Times.... They Are A-Changing

I loved their honey mustard. 
I frequently enjoyed the waffle fries.  Mix a little mayo with the ketchup and dip away... yes sir.
The chocolate milk shakes?  Man, completely delicious.

Then I stopped eating meat.

I haven't eaten there for over a year.  I've often reflected on the succulent chicken patty... sandwiched between two pieces of smushed yet warm bun, with that nice little sunken indention of the dill pickle slices.  You know, it makes the part of the bun green where it settled?  Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.

So good.  So yummy.

But it's so 365 days ago. 

This was a decision based solely on my own leanings toward vegetarianism.  I have my reasons.  I'll keep them to myself at this time as my vegetarianism is not the purpose of this posting.

As a matter of fact, I'm still trying to figure what the point of this entry actually is. 

It's not news that Chic-Fil-A is making headlines due to the company's stance on gay-marriage.  Just about every location in the Richmond/Tri-Cities area hosted lines upon lines of folks just waiting to sink their teeth into the very same sandwich I was once so fond of. 

And I can't say I blame them.  It's a good sandwich.

A very good sandwich.

And I find that it's a shame, even for this meatless eater, that the sandwich is now shadowed by the perhaps "soured" flavor of it's president's political/religious beliefs.  I mean, it's not the sandwich's fault is it?  And what about the waffle fries?  Should they be punished?

I know it's not about the chicken.  Nor is it about the fact that the very same restaurant is closed on Sundays (which may or may not be for the purpose of religious observation though it's mostly safe to assume that it is). 

I feel the issue we have here is Freedom of Speech, which, without apology, I support 100 %.

It is my opinion that the moment this freedom is questioned/challenged, it is of utmost importance that every American(regardless of political party and personal beliefs) should immediately pull out the picket signs and stand firm.  To threaten this precious freedom would be a sort of regression beyond sexuality and contraception; beyond one's interpretation of "family values" "Christian principles"; beyond religion, race, creed and the like.

It is the oppression of our voice.

Your voice.

My voice.

The distraction, I feel, is in this hubbub... this attention... this energy from either side given to this man's comments.

I get the fear and agitation on either side of this issue.  This is a very personal and private topic for some, a religious issue for others.  But what, pray tell, is really being addressed by this display?  That a company's president chooses to uphold "traditional family values"?  Is this really new? 

Probably not.  As a matter of fact, you probably work with someone who believes completely differently than you.  Your kids play with the children of political polar opposites from you.  Some of these people you actually like, click with, get along with. 

I've been to two PRIDE festivals.  Those within the safe perimeter of the LBGT gathering may not look or act quite as one might think.  If you've never been, go.  Many look normal.  A lot are heterosexual.  Whole straight families with 2.5 children and a dog and cat attend as a show of support and solidarity.  These displays of nuclear family-ism at an "alternative life style" festival would suggest to me that "traditional family values" aren't threatened at all.  Family values can very much be the same, even if they look different. 

Along the outer perimeter typically stands those who picket, using their freedom of speech to articulate (though it's more yelling) their views, typically religious in nature.  But here's the thing... there's no communication.  And that goes for either side.  There is staring; yelling; mocking; and venomous slurs that are tossed back and forth.  There is no real conversation, no attempt at understanding and no interest in building any sort of rapport.

So it would seem very much the same with the debaucle of the tasty chicken sandwich's president.  He has his beliefs.  I have mine.  And as citizens of the same the nation I would also like to think that we could agree to disagree and still dine together at the same table... much like the story of Jesus and his 12 smelly buddies (or "disciples" as they are known in most Christian circles... but let's face it, they were probably a little ripe... which also further supports why they enjoyed the social luxury of wine... yes, I said wine).

Who knows, perhaps it could be in such a setting, maybe even within the very threshold of this corporation's premises, that a conversation could take place? a relationship could begin? and understanding might even ensue? 

Or perhaps standing in line, sandwiched between the very one's who wouldn't be caught dead at your cousin's gay wedding?  That doesn't mean you have to convince them that gay is okay... it simply means that those with varying opinions are, at the very least, still human. 

Very black and white in thinking?  Maybe.

But human. 

I'm not quite sure who needs Jesus more.

Sigh.  If it's a pipe dream then so be it.  I believe in hope and I believe in humanity... even when we continue to treat each other like assholes and claim to always be owners of the "Truth". 

It is my human right to dream this.

And dream it I shall.  If the lion is truly to lay down with the lamb... then for the love of All That Is... someone make the first move. 

