were also concerned about not being able to leave Manhattan.

I got lost somehow in Queens on the ride home, and eventually picked up a hitchhiker who had been traveling on foot for the better part of 2 hours. He had walked from downtown Manhattan across the 59th street bridge, and was trying desperately trying to get home to his family in Massapequa. We didn’t speak much, simply listening to the tragic stories about the mighty towers that once represented our great city, and the unconfirmed death toll that would surely follow.

When I finally made it home 3 hours later, there was added horror after watching the actual devastation live on TV. I did not need to see this. My life has been changed forever, realizing that the world we live in is a far crazier place than I had ever imagined. I have learned to express love every chance I get, because you never know what might happen today, or tomorrow. I have finally begun to relax, but I know that society will never be the same, and it saddens me in ways that I can’t even begin to express.

by Lindsay Chambers

"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction", or so I have hear it said. The World Trade Center bombing on September 11 the affected me that day, and that day only. My sister was in school about four blocks from the bombing, and experienced the sheer state of panic the greatest city in the world has ever seen. She is home safe now, and my worries have subsided, because I refuse to acknowledge the fact that she travels into Penn Station 3 days a week. Penn Station is probably a prime target for a follow-up attack in reaction to our latest bombings in Afghanistan. Until this moment I have not allowed myself the conscience effort to worry about this situation. Why am I living in denial?

I don't watch TV, I don't read the paper, I don't participate in discussion about the bombings, or the counter attacks made by the US. The only solid information I get is from over hearing others speak of such a tragedy. Living my life without acknowledging the fear that my everyday routine may soon be changed. I refuse to allow ignorance to affect me, I can only recognize that such people exist, and continue my denial that it can in any way affect me. I have put my faith in the US government to combat such terrorists who impose their beliefs on a society which is functioning with an open mind, and heart.

The new restaurant job keeps me busy, and functioning at a high level of customer service expectations. I have my own new place to decorate, and I will continue to spend every last dime I have in order to stimulate the US economic state. Others hide behind closed doors, fretting that we may all die of anthrax. That's not me, and although I do not emotionally want to deal with the repercussions. This does in no way make me a bad person, just a person who deals with life situations, by not dealing with them. I hope everyone's family and friends are safe, and continue to live everyday with faith that we will win this war against ignorance.

by Sarah Mason

How September 11 Has Affected Me...pondering that title I find myself reuniting with my childhood thinking about school essays. If it were only that simple. Oh how I long for How I Spent My Summer Vacation. It seems far less the burden to pen now that it did at 10. But we're all faced with this seemingly impossible state of being. How do I begin to write this essay? What prose can I invent that could even remotely dispatch the same intensity of emotions erupting inside me?

They say a picture says a thousand words. Oh but whoever came up with that one had no idea what it would mean to us now. The image of the towers collapsing is the picture that broke our stride. Now we sit with our senses on pause waiting for answers to coddle the uncertainty. I don't have those answers. Does anyone?

I guess that's what I want to say about How September 11th Has Affected Me. What do I do now? How do I feel? Do I go on with my life and not let it break me? I agree with the concept that we should get back to life. And we should embrace each moment and be proud to live in freedom as we do. But if we're getting right down to it, how this has really affected me, I have to be honest, I don't know what to do.

I was affected personally. And I have had nightmares every night since it happened. I have a reoccurring nightmare in which I see our friend Sasha sitting at his desk at Canter Fitzgerald as the smoke pours in. I'm there but I can't save him. And I keep reaching my hand through the smoke but it comes out empty. And I don't know where he is or if he made it out. I wake up and don't know why I was saved.

I have another nightmare where I'm in a movie theater. I go out to get popcorn and I see this man walk in wearing a long trench coat. Kinda a no brainer--I live in LA and it's October. So I sneak in behind the man so he does not see me and I grab my husband and pull him out and then run out of the theater screaming and dialing 911 on my cell phone. But the the theater blows up before I can reach anyone. And I get out on the street and we're both ok but all I can think about is how I let all those other people die. I was afraid if I screamed out the man would blow himself up right then and there and my husband would die.

This dream haunts me. Would I do that? And if I did would it be wrong to think first about saving my husband? And then I go over it and over it wondering how I could change the scenario so that everyone comes out alive.

And that's just it. How Has September 11 Affected Me? It's taught me that I can never doubt again the fact that I have no control over this life or any life. No one does. And that's a damn scary reality to face.

So yeah, of course I want to go on with my life. And I want to continue to grow and live out my dreams. But how can I get those people out of the theater alive? How can I make these nightmares go away? How can I get on a plane and go see my family in Boston? How can I go to the mall this weekend? How will I ever see life again as anything other than, before September 11th and after?

These are my fears. But these fears will not paralyze me.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my mother, and how she has lived her life essentially with the constant threat of fear at her door. Mary Grimley Mason has survived more traumatic events than most people could even envision. She lived through contracting polio which paralyzed her legs. She lived through the horror of her father's death, her brother's suicide, breast cancer, the break up of her marriage, the death of her mother. Yet, she remains strong and unyielding. Her endurance and strength are what heroes are made of. And she truly is my hero. I hope and pray that God gave me even an eighth of her character. For if he did, it will see me through.

So lately when I think about my life and the fear I have of whether or not it will continue, my heart comes back to the woman who gave me this life. And I'm reminded how grateful I am for the opportunity. Whatever my darkest nightmare, I'm gonna keep doing what I do and continue to grow. Because I have to. My nature as an American compels me to. And my spirit as a Grimley girl wouldn't see it any other way.

I have been attempting to write this article for almost two weeks. It's been a complicated struggle for me and I just keep writing draft after draft. Normally when I sit down to write the words just pour out of me, especially if it is a subject that I feel passionately about. Yet no matter how much I feel right now, I just can’t seem to organize any of my thoughts into anything logical. This situation completely lacks logic to me. As an American, my feelings and views on the current national crisis change on a daily basis. As a New Yorker, they change every hour.

I started writing this article on the 17th of September. I had been stranded in Las Vegas and was finally able to get a flight home that night. I wrote of how I had spent my last five days there trying to deal with all that had happened and waiting to see for myself once I returned to my family & friends in New York. As I sat glued to my television in my hotel room, like most Americans, it all seemed like a movie. There was no way that any of this could actually be real. Since I was across the country, it permitted me to put some distance between myself and what was going on in NY. Family members and friends gave me watered-down versions of the situation in order to “protect” me until I got home and I would be better equipped to deal with the horrific news. So, I walked around in a state of shock for a while and was unable to process what had truly occurred. It was not until that evening when we flew over the spot where the Twin Towers had stood that the devastation hit me right in the face. I looked out my window and saw nothing but chaos, smoke and rubble where a landmark that had always welcomed me home stood no longer.

When I arrived in my town that evening and found what felt like one of my worst nightmares, I couldn’t believe that this was “home”. Over 40 families from my small town alone were missing loved ones. Since then the number has more than doubled. There are so many neighbors, classmates and friends that I will never see again. There are so many fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, brothers and sisters that will never be with their families again. There are thousands and thousands more who got out of the WTC, yet are scarred for life by the images and devastation they saw and experienced that day. These people now fear doing things that were once routine such as taking the train to Penn Station every morning to go to work. This type of devastation cannot be comprehended by watching CNN. While the reports are accurate to a certain extent, the personal stories are so devastating that they cannot really be understood.

Even at that point when I was back in New York, I couldn't really grasp what I was experiencing. It was just too overwhelming to bear. I heard all of the familiar names of those who were missing, yet it was too painful to think about them and what their loved ones must be going through. So, I didn’t deal with it. I continued to walk around in a fog. I could discuss the events in terms of politics, but not in terms of emotions and the reality that was surrounding me. Then after being home for a day or two that fog eventually lifted, whether I was ready for it to or not. I was left with anger, confusion, sadness, fear and feelings that I couldn’t even identify. These same feelings keep circulating within me and within most of us. At first I felt an extreme and devastating sadness. After the sadness, then came the anger. It was an anger and hatred that I have never felt before and hope that I never feel again. Then the anger began subsiding a bit and it was replaced with fear. This was another emotion that I had never felt in such an overwhelming way. This was the type of fear that leaves you feeling as though you can’t breathe.

A lot of my fear stems from the fact that I grew up in a world that I considered to be safe. I saw the fall of Communism and always felt comfortable in the belief that I was “safe” as an American. When I was younger, I could not even fathom something such as this happening in my homeland. We're Americans and things like that just couldn't happen here. I now feel as though so many of my former beliefs have been thrown out the window and all of my priorities have changed. I am no longer the same person that I was a few weeks ago. Last year at this time my big concern was how the Mets would do in the playoffs. Now I am worried about how I am going to be able to get on a plane again next week when I feel this utterly petrified just to walk out my door.

Out of all of this horror and devastation, the last emotion that I am experiencing is also one that I have never felt in such an extraordinary way. What I feel is pride. I feel an extreme sense of pride in my country, fellow New Yorkers, and in all Americans. While the personal devastation that so many feel may never heal, this sense of loyalty to our country and the support we see around us is what this country was built on. Inner conflicts have all taken a back seat as Americans join together in amazing ways in this time of desperate need. All over our country people are giving and doing whatever they possibly can to help. As a twenty something, this sense of Patriotism was something that was completely foreign to me prior to two weeks ago. It is that feeling that makes it easier to get through all of this. That feeling is what makes it easier to sit through two hours of traffic to get to work instead of my normal 20 minutes because they are inspecting all the vehicles going over the bridges.

Despite the fear, anger and sadness that I do feel at times, I do have faith in my country and in our leaders that they are doing what needs to be done to protect us. There is one thing that can give me hope and faith in mankind when I am questioning how all of this could possibly happen and how people could be so sub-human. After all of these horrid and atrocious events took place, we began hearing stories of strength, goodness and courage. We continue to hear of amazing people and all of the inspiring acts that they are performing. Whether it be the people involved in the rescue efforts (who give a new meaning to the word brave), the child who puts money into a collection basket in order to help, or the millions who have American flags hung proudly. All around, signs of the goodness of mankind are emerging. People are not succumbing to fear. Everyone is doing what they feel needs to be done and helping in any way that they can. Americans all over are showing the world what it really means to be an American.

We want to know how you feel and how the tragic events of September 11 have affected you. Please send any thoughts, comments, stories and feelings to kristen@paysonroad.com.

I wanted to share a story of an arousing experience that happened to me today. We all need some inspiration right about now.

The last couple of weeks have been really tough for me. I know I'm not alone in this. Things have been hard-hitting for everyone. I lost two friends, one on Flight 11 and the other missing from Tower 1. Today I've had to come to terms with the fact that our friend Sasha, who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald on the 104th floor of Tower 1, is not coming home. And that realization does not come easily.

In addition to all of this, one of my closest friends, Charlotte, has breast cancer. She had surgery to remove a lump and lymph nodes last week and the surgery went well. But things took a turn for the worst. She started having uncontrollable and intolerable stomach pains. We rushed her to the ER and they did emergency surgery. She had an impacted colon. Bless her heart. Now, today I learned that she is also having some problems with one of the arteries in her heart. And she will have to undergo more surgery for her cancer. On top of all this, she was forced to move out of her apartment after 20 years. We're still trying to unpack all her things in the new place.

My week has subsequently been spent back and forth from the hospital, on the phone with just about everyone all over the country, working on tribute pages for the site, trying to manage the organization and site, introduce a new program, and trying to run the office and devote time to our company and my writing. It's been a challenge. And I feel the emotional exhaustion.

