Judgement

When taking a break from my writing or school work, I tend to check out the news feed on the social media site that I regularly go to in order to allow my fried brain a much-needed fifteen minute break. There is something so soothing about watching a cat play piano or any other delightful video that I use to distract myself from life. One real life Bambie and Thumper video in to my Facebook feed, I come across a post that was posted by an old friend from high school with whom I have lost almost all contact with. I noticed that she posted a text message conversation so for some reason beyond me- possibly a mixture of being nosey and curious, I read the conversation. 

                My old friend is a single mother who is a hard worker wanting to create a better future for both her and her son. This conversation was between her and a man whom she had only spoken to a few times before apparently. He began this conversation bragging about how amazing he was and the amount of money that he made. He clearly stated the exact and disappointingly unimpressive number later on in the conversation. He spoke about his high intellect and knowledge while littering the conversation with spelling and syntactic errors that were so egregious that I cringed just looking at them. For someone like me who isn’t an ideal speller herself to cringe that means the spelling was like watching a train wreck slowly, over and over. It wasn’t bad enough that he arrogantly bragged about how amazing he was and stated in graphic painstaking detail all of the reasons why, but after she told him that she was not interested in dating anyone, he turned around and sent her a topless image of himself with the words, “Your welcome” underneath. I wanted so badly to correct the “your,” to “You’re” and the fact that I couldn’t made me itch all over. There is nothing I cannot stand more than arrogance and someone feeling the need to brag about themselves to make another person feel lower. It literally makes me wince. This man was not only arrogant but he was also extremely disrespectful. He belittled her for the job that she had and claimed that in order to become great like him, she would require his wisdom and knowledge. She handled herself in a respectful and lady-like manner which I applaud her for because I can’t say (with my sarcastic personality and choice vocabulary that my mother compares to diarrhea) that I would have been able to do the same.

                After reading these messages from him over and over I began to feel the inner fuel inside of me ignite and burn. I saw him as an arrogant dick who not only deserved a trophy in “Douchery” but also happened to be a living, mouth-breathing embodiment of every character flaw that I abhor shabbily wrapped up in human skin. I was so irritated that I felt like my eyeballs were going to burn right out of my skull. 

Then it hit me, what I was doing is wrong. I allowed my inner self to judge him without knowing him. Yes, what he said was ridiculously inane to the point where my brain wants to melt out of my ears but I don’t know him and I have no right to judge him.  The early results are in and they aren’t good, but perhaps I lacked enough information to get a complete portrait. 

             Often arrogance of this magnitude is really an outward manifestation of insecurity and a cry for acceptance. I don’t know what his background is or where he came from. Someone who is truly secure and happy with themselves won’t feel the need to put someone else down in order to make themselves feel better. It is easy to judge people that we don’t know based on the 1% that we find out about them but that doesn’t mean that our judgements are true. In the end, maybe they are just scared of rejection or don’t feel good enough about themselves so they feel the need to jump up on a pedestal and blow their own horns as loudly as possible in hopes that you will view them higher than they view themselves. The pedestal is often times just a mask and beneath that mask is someone that is truly hurting.    

Melting Cupcakes

I was having a conversation with my father yesterday about the massive cake that he recently bought at a bake sale to support the church that he attends. For some reason it reminded me of an encounter that I had last year.

It was a hot summer day in Corona, California. Not the kind of pleasant heat that you would expect beautiful southern California to have considering it is known to have 80 degree weather most of the time. No, this was a grueling kind of heat where you look over the surface of the parking lot you see shimmering heat waves rising from the asphalt. Stepping out of my car felt like Satan himself was slapping me in the face. I immediately began my journey to the entrance of the grocery store fantasizing about air conditioning and ice cream.  Right before I plunged into the refreshingly air-conditioned haven I was stopped by a little girl with large blue eyes and straight brown hair.

“Excuse me ma’am,” she said politely while wiping away the dripping sweat off of her brow. “Would you like to buy a homemade cupcake for a dollar?”

In my head I was arguing with myself, “Do I want a chocolate piece of heaven? Yes. Do I need the extra calories? No. But, chocolate. But it’s hot. Aren’t you listening to your inner voice- chocolate…”

So of course being the sucker that I am I said yes to buying a sinful temptation of heavenly glory called, “Cupcake.” I walked up to the grandparents who had set up an old foldout table along with box of homemade cupcakes covered in sprinkles. I commended them for teaching their grandchild entrepreneurial skills and proceeded to purchase two cupcakes. (I meant to purchase just one but I mean come on… they are cupcakes. Fresh, homemade cupcakes, people. Any logical person knows that cupcakes with sprinkles are mind blowing, and it was for charity.  It’s easy to have a big heart where charity and chocolate are so deliciously combined.)