Timeless Words

A patient offered me these words of widsom yesterday; a poem that she offered to her own dying mother over a decade ago. Now this lovely individual is herself in hospice care, facing the uncertain future with courage, bravery, integrity and love. She shared this poem with me... and it left me breathless. I would like to share it with you in hopes of you, also, finding a certain blessing and encouragement. Be blessed today, tomorrow and always.

DESIDERATA

(By Max Ehrmann, American poet and dramatist, 1872-1945)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they, too, have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither by cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirits to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you concieve Him to be and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

Love to you.

Refiltered Interface

There are plenty of sides to each and every story. And there are many voices that are loud and
domineering in its retelling. But no one can tell my story, not even those who have been in it with me. Only I can do that... me... the supposed coward of quietude.

I confess that over the years, starting with puberty, I have had enormous boughts of passive-aggressive behavior right up there with melancholia, restlessness and the occasional weepy display. As a young adult and not always the best at communicating my feelings, I have always been painfully aware of my struggles and wished to "fix" them... only to create a deeper sense
of failure.

With the turning over of a new leaf in my thirties, I have worked very hard on being honest with myself, learning, growing, confessing and breaking free from deeply embedded thought patterns that always made me the victim in terms of self-worth.

With this new journey, this new page, I have refrained, at times, by sheer willpower from behaving in a way that would create lots and lots of ripples. With the use of exercise, creating new goals for myself, meditation, journaling and immersing myself in other types of creative work, I have provided for myself a means to redirect attention so as not to give in to the dark urge to react in way that would, in fact, create a lot of damn ripples. Or perhaps it's my ego
thinking I would create any ripple at all... at any rate... I like placid. Let's keep the waters placid.

Its not a question of whether or not someone does or doesn't deserve it. It's a question of my own integrity. A question of forgiveness... and that's something that I'm still in the process of doing.

While I feel no joy or pleasure in what one may consider to be a "lack of a support system", I do not for one moment feel that it is somehow my responsibility to offer reprieve. It's not about blame or choosing sides. It's not about supporting or not supporting.

See, I believe one's biggest sense of support is found in the person looking back at him/her... in the mirror... that shiny thing that needs to be cleaned on a regular basis. Yes, even EYE have had to learn this. Once this s put into practice, it also puts things into perspective... puts the power ack into the hands of the reflection, and releases one from the opinions of others.

It's precisely the reaction that reveals the fogginess of the mirror.

Here's the thing: I have my integrity. I have honesty. I have nothing to hide, no desire to destroy... okay well maybe that's a little far-fetched. So like I said, I have nothing to hide: not from myself, my family, my friends, my work, my self... so please, refrain from holding me responsible for one's personal experience of discomfort. I have no problem giving freedom. I would kindly ask the same in return.

Logic is not simply a term used to fit one's own way of thinking. Logic brings with it a certain objectivity. It's simple: Thesis + Antithesis = Synthesis. If the Synthesis emerged months ago, born of a mutually-reached decision, then I am certainly clueless as to how Logic uses after-thought and anxiety to change the answer. In spite of the good (or bad) humored picking for having less than ideal common sense, I did learn somethingin college.

I've also the mathematic skills to realize when two parties each pay half towards a common goal. I am an excellent record keeper thank you very much. It's all in writing. Allow me to reassure the troubled mind that halfsies were not accomplished in the very least. To throw the term "responsible" around like a battered woman is not becoming. I moved out of the way, out of your hair, and continued on. Same please?

Luke-warm venting isn't for everyone. Because I tend to think before I speak, there is an element of cool and calm with a little bit of heart. Real human lives are affected by words and actions. There is power in language. I respect that. I respect myself. And I respect a person's ability to make their own decisions. I respect follow through, committement and individual freedom. In all of my luke-warmness, my requisite is this: don't go away mad.

Just go away.

Human Duct Work: The Machine

To be literal, "human duct work" can be understood as follows:

Whether it's a shot of hot anger or a chilling cold shoulder, every human has a duct system; that system of contrived passage ways from the ear lobes to the drum. The communicated item then participates in the synapsis (or is it synapses?) of neurons and nerves and blood and all of the other stuff that make your brain work. From the brain it flows to the understanding mode of brain activity.

Now see, this can get tricky in the duct work. I would argue that for some, it flows straight to the heart. When this happens, the communicated item tends to be interpreted through the lenses of "feeling" or "past experience." Due to the reactive nature of this duct work, I might call this the "reactionary venting."

For others, it directs itself to the mental/logical capacity of the duct work... weighing odds, ends, pros, cons and calculating the response necessary or unnecessary, using the 5 senses. Less apt to "take it personally" the logical aspect may likewise come across as harsh or less than tactful. Due to its cool nature, I might call this the "venting via report."