Today I got news over the wire that Boston is on alert for a possible threat or attack this weekend. Now of course it could be a hoax. I think we must prepare ourselves for many false alarms from now on. But, it worries me. My heart and soul are in Boston - my family, many close friends, my home. So needless to say, I'm stressed out!

I was at the office today and realized I forgot to eat, that's been happening a lot lately. So I decided to go to Trader Joes. Trader Joes' and I have a very turbulent love/hate relationship. I love their products, but hate the experience of going to the store...in LA. I'm not going to elaborate why at this moment, maybe I'll incorporate it into an essay on the Cultural Mysteries of LA. Anyhow, as a result of the tormented love affair, I was geared up to be pissed off before I even stepped in the door.

After I finished getting my stuff I wandered up to the check out line. My basket was heavy so I bent down to put it on the floor and just as I was getting back up this women came up and shoved her cart in right in my ass. Startled, I stood up immediately and looked back scowling in her direction. She apologized. Of course I know she didn't mean it but I was so tense and irritable. And it obviously showed. I continued to scowl at her and the poor thing went to another check out line.

There was a women standing in front of me in line. I didn't notice her all this time. It's almost as if she appeared out of nowhere. She turned to me and put her arm around my shoulder and asked if I was okay. She said, "oh, honey, she didn't mean it", referring to the woman who had hit me with her cart. And I just broke down. I didn't cry but my shell of angst was broken. It was as if I had been suspended on wire hangers along an endless clothesline peering down at the earth below, powerless and frightened. Then suddenly, and finally, I was dropped. This woman was like an angel reaching out of the sky catching me from my fall.

She told me she had lost people as well. And she said that we all need to keep moving on. It's all we can do. We've got to pick the pieces and get back to the life that is still living. She told me that she was performer. I recognized her but I wasn't sure from where. Then she said she was in a film with Ally Sheedy called Maid to Order. She played one of the maids in a Beverly Hills home who had fallen from a successful career as a singer and was now struggling to support her family until Ally Sheedy came into her life and helped her reclaim her wings. Instantly I remembered who she was. She has an amazing voice and she's truly talented.

We continued to talk about our lives and how to move on with them. And then when she was getting ready to leave she said, "take a hug". She reached out to me and gave me an enormous hug. I felt as though I was being embraced by an angel.

When I got back in my car I felt enlightened. It was as though I had been cleansed - stripped of my anxieties. Boy did I need that hug.

She reached out to me without hesitation. And it was a simple gesture but it meant so much to me. It literally saved me from my emotional turmoil and brought me back to the light.

So thank you Merry Clayton, my angel. You saved me today. I will never forget the generosity of your spirit. That generosity is what keeps all of us going amidst these unspeakable acts of cruelty. Because it reminds us that there still is compassion and there still is humanity. We must remember to reconnect with not only our own humanity but with others. Now is the time. Not tomorrow, not next week or at Christmas time. Right now.

Take the plunge and be an angel. If you see someone who needs a shoulder, give it to them. You have no idea what an impact it will make.

with peace and love,

Sarah

Things are going great in my life right now. I'm in a wonderful, loving relationship, I enjoy my job, my cats are finally getting along with each other and I am very close to being out of debt for the first time since college. I have no valid complaints. For some reason though, despite all this happiness, I still get that strange eery feeling that a piano is gonna drop outta the sky a squash my tranquility. When I read Lindsay Chamber’s article about this very subject, I thought “Wow! Someone else feels the way that I do!” Maybe it’s “normal”, maybe its not, but either way I think that many of you might be able to relate to this as well.

Lindsay Chambers is a 24 year old Long Island, NY native who received her B.A. in Communications from SUNY Albany. She is a strong-willed, talented, amazing woman with a great sense of humor. She currently resides in Locust Valley, NY and enjoys camping, writing, reading, shopping, and traveling, She is your typical single, talented twenty-something trying to figure out which path to take. I gotta say, I’m pretty impressed with her journey.

- Kristen Herbert, Editor

Why is it that when things are going better in your life you imagine a bolt of lighting will come shooting down from the sky and strike you down? For some reason I have a hard time being comfortable in my own skin when things work out, let me explain what I mean.

For the past year I have been torturing myself every day slaving behind a desk in a cubicle the size of a shoe-box. I act like the programmed robot that everyone expected me to become once I attained that “all important” piece of paper - my college degree. What I actually achieved was an incredible tolerance for alcohol after spending five solid years drinking. Although, I'm convinced that drinking is what has enables most people to fulfill their destiny running around that spinning wheel in the hamster cage. It's alcohol that kills brain cells! It depletes them and subsequently stagnates any previous creativity one might have had. Once this process is completed, they are now able to sit at a desk and perform the monotonous routines, day in and day out. Unfortunately, I just didn't drink enough, and for anyone who knows me personally that's a pretty scary statement.

I can not be that robot, no matter how hard I try. Rushing to the office in order to check those e-mails, return the voice mails, and make sure to go through the daily etiquettes, “So how was your weekend?” It just doesn't appeal to me. Truthfully it’s a living hell. It's not because I don’t care about how someone's weekend went, its because it's absolutely inevitable that eventually I will have to sit down in front of that dreadful computer and begin another very long day of my “desk job”. That is what I focus on. The time seems to stand still. God forbid you actually look forward to something going on after work, because then the clock seems to be turning counter-clockwise. I have absolutely no job satisfaction. These are just a few of the many reasons that I hate my “desk job”.

I just can’t conform. I’ve tried, trust me, I have so tried, but I just can’t do it. Well, for the past year I have been running from my desk job to my fun job, which was working in the restaurants. It’s not so much that I needed the extra money, it was because I truly enjoyed doing it. At my other job, I am able to relieve some of the stress that I hold onto all day. When I am standing behind the bar talking to that “perfect stranger”, I find such gratification from that interaction with another human being. The conversation is much more satisfying than having a relationship with someone’s voicemail or email.

I've learned everything involved in running a restaurant in just 6 short years of catering, waiting tables, bar tending, hosting, and cooking. I have been performing in at least one, if not all of these functions in three different restaurants, while working my desk job all at once. I had a goal in mind, I just wasn’t quite sure how my dream would be realized. Finally, my break came! Someone else finally said to themselves “Hey, this girl really knows what she's doing, and obviously she is a complete workaholic.” They thought to themselves,” What better occupation could a workaholic/computer literate/waitress/hostess/bartender be, besides a restaurant manager?”

Two weeks ago I was finally offered the job that I want, not the job that my family/friends think I should have. My day of redemption has come, and my dreams have all come true. I have achieved my first true goal, coupled with the added value of just having one job to concentrate on. This is going to really cut back on the miles I have put on my brand new leased car. WHEW!

I am being productive when working in the restaurant, and this is an immediate gratification. Someone has a good meal, and they sing praises about the chef and the service. This will all be due to my efforts. I will be on my feet all day, not sitting on what feels like my ever-expanding ass. I will no longer have to wrap myself up in long pants, shirts, sweaters, socks, and shoes, in JULY, while shivering because the air conditioning is turned down to at least 45 degrees. I have found my calling. Not only that, but I found the courage to do what feels right to me, regardless of what anyone else thinks.

Maybe your still asking yourself why do I feel like a bolt of lighting will crash down through that crystal blue sky. Let's chalk it up to human nature or just plain pessimism (how sad). I have no idea how this will all work out, but I am finally trusting my gut instincts. I am finally taking a “leap of faith”. I am being who I really am and not who everyone else wants me to be.

So, for now I am trying to get used to the fact that I am going after what I really want and it is all working out, despite that little voice telling me that it won’t last forever. But it really comes down to that leap of faith. I've decided to turn this lighting bolting business around to work in a positive way. I guess you could say that lightning did strike me. It struck and transformed my life and helped me realize a dream. I am now officially transitioned from an Account Executive to a Restaurant Manager. How's that for a 180? Well, I've never been much for subtlety. But then, what creative hamster is?

What's crucial for all of us to remember is, WE DESERVE OUR HAPPINESS. Many of us with or without eating disorders feel uncomfortable when things are going well. But the truth is, we have the right to enjoy our lives without feeling guilty or uneasy about it. Thank you Lindsay for sharing this article with us!

- Sarah Mason

College...

This gives an entirely new meaning to the concept of starting over. Every single aspect of the students life is different. It is a unique experience for every student and usually the only thing that will be the same as in high school is that you still need to bring pens. During college at the start of each semester you can re-invent yourself and change what you think needs to be changed should you like. Or at least you can tell yourself that. You failed your Chemistry class last semester? You can re-take it this semester! You can try to become whatever you think you should be. You get to have a new beginning every September AND every January…and you of course know it all.

After college many of us face a harsh reality come that first Labor Day post-graduation. No class schedule comes in the mail. You do not have a new dorm/apartment to move into. You won't see the majority of the people you saw prior to the summer. You do exactly what you were doing last week and you go to the same exact place. You go to work. Well, except for those who were smart enough to go straight to Grad school and got to perpetuate the student experience or those of us in Generation Unemployed, as Leslie Freeman put it in her article of the same name. Then you're just hanging out at your local Starbucks hopin to talk to the manager. But regardless, there you are all of a sudden, just You. Gone are the days of getting a new start every fall - the one constant you could count on. You realize what a great and comforting time of your life your school years truly were.

A few Septembers have now passed in my post-student life and I have gotten used to Labor Day coming and going without any major life changes accompanying it. I have just accepted where I am and what I am doing. No, I am not always satisfied with it, but that is what being an adult is all about, right? You are where you are. Those "new beginnings" are a thing of the past. Being an adult is about dragging yourself to a job that you hate every morning, right?

WRONG!

This year it finally occurred to me that I still do have the option of changing my life if I want to. It is no longer scheduled for the second week of September like it used to be, but I can still do just about anything that I want. And better yet, I don't have to wait till September to do it!

I thought about it and decided that it is time for me to go after what I really want. No one is there to force the change on me, it is now up to me to do it. So, in January I am going back to school for my Masters in an area that I truly want to work in - okay, yes, I am going back to school. But it's not to secure my fall season pass. It's because I want to change my life.

On the day of my college graduation, in between crying spells, my Mother gave me a framed picture of myself on my first day of school. She wanted me to have this on what was my last day of school. In this picture my eyes are filled with excitement and wonder. It is an excitement for the new experiences that I am going to have and the new journey that I am about to embark on. At the age of five, I could do anything. I don't have that look in my eyes anymore, but I am finally starting to see small traces of it when I glimpse in the mirror. I can have that "first day" of school feeling again, and so can you. It's just up to us to enroll now.

The third week of August seems to be when most of us start asking the question, "Where the heck did the summer go?" It is such a depressing thought to ponder. If you are at all like me, you probably had a long list of fun and exciting adventures planned for the warm summer months. I think back to Memorial Day weekend. Three months lay ahead of me and in that time I was going to go visit family and friends, take those Continuing Education classes that I have been putting off, take a vacation or two, and organize my house and my life. All of a sudden I realize that the season has all but passed and Labor Day is right around the corner I didn't do a single thing all summer. This summer was not full of days lounging on the sand either. I'm just as stressed-out as I was in May and I'm just as pale. So, if I wasn’t able to check off anything on my “list of fun” and I didn't relax, then what did I do this summer?

When I really examine the last few months, I can see things differently than just a bunch of stuff that I did NOT accomplish. After much thought, I came to the realization that this was my summer of transformation. For starters, I moved into a new place in the beginning of the summer. Not only did I move out of the safety of my parent’s home, but I moved in with my boyfriend. Talk about change.

A few weeks after that I finally got the courage to quit my job. I had to literally drag myself to my place of work every morning for two years. I hated that job with such passion. I ended up walking out one day in a fit of frustration. After being unemployed for four whole days, I accepted another position and started my new job the day after that. And I'm still getting used to the new environment.

I also made the decision to go back to school for my Masters Degree in a totally different area than the field in which I currently work. Stressful, but definitely what I want to do. I am now in the process of filling out those fun applications, studying for the GRE's and trying to figure out exactly how I will pay for these extra years of school.

And to top it all off, we added a new member to our family, Nelly. A nine-week old kitten that is already right at home in our little cottage. Anyone who has seen my arms within the last week can tell right away that we have a new little baby with VERY sharp nails...

So, here I am with essentially, a whole new life. And I didn’t think that I did anything this summer! And with these changes comes knowledge--knowledge of life and knowledge of myself. This was the summer that I finally learned how to "let go". And boy did I need to.

I have always been one that holds on to just about everything from my past. I don't know why, I just always did it. I still have my pom-poms from high school. Yeah, I’m sure I’ll need those one day soon. But now I can see that I don't need to hold onto everything and every person that was ever in my life. And what I'm realizing is that prior to this summer, I wasn't aware that I could just let go.

So, after much contemplation...this is what I've learned:

Sometimes people are not in your life forever and that's ok. While I used to try to hold onto old friendships for dear life, I came to terms with the fact that people change, relationships change and it's normal. These people were a part of my past and that is where they need to stay. I now know that a real relationship involves a lot of compromise, but in the end, it's all worth it.

While it is never a good idea to leave a job without having another one lined up, if you're being treated badly, leave. And the rest will follow.

It has become disgustingly clear to me that you can not win baseball games without good pitching, but if the offense is not scoring any runs, you're not going to win regardless....ugh...the pain of being a Mets fan… I can now accept that it's ok if an Ex gets married and moves on with their life. While I suppose it would be nice if they sat at home crying over me as they kicked themselves in the ass, would I really want to be the person that can now refer to herself as his wife? Ah....no.

I have learned that a 3-pound kitten can disrupt an entire household. I've learned that I can do a better job of making myself either happy or miserable than anyone else ever could. It is up to me what I choose to be. One can only run so far from their problems. Eventually you're going to run smack into them as your turning around to run from them while some other problem is biting you in the ass. And trust me, it hurts.

I’ve learned that when your boyfriend shrinks your favorite cashmere sweater, remember...forgiveness is also a virtue. You gotta focus on the fact that he was trying to help you out by doing your laundry. Sweaters are easy to replace, boyfriends who do your laundry are VERY hard to find.

So, I can accept that another summer has passed. And I can welcome the fall armed with the strength that I gained in the last few months. No, I didn’t make it to the zoo, but that's ok. Summer of 2001 has rewarded me far more than a tan that will only really last a month or so.

So, when you start thinking to yourself "Darn, I wish I had taken that Tai cooking class!" stop and really take the time to think about what you DID do. I bet you learned a lesson or two this summer. Maybe you didn't do all that you said that you would, but what DID you do? Really think about it. Besides, the summer isn't over yet. There are still a few weeks left to take that trip to Australia, right?

Have you ever been in an interview and had the question asked, “What was your reason for leaving your last position”? “Well, Sir, I found that after I was fired, it was a bit uncomfortable coming in to the office.” Ok, so I am exaggerating. I wasn’t fired. My position was eliminated. Yep, that’s me, caught in the cross fire of an economy on the downslide. To make matters worse, I was in Marketing, and we all know that when budgets are cut, advertising dollars are the first to see the slash. This all wouldn’t be so bad, if this weren’t the second job where my position was ‘eliminated’ in seven months. 2001 has not been a good year for my career.

The first of my job searches for the year was far more liberating than the latest incident. Back in January, I was let go of a cushy, yet boring position. I walked out with my box in my hand, willing myself not to cry. By the time I said my goodbyes, I didn’t even want to cry. I spent the rest of the day with a mocha and my journal, people watching at the local Starbucks. Which, by the way, became a regular hangout in that month of unemployment. I decided that I would get nowhere by freaking out. Instead I would practice what I preach, and do what I could do, and let the rest go. I updated my resume. Hopped online, to see what was out there, made lists of what I did and didn’t want out of a new job. I decided it was time to blow this pop stand, and venture into the big city of San Francisco. I focused on that area, and one month and four interviews later, I took my first commuter ferry into the big city. It was thrilling, and all the while, I patted myself on the back, knowing that I had done what I could do, and let go of the rest.

So why, six months later, when I was once again eliminated, didn’t I feel the same way? Maybe because it wasn’t a new thing anymore. Maybe because saying you got laid off from two positions in a row, no matter how bad the economy, doesn’t go over well in an interview. Maybe because I simply hadn’t worked long enough to need a month long vacation, yet again. I stressed out, while at the same time, telling myself I need to do what I can do, and let the rest go. Take action. Update my resume (which, quite frankly wasn’t too hard, considering I just updated it, six months ago). The first week was fine. The second week, I had some good interviews, so I was doing ok. I got an interview for three weeks later, to which I told my friend that if I still wasn’t working by then, I would have to kill myself. Hmm, maybe I should rethink that plan, because my interview is in less than a week.

Who knew it would be so difficult? After dodging more than one call from my car loan representative, not to mention the impending rent due in 2 weeks, I decided it was time to get one of those, in-between- I-am-not-really-a-loser type jobs. First stop, Old Navy. The first question, “Do you have any retail experience, because we really like people who have worked in retail before.” I reply, “Does that fact that I live in your store count?” Apparently not. Next stop, Starbucks. Once again the dreaded question, “Do you have any coffee experience, because we really like you to have coffee experience” I'm quick on my feet with this reply, “Umm, does drinking coffee count?” I mean come on people, how difficult is it to make a Venti Mocha? To whip or not to whip? That is the question…

My most recent stop, Mary’s Pizza Shack. I decided I should be one of those servers, you know, while I go through school. It would be a bit on the trendy side. So I fill out my application, go in, ask for the manager, only to be led to a pimply faced 17 year old who asks the infamous questions, “Do you have any serving experience?” I say 'no", this time without the clever replies, figuring the down and dirty direct approach is the way to go here. But I'm thinking if he tells me they "really like people with serving experience", I'm going to take his serving tray and stick it where the sun don’t shine. But he doesn’t. He says that serving experience isn’t super important (yes those where his words, remember pimply faced teenager), but that the hiring manager won’t be back until next Friday. They will be calling for interviews the following week.

So here I am, about to go into week five, and while I still do not have an income, I have found some comfort in the fact that I am not alone in my quest for employment. The number of other college-educated “twenty-somethings” standing in line to interview at Mary’s Pizza Shack is growing by the day. It’s pretty scary. So, what can I do? I have two options. The first is to completely freak out and continue to screen my calls in order to avoid the repo man, and I don't mean Emilio Estevez. While that would be very easy to do, that is not going to help me pay the rent. The second, more productive option is to use this time to figure out exactly what it is that I want to do. I can weigh all of my options, make decisions and continue to take action. Hey, maybe one day I will look back on this time and see that it was actually a positive learning experience for me. It could quite possibly be a turning point in my life. Only time will tell. In the meantime I shall keep looking for the perfect job and just in case, I've taken on a new mantra "Yes, I have experience with pepperoni..."

At this point in life, my friends can be divided into two groups. My single friends and my "old" friends. With my single friends I can still go out for a few drinks, talk about the hatred we feel for our jobs, discuss how to get wine out of the shirt we wore the night before or question why our mothers are behaving this way. With my "old" friends I no longer seem to have these discussions. We usually start off with china patterns, move on to getting approved for a mortgage and finally discuss the many, many details of their upcoming nuptials or birth of their first child.

It certainly wasn't always like this. It seems that out of nowhere it happened. At least once a week I started getting the dreaded phone calls. "Kris! I got engaged last night!" or "Hey Kris, did you hear so and so from college got married?" The calls are coming like rapid fire now and the latter group of friends is multiplying at an unnatural speed. While I haven't let it phase me too much. At times the general confusion I feel, as I wonder where the last ten years have gone, can be slightly overwhelming.

Jeremy Cole's article on this subject gave me a good long laugh. It also releases some of that "Am I supposed to be married???" tension that many twenty-somethings feel. Thanks Jeremy, this was much needed.

“When all is said and done, the one sole condition that makes spiritual happiness and preserves it is the absence of doubt.” Mark Twain

Lately my hands have been sweating profusely, like the night before the big game. I tend to be on edge, sensitive to odd things, and abnormally abrupt to expectations and judgments. I sense this subconscious mental current of voiceless fear from all of my cronies, similar to the one you feel during an airplane landing, no one is saying much, but somewhere it dwells. Things just aren’t right. And yet it was all so simple before.

Somehow and someway I have found myself in this afflicted and convoluted social milieu where people one month are sniffing glue and the next month they are settling down with their current paramour … designing their white picket fence and determining if they should name their first son Darrell. What has happened? It seems that for most of my cohorts, their mental clocks are blinking 12:00, 12:00, 12:00 … a direct strike of lightning is highly doubtful but I am not ruling anything out. Where did this sudden surge of frantic desperation seed, why must everyone freak out as I approach the quarter of a century mark, and why is did the backstreet boys really need that other guy to complete the tour. So many questions to answer and apparently so little time.

So I am talking about getting hitched, the ball and chain, life in prison, tying it up, locking it down, throwing away the key, till death due us a call to Martin Blank … only kidding, killers for hire are braving through this recession like everyone else. My gross point is, I feel like one day I woke up, and everyone around me decided that their supreme purpose in life is to get fake bombs, hook some guy who will take over his father’s concrete business one day, and lease the Volvo V40 and throw the soccer balls and kids in the back and head to practice. My guy friends just seem to be aimlessly walking around like a game of marco polo, and the victory award happens to be life with a girl they were despising two weeks before. Anarchy! But I do want to state that I do not find this stage in life easy. I certainly can understand where these people might be coming from. But then again, all ages in life are not easy, just ask any person at any age. Even ten year olds will bitch about Bill Gates, sony play station prices, and PG-13 ratings.

My older cousin, a person who is a legend in many circles, always told me something that has held true. “After college there will be a huge wave of people getting married. Then about 6-8 years later the rest of the crew will fold and tie it down as well. After that, you will notice the last wave, divorces”. He also told me things like a girl’s mother is the blueprint to happiness and never trust a big butt and a smile, but that is neither here nor there.

I have no interest nor do I have any passion on this subject. Others can do what ever it is in the world that they want. I could care less. I do think that it is unfortunate, especially the ones who wanted to move to Hollywood, the ones who wanted to go to the NBA, the ones who truly had endless opportunity … now that same couple is married, they have two SUV’s, $100,000 in debt, two ugly kids, and addictions in the form of doubt, unhappiness, what ifs, and the inability of content. Destined and uninvited triteness is a drama, a comedy, and tragedy all in one.

I say do what makes sense, don’t make foolish judgments in passion or on physical premises, and never sing La Bamba during Karaoke. Following these simple rules might help, more than likely they will not, but try by all means to not reproduce unless you are with a person that will understand what each sex is suppose to do on Sundays, shop and football.

Two weeks ago I quit my job. I didn't have another job lined up, nor did I give the standard "professional courtesy" two weeks notice. I just couldn't take it anymore.

After two years of being treated like a door-mat, I finally had it. I found that back bone of mine that had been hiding and said to my boss "You can't treat me like this and I refuse to tolerate it for one more second. I deserve better!" I packed up my office, handed in my resignation letter and as I walked out the door I had never felt such a feeling of power. I felt total happiness and an overwhelming feeling of peace knowing that I had done the right thing for me. That feeling lasted for about fifteen minutes until I got home.