It therefore seems to me that there are various ways in which to make the best use of the thermostat prior to the "air's" release. Some would say that Facebook and/or Twitter might not be the best choice of action, while others would argue that expression is as expression does. Meh, to each his/her own.

I would vouch for the closed circulation of journaling in private or conversing with a trusted friend. Whatever creates the least amount of ripples suits me just fine. Some have called me spineless; I prefer meek. Some have called me a coward; I prefer peace keepter. Others have called me names of the derrogatory nature that I shall refrain from repeating. I prefer... well... I could settle for coward. I am a "coward" in the face of confrontation. I don't like arguing. I don't like uncomfortable situations. And I certainly don't like confrontation.

However, even cowards such as I reach a place of reactionary intensity. So with use of a bit more public forum, I shall, myself, share a bit of venting that is hopefully a pleasant blend of hot and cold.

Stay tuned for a luke warm experience....

It's A Shrink Wrap

In my young adult life time, I have had encounters with a total of four counselors/psychologists. My choice to visit the "shrink" was indeed just that - a choice that I made for myself.

No I didn't grow up in an abusive home or suffer severe trauma. My parents never got divorced; and if they ever exchanged a cross word with one another it was always carefully out of earshot from my brothers and I. My childhood is filled with rich memories of summers with my cousins and holiday meals with my grandparents. The only behavior that even remotely resembles abuse would be the occasional smackdown received from my brothers per usual (most call this sibling rivalry).

Growing up however, I simply didn't know how to communicate my own fears/worries/anxieties very openly due to my own hellacious knack for self-sabotage. Eventually, as a young adult, I felt more at ease sorting through the demise with someone if they were paid to listen to me. And even with the exchange of a copay, it wasn't an easy thing to articulate.

I've often considered this to be a curious thing about myself, particularly because of the very line of work I am in. Then again, perhaps that's the irony of it all... I listen because I want to be listened to. How narcissistic that seems? Until I realized that to be listened to is actually, believe it or not, a basic human need; even for those of us who think we don't need it.

My initial decision to "shrink it up" took place in college. What I know and understand now to be anxiety and overwhelming yet vague amounts of insecurity, were at the time, thoughts and feelings that dictated my very existence. I needed a safe place to talk, share and be fully realized into the stigma of "mental." After all, taking the plunge to "talk" to a professional certainly makes you mental, right? It has been through my process of "shrinkage" conversations, that I realized that I am so incredibly normal.

Exhibit A: Only after about 3 visits with Counselor 1, I became the listener. Sometimes, while learning about active listening, body language and quiet ques in my graduate courses, it's probably not the best scenario to apply these when visiting with a counselor who's just as human as you are. I mean, this guy was quirky, socially awkward and just plain odd. That last visit I had with him, I walked out realizing that I just gave this guy advice... and I'm paying HIM to counsel.

So I stopped.

Exhibit B: Counselor 2 discovered in our visits that I am a Minister of sorts. This lead to what I like to call, "The Confessional." This happens sometimes with people who, upon learning my trade, morph into "sinners" and feel the need to either apologize, share excuses or clam up completely. However, not being fully schooled in this response as a young 26 year old, I was offering active listening to my counselor, as she shared with me childhood stories of religious baggage, dogmatic abuses, and the general sense of "I'll never be enough."

Wait... there's a reason why I pay to talk... because I don't really elsehwere. And I don't really here.

So I stopped.

Exhibit C: Counselor 3 was an intellectual of sorts; categorizing and implementing outlines for a "healthier' behavorial practice. I can appreciate this. However, a conflict of interest arose upon the discovery that this counselor also provided shrinkage services to various folks I knew... the very folks I was having the most difficulty with. Meh... safe place gone buh bye.

So I stopped.

Last and Final Exhibit D: Counselor 4 socked it to me. She was a sounding board that reflected back to me the very normalcies I presented. I was bemused by my own lack of awareness that I was aware. Basically, I paid her for the validation that I am human, flawed, wonderful and in need of a little time to heal. Only, I wasn't giving myself credit that I had it in me. This wonderful lady offered me tools to be simply human.

Tools that I have encouraged in others.

Tools that we all have access to.

And with that... I stopped. Grateful, and free of co-pays.

Deep Thoughts with Rachel Luck

Every morning I am intentional about setting aside some time for meditative purposes. If you are thinking that meditation is a practice that requires incense, soft music and sitting indian style for an hour, I would invite you to reconsider.

See, Rachel's school of meditation varies from day to day. Sometimes it IS sitting indian style listening to music; but not for an hour. Maybe 10 or 15 minutes. Sometimes I am sitting on the floor just enjoying the company of my dogs. Sometimes it's sipping on my coffee on the back porch. Meditation, for me, is less about the "act" and more about the focus.