I came home to the stack of bills that was still sitting on my kitchen table waiting to be paid. I came home to the car that needs new breaks and all of the other unpleasantries of my adult life. I sat on my couch and felt completely overwhelmed as the tears streamed down my cheeks. What had I done?

I started freaking out. I could picture myself living on the street with one shoe in a cardboard box. I said to myself that I had to find another job immediately or my life would be doomed. I wiped my eyes, gathered myself and sat down with the classifieds. I heard a sound and looked over at my cat, Fred, who was sitting on the windowsill. He was rolling on his back taking in the sun. I swear he was almost smiling. I was so envious of Fred at that moment. His biggest concern was whether or not he could get his normal 22 hours of sleep that day.

Out of nowhere, I suddenly heard a faint little voice saying that everything was going to be ok. That voice sounded very familiar, yet I couldn't quite place it. The voice went on to say that it was so beautiful outside and that I should go and enjoy the day. "No!" I told the voice. “It's not going to be ok, it's all a mess!” The voice continued to argue and somehow she convinced me that what I needed to do right now was to go outside and "play". Reluctantly I agreed. I put on my bathing suit, grabbed my book, chair and beach towel and I headed to the beach.

It felt awkward at first. I was never really one for going places alone and this was my first trip to the beach solo. I walked down to the water, put my stuff down on my chair and thought, "Ok, Now what?" I heard the voice telling me “Look how pretty the water is.” and "Wow! Look at that shell!" And so I looked. I had to agree. That broken shell was pretty interesting, as were the few that lay next to it. I slowly started walking down towards the edge of the water looking at and picking up shells along the way. I walked for quite a while and just absorbed all that the beach had to offer on an amazing summer morning. I hadn't been able to do that in years. I stood and watched the waves breaking on the sand and the carefree children playing in them.

After some time I walked back to my chair with my new "treasures". I placed them on the towel and went back down to the water. I didn't go in up to my knees as I normally do. I took a deep breath and then ran. I dove right into a wave. I stood up and let the next wave wash over me. The one following that was a large one, so after a seconds thought, I held my breath and dove through it. I swam in those waves until I was completely exhausted. I splashed around and tasted the salt water when the waves crashed over me. Finally I got out and after drying myself off. I sat down and began to read. As I was reading my book, I had started drawing circles in the sand with my toe. I was soon distracted by the large circular hole I was digging. I put down the book and started using my hands. I dug in the hot sand and made shapes out of the wet sand that lay under it. I wished that I had brought my shovel with me.

I had just started building a castle when I was distracted by the ring of my cell phone. It was my boyfriend asking what had happened and wanting to know what time I was going to pick him up from the train. How was it already 4:45? Where had the day gone? I realized that I had spent the whole day "playing" at the beach. I hadn't thought about my new state of unemployment or the adult responsibilities that I would have to deal with later on. I just had fun.

So I packed up my stuff and walked back to my car smiling. I shook the sand off my legs and arms and got in my car. I brushed my hair back off of my face and I looked in the rear-view mirror. The face I saw looking back was startling. I now knew who that little voice was. It was not my adult face that I saw with the small lines of stress starting to show around the eyes and mouth. It was the face of an eight-year-old girl complete with braids in her hair and sun-kissed freckled across her nose. She winked at me and I thanked her for reminding me how to relax and how to enjoy a summer day again. She told me that just because I am a grown-up, it doesn't mean that I can't have fun. She then said that she was happy to help anytime, but I had to promise not to neglect her anymore. I agreed and we made our deal.

Make your deal with the eight year old in you. Regaining the spirit I had as a little girl brought me into my power. And diving head first into the waves.

We live in a world of loud noises, fast paced environments, people who don’t stop to smell the roses.

There ought to be a law against largely populated areas. It seems that the smaller the area, the smaller the population should be. I’ve noticed that our country has cities, which are full of so many people that the people feel cannot slow down. People stop caring about others. They begin to hurt others in order to get ahead. But, are they really getting ahead? The sad part is that they think they are when in reality they are not.

Haven’t you heard the phrases, “What comes around, goes around” and “Do unto others as you would want done to you”? If we could follow the latter phrase, we wouldn’t ever have to use the first one again.

The problem with most people is that they do not feel they deserve kindness nor compliments. That is a problem because if you won’t accept those things from others, how can you give them?

Sure, every so often, we accept kind words or actions. And probably, every so often, we give kind words or actions. For some of us, that happens more than not. But, why can’t it be that way all of the time? Why? Because we are human. We have those human qualities like “feelings”.

People can be cruel. People hurt us intentionally and unintentionally. More often, we think it’s intentional when it’s not. Everyone takes their baggage in life and unloads it from time to time. Sometimes people don’t want to unload it at all. They just want someone else to carry it for them while adding to it as they go. Eventually, all of the baggage comes back to the owner, hopefully little by little, or else it gets too heavy and impossible to carry.

It’s best to carry your own luggage and unload it from time to time, then it never gets too heavy – just a thought.

The Next Year Girl
by Sarah Mason

Stopping by the Mall on a Smoggy Evening

Whose stores these are, I think we know,
They're filled with sketchers and Lakers clothes.

Okay, so, I'm no Roberta Frost. I was trying to metaphorically transport myself to my sacred space - as Jenn put it in her poignant article of the same name in the Mind/Body section. But it's hard to do that in LA. Especially this time of year when the thermometer starts to creep up a few notches. I was trying to recall what summer means to me.

I'm not a sungirl. I hate the heat. I dig the breezy crisp fall whether I left behind in New England. Especially the unpredictable Maine summers. People back east say I'm crazy - principally my mother. She fancies a little bit o' sun now and again and hates the humidity. I react to her dissatisfaction with a comfortable smile as I think about how glorious Maine is this time of year. Mum always says, "Ain't gonna happen. No glory in Maine, not this summer." She's of course referring to the volatile and sometimes turbulent weather patterns. Kinda like the Red Sox. The summer starts out with lots of promise and hype. You get a few incredible shining moments where the sun just warms your face enough for you to still see the gorgeous blue sky. Then while your looking up with your eyes wide shut, yuck yuck, the sky pisses all over your face. And you're up and down and back and forth riding the waves with a few breaks in between.

Still, that one break makes it all worth it.

What summer means to me has changed since I've migrated to the land of endless summer. For one thing, no Red Sox. They had so much to do with shaping my summers. Starting at the young age of four when I ate my first Fenway Frank in the bleachers.   After that, I switched to turkey dogs. Actually, there was no such thing back then. A Frank was a Frank. Scariest thought in the world. But I loved eating them. Only in the bleachers though. If we happened to venture into the box seat section, fahgettaboutit. I had to scale up to a slice of pizza. What a scale. It reminded me of the kind they served at school lunch on Fridays - but worse. If pizza were like department stores, Fenway slices would be something like, Building 19, school lunches, Zayres.

I loved going to the games. I couldn't wait for my father to take me. It was both our chance to bond and my chance to experience life! There I was, just a little twerp. But I was out there amongst the stars. The greatest players in the world to me - Yaz (Carl Yastrzemski), Freddie Lynn, Jim Rice, Luis Tiant, Carlton Fisk, Bernie Carbo and Dwight Evans. These guys were my heroes. It wasn't Barbie and the Bionic Woman for me, well, maybe a little Bionic action here and there was okay. For me, it was all about the ball game.

Maybe it was because it was all about my father. I don't know. When my parents divorced in 1980, we stopped going. I went, but it wasn't the same. And baseball had already begun to change. But in the 70s. It was real.

I wanted so desperately to be around my father. He knew everything about baseball. He could recite every record for every player for every year that they played. I thought that was so cool. We didn't really talk about anything other than baseball all those summers. But to me, it was like we were taking on the world with all our enthusiasm and know-how.   And I loved my father for bringing baseball into my life. And teaching me what it meant to believe in something beyond any odds. I never let go of that.

When the Red Sox played I could believe in something bigger and greater than myself. I had heroes to root for. No dream seemed unobtainable. And when you're at the park, no one's gonna tell you it is.

Those years as a preteen I hold tight to. They are so precious to me. Every one of my summers as a child can be traced through the history of the Red Sox season. Four years old - Looie Looie Looie came to town! Luis Tiant of course. Great Sox pitcher. "El Tiante". He had three 20 win seasons and a trip to the Series. Seven years old, Jim Rice's rookie season. He batted .309 with 22 home runs and 102 RBI in his first full season in the show. Eight, well, that's easy, Game 6! The 75 World Series. Carlton Fisk is the man. Making that unbelievable homerun forcing a game 7. Age 12, Yaz hits number 3000.

What a moment that was. Not only for Yaz, the Red Sox and Boston. But for me. It was my last summer of innocence. The last summer I remember just caring about baseball and peppermint stick ice cream. And not much else. And it was the last summer my father took me out to the ball game.

Sure summer was filled with much more than Fenway Park. I spent the majority of them in Maine. And I could write several books of fond memories about our house on Mckown Point. But it's not that I'm missing. It's Fenway. It's the Red Sox. I guess it's my youth. Or maybe my youthful spirit. And it's my summers with my father. Never again in life have we bonded so closely and so openly. Evoking those days and nights together with him cheering in the stands are the memories I long to relive more than anything else.

There's a comradery Sox fans share. God you have to have a special union with people who's hearts continue to bleed for the ultimate next year boys. There's something to be said for that communal bond. We all smiled and cheered together and cursed and spit together. In LA, people just spit. And nothing's together.

I miss my summers with the boys. Every once and awhile I get back and catch a game. And I'm instantly charmed. It's like a spell cast upon you the minute you walk through the gate. It's certainly not the smell of the place. And I'm okay with being the next year girl. As long as I can be there to root for my team. Rain or shine.

What does summer mean to me? Well, today it means, I'm nine years old. I'm sitting in the bleacher seats at Fenway Park with my Dad sharing a Fenway Frank and a coke and I just caught a homer hit by Freddie Lynn. Maybe I didn't catch it but I sat next to the guy who did. And that's good enough for me.

And I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.

index

As the weather starts to warm up, I am brought back to my childhood. The days become longer, and the smell of the ocean air starts to swirl around me. I sat this past weekend curled in a comfy chair near my back sliding door, listening to the rain as it pelted the porch and the roar of thunder as it shook my surroundings. As a little girl I was terrified of thunderstorms. Even the sight of dark cloud would send me into a panic. Summer takes me back to the humid days in Boston as a little girl, running through the sprinklers, sliding down the “Slip and Slide” and those special two weeks each year that my family rented a cottage on the beach. I’m reminded of that Country Time Lemonade commercial. People lounging on the porch, kicking their heels up, letting out a deep sigh and taking a big gulp of cool refreshing lemonade. That is what summer is about, remembering that carefree playfulness of youth.

It’s not about living in the past or not being able to let go of ones childhood. It’s about igniting that free spirit and innocence that summer once represented.

We are bombard by the media as they flash the countdown until bathing suit weather. Sending the world into a crazed mania of paranoia and mad rushes to the gym and fits of rage in women’s’ dressings rooms world wide as women continually criticizes the body that will soon be exposed in the warm summer days. Lost, it seems, are the youthful days of dancing in a rainstorm in your clothes or throwing caution to the wind as you go skinny-dipping on a hot summer night.

To be honest there is just too much “good” about summer to spend time worrying about the trivial and society driven fear of exposed bathing suit clad bodies. Granted we can’t change the world’s mindset over night. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t experience even a small spark of anxiety as I take out the bathing suit that has been tucked away all winter long. But, I feel like rebelling against the norm and actually enjoying the thought of summer approaching.

There is a tall glass of lemonade calling my name and a playful little girl wanting to run through the rain. There is a need to walk along the ocean in the cool summer mornings and feel the hot pavement on my bare feet. There is a need to hear the rumble of thunder on a humid night and feel a bead of sweat trail down my cheek. There is a need to hear the late night song of crickets and smell freshly cut grass and barbecue cooking. There is a need to feel cool water on my flesh and hear the laughter of close friends.

When Push Cometh to Shoveth
by Sarah Mason

Bad customer service isn’t a new thing. In fact it’s become a bit of a cliché these days. But lately my experiences have led me to believe that it’s a whole new world of “bad” out there.

Please listen to our menu, as our options have changed. Press one and you will be connected to another list of menu options that will not apply to your call but will completely confuse you and continue connecting you infinite number of times to other menu options.

Press number three and you will wait on hold approximately 12 minutes, be transferred to an attendant who needs to transfer you to another department where you will remain on hold for 18 minutes until you’re finally disconnected.

If you do ever managed to reach someone, live and in person, they won’t know how to help you or what you’re talking about. And in some cases they may insist that your name though legally spelled MASON is actually MANSON because it’s in their database. So of course, it must be right.

Have you ever had a customer service rep tell you that you don’t have an account with them despite the fact that you do have their service and every month you receive and pay a bill? Ever try to find out why your DSL or phone service will be repaired only to be asked what’s a DSL? Get any incorrect charges on your visa bill? Didya get really pissed then think about what it would mean to call your credit card company and choose to just overlook it instead?

Yup, I know.

And it ain’t getting any better. I’ll tell ya, if I had a nickel for every time I wanted to toss myself off a suspension bridge after dealing with a customer service rep, I’d be spending my riches in my new home at the bottom of the Hudson River.

Here’s a good one. For some reason I got sucked into getting a Gap card. I used it a couple times, paid my bill and moved on. I got a bill in the mail for a late payment charge, $26 – for a late payment, that wasn’t late. The total bill wasn't even $100. So I called, went through the above ceremonial ritual and after twice being disconnected and calling back, I got someone who insisted that my payment was received six days late. "Hmmm," I said, "interesting that you cashed the check six days prior to the due date."

So we went back and forth as I tried to explain that 2 really did equal 1 + 1. And finally, I was transferred to her supervisor who assured me (after about an hour of, "I'll just put you on hold for a minute mam",) that they would amend the situation. Rule number one in life...never call a woman whose age is ambiguous but potentially over 30 - mam.

A month later, I got my credit report in the mail. And guess what was there, oh yeah, the late Gap charge fee. Those PHUCKERS! So, forget about the simple hour I spent the month prior solving the late fee charge, we were entering a whole new arena of lunacy now. Banks, credit companies, Gap corporate, let’s throw in, yeah, the phone company. Hell you end up having to sit on hold with them for just about everything.

So what do I do? What do we do? How can we go on like this in this country with this subhuman level of development in customer service? And joke as I may, it affects our lives profoundly. For instance, if I don’t get this cleared up, it will upset my credit which could cause problems for me buying a house or getting a loan. Okay, granted it’s $26 but still. Take for example an incident that's been happening to my assistant.

The IRS has been sending letters to the our office stating that a judgment has been placed on MAXINE CLEMENTS and that her wages will be attached to pay the $20,000 in back taxes she owes. Huh, don't know anyone named MAXINE CLEMENTS. But interestingly enough her social security number is the same number as Sondra's, my assistant. Somehow this person used Sondra's social security number illegally. Now, we know it's not her but that doesn't mean someone else won't. Sondra is a promising actress. And often actresses change their names. She may go work for some studio or production that doesn't believe that MAXINE CLEMENTS isn't just one of her stage names or her real name.

So of course, she got on the phone, wrote letters. It was pretty easy to dispute. At the time of the alleged tax evasion, Sondra was 12. Don't think she managed to earn enough money to owe $20,000 in taxes at Middle School. So she persisted in getting this settled but met with numerous road blocks. It basically came down to the fact that the person she spoke to was too lazy to make the change. She told Sondra that this wasn't something she handled. Okay, so who does? That's a common response these days - it's not my department.

Eventually she got someone who assured her the problem would be resolved. But, we continue to get the letters. We're not talking $26 and a bunch of headaches. This is something that could dramatically affect Sondra's life and follow her around for the rest of it. And it all comes down to one person not taking the time to change a name in a computer.

I'm sure Sondra is not alone with a story like this. So why do we put up with it? How can we relive the same nightmare night after night without popping the sleeping pill or at least visiting a shrink? There's gotta be something we can do. At the very least, run to our windows and scream, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!"

Sure we could argue that it's not really the IRS reps fault. She's bogged down by bureaucracy and paperwork and no one really knows what the chain of command is or how to do their job cause no one trains them and no one cares. Yeah well, BULL. Someone, sometime soon, has got to step up to the plate and take responsibility for all this crap. But that's just it, they don't. And absolutely no one is willing to go the extra mile.

The reasons, ahh the reasons. The simple answer is, the economy got good, so service got bad. Who needed to care?! Checks were coming in, new accounts were being signed and business was booming. So what if people complained. It didn’t seem to halt sales. Because frankly, no one cared as long as the check was in the mail.

But….things are changing. The economy is slowing down. Everyday there's a freshly dug grave with a new dot.com’s headstone above. There's a pending national energy crisis, whose future ain't lookin any brighter - pun intended.

So will things improve? When push comes to shove and the belt starts to tighten even more, will companies start to realize that laying off employees is not the only adjustment they’ve got to make in order to sail into the future indefinite economic tide? I just don’t know. But what I do know is that I'm not sticking around to find out.

My solution - buy a house in Ireland, get rid of my computer, all my credit cards, my car and learn how to ride a horse and drink beer. I'll be fat and smelly but at least I'll have my sanity.

Here's a continuation of our Women in Baseball series and The Promise of Spring on Payson Road from Payson Road Columnist, Kristen Herbert.

Jeremy Cole works for the National Mental Health Awareness Campaign. Check out their website at, Nostigma.org. He is also a wonderful writer and although Jeremy Cole works for the National Mental Health Awareness Campaign. Check out their website at, Nostigma.org. He is also a wonderful writer and although

Each day that rolls by I begin to imagine more and more about a scam that was drafted and implemented in the late 60’s, early 70’s. The State lottery! This particular conspiracy has actually caused me to lose sleep at nights, and just recently it has really clouded my cognition to a point where I no longer want to work four days out of five. Did you know that before the Government sanctioned the lottery, it was illegal?

The lottery was big in New York and Chicago, when the Syndicate ran it (I’m only familiar of when it was run in the 1920’s). And once the Government learned how profitable and popular it was, because of the success the mob had in managing it, they began to play ball. The first legal lottery was constructed in New Hampshire with the hopes of avoiding paying income taxes. One by one, state governments started seeing the benefits of a voluntary tax of the poor and utopians.

Either way, I could give a fat frog’s ass less about the bureaucratic aspect of the lottery. I simply think about how cruel the concept is. I mean, how many of you have needed like $300 dollars to pay off the bounty hunters so you can enjoy one night of financial freedom. And sure enough, before the computer comes on and you begin to polish up the old resume, before you get out the classifieds and look under the dancers section, before you throw down some sensational rocks and lemonade at your neighborhood corner, what do you do … you start thinking about how freaking great it would be to win the lottery.

“OK, here’s what I would do. First I would buy a house for my parents in the best neighborhood in town. Then I would buy everyone I know a plush car, and have all the cars sitting in a parking lot with each individual’s name on the license plate so adults could run around like children on Christmas morning arguing about who received a BMW and who received a Lexus. Then I would take my six closest friends, have them take two months off of work, and fly with me around the world! After that I would take my two closest friends and give them a million to start a real estate company for themselves. Then I would by a fat house in ten of the coolest cities in the world. Lastly, I would take the remainder of my loot and ?????????.”

Now what good does this do you? After about twenty minutes you slowly but surely start to realize that you just missed your bus stop, some fat guy across the bus thinks you have been staring at him the whole time, and all you really need is just a couple bills to pay off your bookie. No more glory, no cars, no hot tubs, no blondes fanning you with a giant palm leaf and feeding you grapes, it’s back to the real world. Not cool. The lottery committee really bends you over on this one. You don’t see doctors dreaming in Med School about winning that free degree scratch off. 91.8% of us will have to bust our ass for about thirty years just so you can have spoiled grandchildren who don’t even care to hear stories about when the rim was ten feet high and right field was 310 ft., and kids who won’t play golf with you because your handicap sucks, and a government who has spent all your lottery and bingo money you saved in social security.

My synopsis of this whole calamity is we have enough temptations floating around us at all times, it’s quite unfortunate that the “get rich quick” wet dream is invariably present anytime you turn on the local news, your favorite TV shows, and the radio. “Someone’s got to win, it might as well be you”, over and over we hear this. They should follow this catch phrase with “If not, then you will still be stuck at a job where bosses and board members continually pee on your head, all awhile we hand some rube in epicenter of NASCAR land the 50 million dollar check and watch them chunter ‘I reckon I’ll quit driving the fork lift!’” Just once I would like to turn on the TV and see some complete punk holding the check. Some kid who gels his hair, wears structure clothes, and has a job selling cell phones. I want this kid to tell the world how he plans on bagging hot chicks, drinking the best whiskey, and having the biggest tires you have ever seen on an Eclipse. If this can somehow occur I will change my mind about this lottery business, until then I will keep it on my most hated list behind Scottie Pippen and Pepsi.

Baseball has always been my favorite symbol of Spring. And being a life long Red Sox fan, I've had to bite my lip a few times with Kristen Herbert's articles on the subject - she's a Met's fan. But she's such a great story teller, how can I help but stand aside and listen to her tell the tales of hotdogs and bleacher seats. Memories that I hold near and dear. For there is something we share in common which transcends the petty declarations of who's team is superior (it's of course the Red Sox), we are baseball lovers. We have the soul of the game tucked under our caps and kept close to our hearts.

So this week's promise of Spring is from Payson Road's favorite story teller, Kristen Herbert.

Over the last few years I have become convinced that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.) My depression begins in late October (last year it was October 26^th to be exact) and continues right through February. I feel tired and just generally depressed for months at a time. There is little joy in my life. Standard treatments for this disorder are "light therapy" and/or medication. Neither of these methods work for me. I seem to have a particular type of this disorder, which could be called Off-Season Affective Disorder - off-season baseball of course. There is only one type of treatment found to be successful for this rare, but existing affliction. The only cure for these types of blues: Opening Day at Shea Stadium! It works without fail. After the long, dark winter, spring is finally here and the depression has lifted. The birds are in the air, the flowers are starting to bloom and baseball season has begun.

As a Mets fan, whose heart has not been completely mended from last season, I eagerly awaited their first game of the season. As I perused the schedule for this season, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see that not only was the Mets first game away, but it was in Atlanta (of all places). Three o'clock game day, I turned on my radio at work only to hear that the game was being delayed due to rain. So I waited and waited. The game finally began three hours later. I sat with my mother for ten long innings. In typical Mets fashion, the game was full of drama. I sat perched on the edge of the couch in complete awe. As the game went into extra innings, it felt as though it were a play-off game. The tension in my house couldn't have been cut with a baseball bat. That darn Mets-induced ulcer that all true fans suffer from had also returned. I listened to my boyfriend jokingly have the nerve to cheer for Chipper Jones. He was immediately ejected from the living room by the house umpire, Mom. The game finally ended with Ventura's tenth run homer. My mother and I both agreed that we couldn't get this antsy in April or it was going to make for a very long summer. We have decided to just flip through games until at least June in order to keep our blood pressure in check.