For those of you who don't know what an inner dialogue is, you will quickly learn that you have one when you focus on being in the moment. I'm not talking about distractions, I'm talking about the conversations you have with yourself; sometimes the thoughts that you aren't even aware that you have.

The joy in this practice is not only learning to be more self-aware of what you are telling yourself, but also to develop the skill of looking at your inner dialogue with a sort of objective eye.

I would like share my morning meditation with you.

Ok Rachel, let's focus on the breath. Feel the coolness of the breath going into the nostril, and the warmth going out. Man this is nice. I have come such a long way from months ago. I couldn't even sit still much less focus on breathing. Whoops... let's focus on breathing.

Oooh, its chilly outside when i'm sitting still like this. Should I have put on another coat? Breathe Rachel.

Okay fine, open up your eyes and just observe the tree, the sky, the rutted backyard that appears much more aesthetically pleasing in the dark. See? One with your little piece of nature. Those traffic lights are really bright.

Breathe.

Ah yes, I so enjoy being present and in the moment in my sacred mornings. Is that someone pulling in my driveway? Huh... it's just a car getting on the off ramp. That's odd. I've never noticed that before.

Breathe.

Breathing... in... out... calm... relax. I just feel so loved by the universe. MAN that traffic light is distracting! Where is Lilly? Oh I'm sure she's in the yard and I just can't see her because it's dark. I am really humbled that I have grown so much spiritually. I wonder if it is like an age thing? I mean, Liz in Eat Pray Love was in her mid-thirties. I know friends who have talked about life-changing events in their thirties.

Er, Jesus was killed at 32 right? That's my age. Dude that blows.

Done. My only reprieve is laughing; at myself. It's a great thing that I am the only one who can hear my own thoughts. I would offend so many people without the intent of seeming irreverent or insensitive. Luckily, when you can see the humor in yourself, it makes every meditation an adventure.

I'll do it again tomorrow.

So you call yourself 2011.

I call you "Year of Succubus."

However, it is not in vain. I have learned a lot from you, what with the changes that not only I have experienced personally, but also in the changes and adjustments that I have observed in the lives of those around me. Whether it's loss of employment, the loss of important people in our lives, loss of identity, loss of hope, loss of respect for corporate institutons (hello Occupy!), I have experienced some and observed others.

Once upon a time, I would be the very first to say that everything happens for a reason. And while I suppose I could still say it, I also realize that I would only be saying it to make myself feel better. Assuming that everything has a "reason" provides, for me, a sense that everything has its context and place. Everything has its label on the shelf for later reference and reflection.

On this side of things, I believe a more truthful statement is not so much that everything happens for a reason; but rather that things happen. And when "things" happen, the reason as to "why" or "why not" is less important than the response we give to it.

I have come to the understanding that it is in my response, my reaction, that I have discovered the most about Rachel. And it is only Rachel who can do anything about Rachel. No matter where I go, Rachel always seem to be there. No matter what mirror I look in or what reflection I see while window shopping, I am constantly reminded that I am always there with Rachel. Distractions help lift the immediacy of things, but distractions will fade away soon enough. And what am I stuck with?

Rachel.

Fortunately, as 2011 comes to a close, I no longer feel "stuck" with myself. After a series of hard lessons, brutal honesty and an ongoing awareness that I have tremendous room to grow, I have actually begun to be "okay" with me. I have felt some scarey things this year... things that I didn't know I was capable of feeling. Things that I knew I could not ignore or else I would rot from the inside out. I gave myself permission to feel and be human. I gave myself permission to address all of the junk in my proverbial trunk... to yell and kick and scream within the safe confines of my own santuary. I have learned to breath and focus and shake off the cancer of worry and anxiety over situations that haven't even happened. I have learned to be present, to be in the moment, and manifest a sense of peace and calm in a way that allows me to fully participate in the life around me.

I am more aware of the interactions with others. I am aware of boundaries and responsibility for my own actions as opposed to absorbing the daggers of another. I have learned that is it possible to be free from the muck and myre of self-loathing and the vague sense of always being "less-than." I have come to terms with the cliche that the truth shall set you free. And this truth begins with my own relationship to myself.

I have learned to be Rachel with all of her quirks and mannerisms and talents. I have learned that I am passionate about many things and a natural optimist. I have learned to be aware of myself... to find my voice... and to find a balance that begins with me.

It is precisely this balance that I choose to use as my surfboard on the wave into 2012. I wish to shake off the dust of 2011, to wash myself clean of the grudges and the heartaches, and surf on into the wild blue yonder.

I hope you will join me.