The excitement extends way past my front yard. Everywhere in New York, baseball is in the air. From the drunken brawlers in bars, to the little kids arguing on the playground about who is better Piazza or Jeter, baseball is back. The cover of Newsday yesterday was not the standard tragedy or world news. It was a picture of Tsuyoshi Shinjo of the New York Mets bowing to fans after his fist major league home run. For those of you who don't know, Shinjo is a Japanese ballplayer who is taking a multi-million dollar paycut to prove that he can play in the United States. He is the first Japanese position player in Mets history. The Japanese press has been following his every move. On Tuesday he gave them something big to write about while earning a soft spot in the hearts of Mets fans. Not only did he hit his first major league homer on Opening Day at Shea, he did it against their division rivals, the Atlanta Braves.

I've also noticed that right around the time that my depression lifts, my boyfriend and I start to really irritate each other. Actually, that may not be totally accurate. To him, a Yankee fan, I am a whiny, little Mets fan. To me, he is the devil. The petty little arguments begin during spring training and get more and more absurd. I don't think that we spoke for two days when Mike Mussina signed with the Yanks. His comments were along the lines of "Sweetie, maybe you should try out for the fifth starting position for the Mets. They don't have anyone else." I'm not as brutal. I at least can be respectful about "his team".

For example, last Friday night we went to a game at Yankee Stadium. We sat there inning after inning, and watched the Yankees hope of winning completely disintegrate in front of his teary eyes. Did I make fun of him? No, of course not. I consoled him and kept my joy to myself. I respected his feelings, as I understand how it's never fun to watch your team lose at home, especially not when the score is 13-4. Does he show me the same respect? Oh no...I asked him the other day what channel the Mets game was on and he responded with "Uh, I think it's on Lifetime: Television for Women." The word brat really comes to mind. While we do, on occasion, really get mad at each other during these little arguments, it is mostly in good fun. Part of the fun of baseball season is arguing with other fans, no matter how ridiculous they may be. I think that it is the smell of freshly cut grass that makes people a little nutty.

I recently got tickets for the Mets/Red Sox game this summer. After very little thought, I decided not to go with my boyfriend. Instead I am going with his brother's fiancé, Cari. Cari is a die hard Red Sox fan and therefore can understand my pain. She and I both agreed that the best thing was for the two of us to go and to leave those Yankee fans at home. I am pretty sure that we will enjoy the game just a little more if we don't have to constantly hear "Jeter would've caught that." Or "Bernie would have hit that." Maybe they're right, but is the constant annoyance really necessary? We doubt it, so it looks like it will be a ladies day.(They're usually more fun anyway...) If they really want they can watch the game on TV.

Tonight I go to my first Mets game of the 2001 season. I have been waiting for this day since last fall. I wanted to wear my Piazza Jersey, but it is still tear-stained from Game 5 of the World Series and I haven't gotten a chance to take it to the cleaners yet. I'll have to settle for my Mets hat, which was covered with dust. I sit at work right now counting down the hours until I can hop on that train to Shea. Regardless of the outcome of tonight's game, just being at Shea will bring a smile to my face. I'll eat my fifteen dollar hot dog and finally feel alive again.

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It can be easy to forget in the cold, dark, barren days of winter why New England is such a great place to live. It seems only now, as the snow melts, the birds start to sing, and the day light begins to linger, that I can appreciate and rejoice in the beauty and power of nature and the changing of seasons. As winter melts away and spring begins to bloom, one can’t help but be swept away by it and its promise of growth and rebirth.

As I tune into my body, its needs change as spring begins to emerge. There is a driving urge to cleanse, to let go, “spring cleaning” on all levels, becomes the mission. In winter, our bodies need rest and warming foods, a slowing and hibernation of sorts. In spring however, our body craves light, cleansing, nourishing foods. It craves life and movement and reawakening of the senses.

In terms of recovery, spring is NOT the time to begin worrying or obsessing about the summer season ahead. Spring is a time to truly allow for your body to cleanse what has accumulated through the winter, not just on a physical level, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. As we all begin to emerge from of cocoon of winter, spring is a valuable time for self-renewal and self-care.

Notice this spring season, what need your body has, what growth it is striving toward, what rebirth is in store. Allow yourself to be consumed by the promise spring represents. A time to heal and bloom and experience the emerald green and rainbow of color that Mother Nature paints for us.

Spring is a wonderful time to let go of things in our life that we have outgrown. Whether it is material things, relationships, jobs, beliefs, or emotions, begin to search through your life and make room for all the abundance that spring produces. By freeing ourselves of that we no longer need, we are saying to the universe. “I am open. I am ready for new things to enter my life.” I am continually amazed at the results as I let go of old things. Before I know it, I find new and truly fulfilling things miraculously entering my life. A coincidence? Not in my opinion. In order to attract what we want in our life, there needs to be room for it. One cannot bring in the “new” when there is still so much “old” weighing us down. So allow yourself the freedom of release and the purity that comes from lovingly letting go of the past.

Spring is a time for abundance and for the spirit to being to stir as it awakens from its wintry slumber. Greet spring with open arms, for has gifts to give you if you are ready to accept them. Let the sun shine on your face and give you the nourishment to grow to its full potential. Spring has sprung and beauty is underfoot!

Jeremy Cole works for the National Mental Health Awareness Campaign. Check out their website at, Nostigma.org. He is also a wonderful writer and although this piece is not associated with the Campaign, please check them out. They are doing really great things to help build awareness of Mental Health and to educate people beyond the stigma.

Some things in life are accomplished through trial and error. Some things must be taught and some things must be experienced. And some things are instilled in you by people such as teachers, peers, and drunken uncles. You know, things like never get a couch dance from a stripper named itchy. So it is safe to say lessons are learned in many ways. Some lessons are cultured instantaneously through retrogression. Like remember the first time you got caught finding your Christmas presents and the only reaction your parents could harvest in this discovery of a nine-year perpetual lie is leave the presents unwrapped Christmas morning. Or the time you realized that those same parents actually have sex … some might still be in denial. Or how about the time you found out that the AC, in AC Slater stands for Albert Clifford. The learning and maturing process is tedious and some fight it off for years. But presently it seems we have it all figured out. Life has reached a desired solace for many Americans fiscally, socially, and ideologically. Today a guy can come home from work, have beer delivered to his door, 270 cable channels to surf through, listen to a CD that you recently downloaded in surround sound, and buy tickets on the web to the Foo Fighter’s concert all in one sitting. Women can come home and watch Friends sometimes twice a night, shop online, and then talk bad about their fellow amigas who have loser boyfriends. Just kidding ladies, I am sure that never happens! What a great time in history to be 24. With inventions such as the napster, pay per view, and viagra, people in the new millennium find themselves in a state of euphoria. But in time like these remnants of my pessimistic underpinning surfaces sporadically bringing calamity and disturbance to my harmonious extant. In short, I can’t help from thinking the shit could hit the fan.

My generation has no substance or tangible knowledge of the concept that prosperity is a fortuitous outcome to an extremely convoluted equation. We believe that life will always encompass nice cars, rounds of golf, and trips to the Caribbean. This was not always the case. A little more than a decade ago this was not the case. I try to think back to a time in history that resembles the growth we encountered in the 90’s, a time where the sky was the limit, a time when people through technology and opulence felt like they had it all figured out. I think of the Roaring Twenties! In the 1920’s life was great. The post war America was making a strong run for supremacy. Businesses were unequivocally booming, individuals through inventions and entrepreneurship made a fortune, and the stock market was an invariably rewarding slot machine. Entrepreneurs such as Pierre Samuel du Pont (heir to the du Pont industrial empire who later took over the chemical industry), James Cash (JC) Penney (first major retailer), William Proctor (founded soap and other food products which later became know as Proctor & Gamble), and finally Henry Ford who basically was the Bill Gates of the 20’s with his mass production of the Model T. Lets not forget the barbarous yet sheik Al Calpone and the profits he enjoyed due to Prohibition and organized crime. These individuals had more money than “Dixie’s got cups”. Excitement and vitality shined through the clouds of the recently endured oppression and world injustice.

It was also a time where Victorianism was reaching its end and gregarious women, referred to as “flappers”, for the first time began to dress in an enticing fashion, wearing makeup, dancing with complete strangers, and cigarette-smoking without culpability. Dating, as we know it today was first instituted in the 20’s, before being alone with the opposite sex unconditionally required an adult chaperone, forgetaboutit.

Sports were in a glorious stage, a time where Babe Ruth dominated America’s favorite past time, “The Four Horsemen” began the football legacy at Notre Dame, Bobby Jones contrived the fervency for professional golf, and a stalwart thoroughbred by the name of Man o’ War won 20 of 21 races (Guess which horse finally beat him: a horse by the name of Upset).

Many new concepts were contrived in the 20’s like purchasing items on credit coupled with paying things off in installments. And much like today people found more and more time to kill due to this newfound affluence, so the workweek dropped from 60 to 48 hours. Disposable income was at an all time high and leisure activities such as the live arts were in strong demand. This exquisite life was very enjoyable and the citizens of the 20’s simply wanted relish in it … tomorrow came soon enough.

Over in the Oval Office, the thirtieth President Calvin Coolidge sat back as he consummated the rationale of the rich get richer. You see the problem with all this action going on in the twenties is that very few actually were involved in this explosion of life. Less than one tenth of one percent of the American population actually had any money. In 1929 the top 0.1% of Americans had a combined income equal to the bottom 42%. That same top 0.1% of Americans in 1929 controlled 34% of all savings, while 80% of Americans had no savings at all. However the laconic President consciously sat back giving the power to the wealthy and letting businesses dictate edification. This compounded with several other reasons like the deceitfully cohesive stock market and over lending to foreign countries led to The Great Depression. No more dancing, no more placidity, no more anything.

So what the hell do we care about all of that. ER survived the absence of George Clooney and Seinfeld reruns are better than Cheers ever was. What else is there to worry about besides the fact that Nicolas Cage thinks he is a good actor and Conair II is not out of the question? Well I do think that the “Clinton Prosperity” was much more diversified and evenly distributed in comparison to the “Coolidge Prospiety”. But how do we know it can forest through inclement times. Did Clinton have some sovereign virtuosity or was this a time in history where good things seemed to occur, like the Cold War ending on Regan’s watch. When you look at the statistics it’s hard to not give some credit. Highest home ownership rate in history, longest economic expansion in history, 6 million new small businesses constructed in the last eight years, 22 million jobs, lowest unemployment and inflation rates in a generation … and most if not all of my friends graduated from college and received a job no problem. This was not always the case, just ask Donald Trump about being 2 billion in the red during the early nineties recession. Today we are hearing more and more talk about a recession. The papers and news broadcasts will have you believe that we need to buy all CDs by insync you can find because our disposable income is doomed. But as Clinton stated before he left office, by definition a recession is where the economy experiences two consecutive quarters of negative growth, and we are currently no where near that. My point after all this is simple, I feel we have found ourselves in dangerous territory and it would be wise to approach the next decade very carefully. Our economy today is running with little air in our lungs. Layoffs are occurring left and right, Wall Street is sweating like a dog in a hubcap factory, rates are rising, credit debts are off the charts, dotcoms are shutting down, movie theatres are going black, production is retracting in all industries, demand is down, and OJ can’t seem to push anymore sets of isotoner gloves on ebay. It’s getting a bit catastrophic. Did Clinton leave his foot on the gas for too long? Taking a good thing too far can certainly occur, just ask any 45-year-old bachelor.

We have a vigorous task ahead of us. And with the disclosure of Bush’s Budget we can now look for turmoil to reach an undesired schism. The question is, are we that much more evolved than we were eighty years ago, my guess is just a little. We have seven HBO channels for God’s sake! But before you buy the latest version of the sprint cell phone where they permanently insert one chip in your ear and the other on your tongue, or your third SUV in a year, or that $550,000 house, or stock in neon lights (Dave Hill 1994), or season tickets to XFL, or a new stadium for the Bengals, or ad space on priceline.com … I would think twice.

So in the next five years you might want to tentatively watch things as the economy gets its new legs. I personally think we will be fine, and besides the ocean of words the new President can not pronounce, I think he will do his job more or less. But you must be wise in your monetary thinking, and collectively we can bring this economy back to a more secure and sapient level. And with a little effort maybe you can give up one of those five credit cards or pay off your three thousand-dollar bill at Banana or Victoria Secret. This just might work out, look at what type of resurgence Paul Reuben has made in his recent appearance on Everyone Loves Raymond “Paging Mr. Herman, Mr. Herman, you have a telephone call at the front desk”.

“The charm of history and its enigmatic lesson consist in the fact that, from age to age, nothing changes and yet everything is completely different.” Aldous Huxley, "The Devils of Loudun"

A few weeks ago, I was working on the computer while the 22 third graders that I teach were playing soccer with the P.E. teacher in the yard. Suddenly, I heard two loud bangs and heard footsteps racing toward the classroom door. My students ran in with flushed faces and wide eyes. A man had shot a gun two or three times in the air nearly 50 yards from their soccer game. These kids from East L.A. knew what to do. They ran to a safe place, we closed the window shades and we sat on the rug to talk and read stories. My heart was pounding. I wanted to cry. I did not grow up with shootings. I had never even heard a gunshot. These children did. Some shook with nervousness, some had gleams in their eyes due to the “excitement.” Some of the children looked at me for support. Sadly, others told me stories about the “chollo” that they recognized with the gun and how he was looking to kill a police officer that patrols the neighborhood. One student told me how this man had offered him a pipe, but he had refused. What kind of world do these children leave as they enter my classroom of songs, times tables, paints, nouns and verbs?

The violence is not an “inner-city” problem anymore. It has infiltrated small rural areas, quiet suburban towns, and cities near and far from our homes. In light of the recent tragedy in Southern California, the whole nation is questioning the children and our schools. Hundreds of students have been arrested or expelled from school due to violence-related issues since the Columbine shooting. Students are bringing in guns and knives to school. Children are creating drawings and plans for mass killings of students and teachers on their campuses. Teenagers sitting around in basements, talking about whom they would kill first if they had the chance.

As a teacher, I question the values that the children are learning in the classroom, at home, and from the media. Do the children watch the news and see horror or see a solution to the bully that has been teasing them for years? Do they watch rated-R movies and think the violence is shocking or “cool?” Do their parents teach them methods to use when someone shows them a weapon? Do teachers model appropriate conflict-resolution strategies? The violence in schools and in our world is getting worse. Many of us remember where we were when we learned of the two shooters in Columbine. I remember crying in my car on the 10 as I drove to school. I remember listening to the tapes of 911 callers in horror. I remember the look on my professor’s face as we discussed the deaths of innocent children. Did Santee affect us in the same way? Is the shock becoming less and less with each shooting? Are we surprised? Are we horrified? We should be.

We need to act together. Our children need lessons, love, support, role models, and communication. Our children need to be taught that a human life is precious. Our children need to learn that teasing and ridiculing another person takes pieces of their soul away. Our children need to learn that adults will support them; that they do not have to turn to a hard, metal pistol to solve their problems. Our children need us.

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March 2, 2001

Innocent Child
by Missy Fiquett

The innocence of a child. Oh, how I miss the innocence of my childhood. When on earth did it go away? Was it during those teenage years? Or, was it the first time I heard those hurtful words from another child who told me I was dumb or stupid or ugly? The world can be so cruel at times. The more cruel the world is to us, the more quickly that innocent child inside us tries to say good-bye to our soul. But, I believe that it is still there in our soul. It just gets trampled on and beaten down so often over the years.

The question is, "what is innocence?" It is when your mommy or daddy looks at the sky and says, "look there is an elephant in the sky!" and you look and look and can't understand why you just can't find the elephant. You can't find the elephant because you are looking for an actual "elephant" and not the cloud that is shaped like an elephant.

I will never forget that day. I was probably no more than 5 years old and I still look for that elephant in the sky, but I just can't seem to make myself believe anymore that there really might be an elephant in the sky.

Now I have my own child. Sadness overcomes me when I watch my little boy get crushed by the realities in this world. The reality that not everything is an elephant flying in the sky. The tear that fills my eye when I watch him, his tiny soul subjected to angry people in our world. That tear, it is there not only for him, but for the inner child in me too.

I want out. My inner child wants out again. And, the good news is that I am finding out that it CAN come out again. It is safe now. I am grown. I have adult responsibilities which I must fulfill, but I also need to allow my inner child to come out again and enjoy the innocence again. A different innocence.

We can all be innocent again. Begin with simple things. The warmth of the sun beaming down upon your skin. The flowers will be blooming again very soon and the fragrance of spring will be pushing into our lives again. This is a time for rebirth. Smell the flowers, breathe the fresh air, feel the wind, feel the joy of being alive. This is our chance to claim our innocence again!

Oh, how I miss that innocent child.

Can someone please tell me how this happened? The last thing I remember I had decided to skip class to watch General Hospital with my roommates. One of us was on the phone with their parents asking for money and one of us was crying because her boyfriend was an insensitive idiot. Another one of us had just stumbled out of her room seeing daylight for the first time that day at 3pm. We sat there and joked about what had gone on the previous night at "T's" and at least one person said, "Well, I'll never do that again!" After that, we all ordered take out and then complained about all of the fat in those Buffalo Wings that we were eating. Then we all got ready and went to Happy Hour without a care in the world. So, how is it possible that I woke up this morning and had to go work? What happened? Somewhere between yesterday and this morning someone put the label "Adult" on me and I don't like it one bit!

I don't understand any of this. I'm not a very good actress, but I still feel like I have these people fooled. How is it that they haven't caught on yet to the fact that it is really a little girl in that business suit? Don't they know? Somehow I have a boss who expects me to show up every day at nine and stay as late as needed. I have an assistant who asks me how she should perform her job and I have clients that depend on me every day. I have a man that wants to live with me, and talks of getting married. My job consumes my thoughts far more than just the required nine to five. I actually had problems sleeping last night because I was worried about an upcoming convention! When did my life take this turn onto "Responsibility Avenue?" Oh how I long for the days when my biggest concern was how to get that tequila stain out of my favorite jeans...

I remember when it first hit me that I was really becoming an adult. It was the Tuesday morning after Labor Day and I had stumbled into work exhausted from the weekend. I sat at my desk dreading the day as I checked my emails. Without warning of any kind, it happened. One of my best friends called me at work. I thought nothing of it. I assumed she was probably just calling to tell me how her weekend in New Orleans went. We chatted for a minute and than she said it. "Kris, Jeff and I got engaged this weekend!" After hanging up the phone, I sat there in shock for what seemed like hours. How could a little girl be getting married? How could this person that I played Lego's with and agonized with over whom to go to the Freshmen formal with be getting married? I came to the conclusion that apparently she wasn't a little girl anymore, she had grown up. But, did this mean that I had? Nah, I just have really old friends. A really, really old friend who was a whole six months older than myself.

So I rebelled against the adult world. I went out every Tuesday and Thursday night just like I had done in college. I even dressed the way that I had in college. I had pointless relationships with men that I knew would never last past my adolescence. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to delay the inevitable, the attempts were futile. In college I had no responsibilities that couldn't be put off until Monday. If I had a hangover, I could turn off my alarm and sleep the day, and my headache, away. It's not like that now. Apparently a hangover is not a legitimate reason for calling in to work sick. But slowly I started realizing that my body couldn't seem to bounce back from a night of partying the way that it used to. Those Friday morning hangovers would last through to the next day. Somewhere along the line I started slowing down, and it wasn't by choice. It was by necessity.

So I went up to my college for alumni weekend last year. The thought of "going back" kept me going through the month of October. We got up to our old school and something was horribly wrong. I was in the place that I had used to consider home, but something was different. While it felt so very familiar, it also felt so painfully sad. I no longer belonged there. Life had gone on in that upstate town without me. The partying continued, yet somehow I was no longer a part of it. I asked myself, "If I don't belong here, than where do I belong?" I had no answer to that question.
I drove home that weekend and cried. I put my head on my boyfriend's shoulder and sobbed for a long, long time. It seemed like everything had changed and I hated it.

Over the last year or so I have also begun to lose touch with many of those college friends. Those people who I thought I could never live without seeing everyday have somehow become less important in my life. It's not that they are less important to me, it's that we have all started to go in our different directions. You mean to call people more often, but you don't. You make plans to get together, but somehow they always fall through. You get into little arguments with these people that turn into months of not talking. Things will work themselves out, right? They always did in college at least. The difference is that now you don't have to work things out and a lot of times they don't get worked out. Things that would have caused a two-hour argument a few years ago now end a friendship. And your life goes on.

Then one day you are sitting at work drinking your fourth cup of coffee and wondering how you will ever get your status report done by the end of the day. Then a song comes on your little radio. A chill goes up your spine and your eyes immediately fill with tears. All of a sudden you are brought back. You can almost feel like you are 19 again. The faces of those friends that you once considered family go flooding into your head. For me it is the song "Now & Forever". Every single time I hear it I think of those girls that I lived in that ugly green and brown house with. I think about them and I realize that I do "miss the day we met and all that followed after". I think about those girls and realize that they changed my life forever.

Not too long ago I re-decorated my bedroom. I took down old pictures and put up new ones. I took letters and articles and stuffed animals and knew that they didn't quite seem to be long there anymore either. When I was done, I looked at the pile on my floor of what had been up on my walls and on my shelves. They all seemed to be from my college days. I debated what to do with them and decided to put them in a box. When I thought that I was done cleaning up, I looked down at the floor. I saw remaining, two pair of shoes, a pair of my little girl shoes and a pair of my adult shoes. The little girl shoes no longer fit. They felt tight and uncomfortable and somehow they just didn't seem to go with anything anymore. My adult shoes didn't seem to fit either. They felt a little too big for me and I felt odd walking around in them as though they weren't really mine.

After much debate, I put those little girl shoes in that box with all of my memories and felt confident that pretty soon those adult shoes would fit. I put that box in the top of my closet and I shut the door. Tears rolled down my face and I felt as though I had just packed away a big part of me. As if the world through those shoes had somehow ended. But I realized that the box would always be there. And although my world would be traveled through different shoes, I could always go back to the box and relive my wonderful memories of the past and friends gone by.

So now, when the ghost of Bruce Springsteen's past beckons at my door shouting, "OHHHHH, Growin up!"   I go to my closet, and I pull out that box. And I put on my old shoes. And I remember.

The Grass is Always Greener
by Jeremy Cole

Some aspects in life all paradoxically boil down to a set of rules and a set of uncertainties. Both inevitably conflict through the course of development. Some things only can be defined as “just the way it is”, human nature perhaps. Things like men will never understand women, losers will never understand winners, and Britney Spears will never pose in Playboy. These life certainties compound themselves into paths of vitality where all the planning and all the strategic existing gets thrown out the window, and it is “just the way it is”. But how about the biggest curse of all time? The underlining proof that the Gods have a piercing sense of humor. An area of life that can be overcome, but how? This is of course a common rule of man, a rule that keeps us up at night, a rule that cuts deep into our soul in one way or another on a daily basis, a rule that defines happiness, a rule that destroys relationships, and a rule in which is the pinnacle for all causes of deplorable emotions…. Oh yes my friends, the rule of “the grass is always greener on the other side.”

A simple fact about human nature is the truism that the search for happiness in life is the most arduous task we will ever face. Although I actually believe we are optimistic creatures in the main, our Achilles heel lies in the veracity that we always want what we can’t have. If you live in the Midwest, you wish you could witness the sun setting over the Pacific after a long day on the beach. If you live in the Golden State, you long for the excitement of seasons and the feeling of waking up to a white Christmas. If you order the shrimp pasta, you wish you went with the chicken Caesar salad. If you are single, you wish you had a girlfriend. If you have a girlfriend, you wish you were single. If you live in a city where traffic is appalling, you wish you lived in a peaceful small town. If you live in a small town, you wish there were enough to do to actually have traffic. If you are really tall you wish you were a little shorter and if you are really short you wish you were a little taller. The list is truly endless.

Always wanting what you can’t have is most apparent when it comes to men and their views on women. We always think the sister is better looking or the roommate would be way more fun to date. Guys always think that there has to be someone else out there that has a better body, better personality, and better in bed. Regardless of who they are with. Look at all of the movie stars that get canned. I mean Gwyneth Paltrow got dumped, are you kidding me! Men always want to keep their options open. This is why marriage frightens many of us. We are afraid of commitment, simply for the reason that we are afraid of never being happy. So do you ever snap out the trend of always wanting an upgrade? When do we start to appreciate things and be happy for what we have? Is there a certain age? Will Windows 2000 finally do it for us or are we forever bound to semi-annual upgrades? Although I guess that’s more an issue of which grass is greener for Bill. But at what point in life do men acquire the maturity to enjoy what is on the table? To let happiness augment instead of fighting it like a disease with methods like jealousy, greed, and envy.

My summation in this difficult matter of genetics verses optimism, chance verses opportunity, and loathing verses love, is that happiness can be achieved. You will order the chicken sandwich and receive the club from time to time. “Life is good, considering the alternative”; this is a simplistic example of how optimism can help us overcome misfortunes. It is not an option to think any other way. You must stay positive, “get busy living or get busy dying”. And finally, I do believe that true love does exist. Not in the form of a plan which is pre-selected from a higher being, but in the school of thought that there is another out there who can make you wake in the mornings with a smile. They can transform time into where hours feel like minutes. They can show you aspects of life which do not include the cross over dribble or the extra point attempt. And most important, they can relax your mind from the exhausting practice of looking at every hot girl that walks by. I once heard the statement of, “Men marry to one they hate the least”. This was almost a motto for me for quite some time. But I am here to say that I am dropping the “if only” scenarios and welcoming the hope that happiness is one random conversation with a wonderful young lady away.

A predominant aphorism is that happiness is rarely achieved and if so, briefly enjoyed. But do not get discouraged, other prevalent courses in life exist like guys using there newly inflated stomachs as handy beer shelves. So some were destined for triteness. The rest of us however, the ones who find beauty in sunsets, warmth in simple acts of kindness, hope in the Celtics ever being over .500 … we can’t give up.

Sanity….
by Leslie Freeman

When will I be ‘all better’? I might be able to answer that question, if I knew what ‘all better’ meant. I have been in recovery for bulimia for 54 days. I have never been so sane in my life. That is a scary thought, as I question my sanity daily.

I guess, for me, sanity is what it is at the moment I question it. Sanity is laughing, and smiling. It is crying and screaming. It is quiet moments alone, or fun-filled days with friends. It is losing your job, and deciding that your life really won’t end. It’s throwing pride out the window, and applying at Starbuck’s, when you have bills to pay, and haven’t found that perfect job yet. It is looking at a seemingly bleak situation and turning it into opportunity.

Losing my job gave me the kick in the ass to go after what I really wanted, which is to work in San Francisco. I would not have realized that or acted upon it, had I not been able to let go of my last position. Sanity is realizing that even though the way I lost my job was unfair, it is not something that I can't let go of, or learn from. Sanity is talking to someone I love very dearly and realizing that he is separate from me. I cannot, (not to mention I don’t even want to anymore) save him. Sanity is actually feeling those feelings everyone talks about. Did you know that when you say you are proud, there is a feeling to that? It comes from within, and you can feel that. The same goes for happiness, and sadness as well.

Ok-stop for a moment. Of course, I knew there were feelings to sadness. Haven’t I been sad my whole life? Haven’t I experienced every single injustice in the world? I surely know all about sadness. Wrong. I used my bulimia, and before that my co-dependency, to numb the pain. It sure seemed like I was sad, but really it was nothing compared to the actual feelings of sadness I have felt, since I began the long journey of recovery. Sadness for a child lost, for the insecure teenager and young adult I became. Sadness for the cruel words of my grandfather, and lack of attention from my mother. Too much sadness to mention here. Sanity is embracing those feelings, working through them and then letting them go. Sanity is the tears trickling down my cheeks, because all of this is still so painful.

The voice in my head, that one we all so ‘lovingly’ call ED has been calling again. I could not understand why, because it seems as though I have taken so much in stride lately. Isn’t that what sanity is all about? Finding that balance that allows you to accept where you are.

Well, it seems, that even though I thought I was dealing with everything so well, I still held back. As much as I want to believe that I have conquered my disease, I am still on shaky ground. I have had relationships that needed questioning, which I ignored. One being a past friendship, which turned sour. I have accepted my responsibilities for that and honestly thought I was past it. Who is she anyway? Just a self-centered, recovering heroin addict. She means nothing to me. Somehow, though, that ED has been whispering in my ear these days.

I could not figure it out. I have figured out that ED only works when I am not taking care of myself; but I have been taking care of myself. I write. I meditate. I speak my mind. I ask for what I want. I am confronting my past. So why is he still whispering? What am I missing? These questions led me back to the recovering heroin addict, ex-friend. Why do I hate her so much? She never wronged me any more than I wronged her. I began exploring this, and guess what? ED isn’t whispering anymore. Seems there was more there than I thought. Sanity is telling ED to shut the phuck up! I don’t need you anymore. Don’t you know? I am sane now. So-when will I be recovered? I guess that's just it. Recovery is a life long process, for all of us. That doesn't mean it's not tangible, just that it is a process. And sanity, well sanity as they say about another fleeting condition, is in the eyes of the beholder.

Who's Afraid of Emily Post? by Kristen Herbert Oh, how I wish I could just yell that sometimes. In many situations I seem to have this inability to say the word "No". Not sure why I have this block. I don't know if it is out of fear or insecurity but somehow I just say yes. WHY!?! Why am I so scared of saying what I want instead of what I think is right. As little girls, many of us are taught to be agreeable and look pretty. I think that these beliefs are carried over into our adult lives. We grow up thinking that it is our job to make sure everyone else gets what it is they need, but in the process, we neglect ourselves. We are taught from a very young age that we need to be pleasing. Little girls are taught not to eat too much. Little girls are taught not to desire too much and not to complain too much. We are taught to put on that "I'm fine" mask and go through life like that. We carry the emotional weight of the world in our hands, wind, rain or snow, and play it off with wink and smile. Let's face it, we are the stronger sex. But now I fine myself faced with the question, why can't I have the cookie? Are we better people for depriving ourselves? What would happen if we had a second helping of birthday cake? Or screamed out loud in a public place when the Giants got their asses kicked? Emily Post is dead. So can't we bury her for Christ's sake! As a little girl we get many of these messages about what a woman is supposed to do from the women in our own families. I think that many women can relate to hearing either their mother or grandmother commenting on what they give up for their family. Yet, they do it and that is considered to be the sign of a good woman, right? It goes a step farther in that a "good woman" will not only do this, but she will be happy to do it for her family. A "good woman" wants to give everything she has to her family. The men in these families are taught the same message. They are taught that there are different sets of standards for little boys than there are for little girls. They are taught to look for a woman that will do what mom did. They are taught that a good woman will sacrifice her own needs to take care of everyone else. What they don't realize is that even if they find this woman, it just means that he has found a woman that is comfortable wearing her "I'm just fine, I don't need anything" mask.

January 9, 2001

Resolutions
by Sarah Mason

We've all made them. After the last bit of tinsel is swept away the scale suddenly takes the place of the Christmas tree on the living room rug. And we are faced with the pressure and the challenge imposed on us year after year - New Year's Resolutions.

Many will turn to the gym for refuge and chain themselves to a treadmill with the assurance that sweat is the path to salvation. Mind the body, save the soul.

How is it that we continue to miss the point?

It's a new year! And it means literally that - a new start. A new chapter in our lives. What a gift. Think about that. Every year we are awarded the opportunity to start a new yet we waste it on work out clothes and Taebo. We convince ourselves that restriction of all our past indulgences is the only way we can make amends. Chocolate makers shiver as the clock strikes twelve on December 31st until they are reassured by cupid come February that they are still loved.

I admit that I fall victim to this trap myself. Always assuming that if I set my sights on diminishing my waste line, my problems will disappear. But that's the problem. Especially for those of us with eating disorders. Restrictions are not the answer.

We are a society that believes that overindulgence in any form is bad. Thus the ritual of reducing these pleasures every January 1. But what if we changed that. What if instead of finding a way to punish ourselves we found a way to applaud our appetite for success, and food, and music, and wine, and love, and peace, and life.

So this year my New Year's resolution is to be true to myself. To follow my heart each day even in the smallest of ways. To commit to myself and my dreams. To take care of my needs and to nurture them. Gone are my days of resolution lists that have only succeeded in stifling my creativity and adding to my insecurities.

As a very wise man once said, "to thine ownself be true." It was either Mel Gibson or the guy that played Polonius. Just kiddin. But, it makes sense. Be true to yourself. And the rest will follow.

Here are some more thoughts on resolutions from Jodie Beuder.

2001 Resolutions – Do You Make Resolutions Every Year?
by Jodi Beuder

I’m a Gemini. Maybe that’s why I’m completely torn about whether New Year’s Resolutions are good to make or not…

…I believe New Years Resolutions can be good. What better way to set new goals for yourself than when a New Year begins. Wipe the slate clean! Get those things done! Do something new! Make yourself a better person! Why not take the time to write down things you’ve said you’d like to do. You don’t have to be hard on yourself or create out-of-reach expectations.

…I believe that New Years Resolutions can be bad. Why would you want to add extra pressure on yourself to be a better person? You’re good now! Why not be proud of who you are already and make a list of things you love about yourself and the things around you? Who said we should make resolutions anyway? Did society create this process some time ago to let everyone know we’re never good enough?

It goes back and forth for me. So this year, instead of wracking my brain to decide which one process or list works for me, and instead of letting another year go by and doing nothing, I decided to do both and to share these lists with you.

Sappy? Cliché lists? Maybe. But I feel so good about getting this down on paper – and it wasn’t easy. And now, when I look back at my Resolution list and start to feel down on myself for not achieving that goal or making a step towards that goal each day, I can take a look at my Declaration list and remember that life is as good as I make it and feel about it. What works for you?

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Website designed and administered by Sarah Mason, sarah @ paysonroad.com. Website Logo and Graphics Designed by Tahara Hasan. Payson Road was created Copyright © June 2, 2000. All rights reserved. Copyright © 2000-5 [Payson Road]. All rights reserved. Revised: January 10, 2006.