The grandparents smiled and thanked me for my purchase. They explained to me that they had been there since the early morning trying to help their granddaughter raise money for her best friend who was just diagnosed with cancer. My stomach sunk when I heard this.  

I asked them if they could hold onto the cupcakes for me until after I got out of the grocery store. They agreed and I thanked them, walking into the building filled with air-conditioned glory.  That first blast of chilled air was like diving head-first into a cool swimming pool.  Oh God, it felt good.

About ten minutes later, I came back out just in time to see the little girl walk up to a man, only to have him rudely wave her off as if she was a fly bothering him in this scorching heat. There is nothing that boils my blood more than to see someone be so rude to a little girl who just wanted to help her friend.

Walking up to the elderly couple, I looked down at the cupcakes and asked them, “How many are left?”

The grandmother smiled and said there were 19 out of the 30 they baked left and she promised her granddaughter that they wouldn’t leave until they were all sold. 

“I’ll take all of them.” I said without thinking about what am I possibly going to do with 21 cupcakes. “Thank you for teaching your granddaughter to be a good person.”

The elderly couple looked startled and asked me if I was sure. I nodded my head, thinking about the heat and that rude man who waved off the little girl as If she was a pest. Handing over the money, the Grandparents packed the remaining cupcakes in a box and handed me a box full of sugary delights. They thanked me profusely, obviously relieved to be able to get out of the heat and I smiled and walked towards my car.

 In order to get rid of these cupcakes, I began handing them out for free, with groceries still wrapped around my arm, in front of the grocery store, until I couldn’t stand the heat anymore. I have to admit, that little girl made an impact on my life. She was selfless enough to stand out in the middle of the scorching summer heat and sell cupcakes she personally made to help her friend. She didn’t receive any profit out of this because every dollar she put in her fund jar went straight to her best friend and selling those cupcakes was not an easy task. That little girl put herself out there, asking every person who entered that grocery store if they would buy a cupcake, getting rejection after rejection in the heat but remaining buoyant and indefatigable. I respect her and her grandparents who supported her fully and she is an example of how we as human beings should be: Selfless and with a pure heart, not expecting anything in return for the good deeds that we do. 

Bucky the Human Slayer

                Today I went out to a horse ranch to train a horse named Kiowa. I was told that this horse is somewhat lazy but generally a good horse, so I expected little to no problems during this lesson. I figured that I would be done within an hour and then able to go home and finish writing one of the projects that I am currently working on.

                Today was actually a very beautiful day, one where many butterflies lazily fluttered from flower to flower around the ranch.  I parked my red Volkswagen in front of a large male peacock who was resting in shade of the barn. The golden sun warmed my skin as I got out of my car and promptly almost tripped over a chicken who daringly refused to move. The chicken, startled by my stumble, gave me a dirty look and clucked angrily in my direction. I am just going to assume that he was cussing me out in chicken; you know, angrily calling me a “motherclucker,” because he was giving me the crazy eyes while doing it.  After all, he was there first. 

                After grabbing the halter and lead rope from the tack room, I make my way over to the field covered in tall weeds to look for the brown and white painted quarter horse named Kiowa. Ironically, the horse was nowhere to be seen but I did catch a glimpse of a fairly large coyote about fifty feet away peeking through the weeds. I knew it was probably more scared of me than I was of it, so I went into the field and began searching for the horse, hoping for a little luck. It was like Kiowa had an invisibility cloak on. How the hell a full grown quarter horse is able to play hide-and-seek in an open field is beyond me, but next thing I know, I am at the opposite side of the field fighting the combined forces of bugs, weeds, and thorns while Kiowa is waiting nonchalantly for me by the entrance that I started my safari, bobbing his head in mockery while watching me stumble through the brush in amusement.

                I made my way back to him, feeling like I was playing a strange form of hop scotch from all of the piles of poop I was trying (and failing) not to step in, and finally put the halter over his neck. Something his Kiowa’s eyes seemed to be saying to me, “Did you enjoy that?  Was that uncomfortable?  It looked uncomfortable.  Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you right here all this time.” I lead him back to the red barn containing all of the tack and took out the very heavy western saddle that was provided. After grooming Kiowa and putting on all of his gear, I brought him to the arena, shoved my foot in the stirrup, grabbed the horn, and threw my other leg over.

                At first we began with a steady walk. I brought him over, under, and through, a variety of obstacles to help him get over any fear. Surprisingly, even though he isn’t well trained, he did this without hesitation and with ease. All was going smoothly until I asked him to trot. As soon as I squeezed my legs together and saw the way his ears laid back on his head, I knew I was about to get some serious attitude. Kiowa did not appreciate me expecting him to go at any speed beyond “walk.”  After all, it was a hot summer day, and Kiowa had no plans for the afternoon.  He was in no rush. I, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about what he wanted and expected him to go faster when asked. Since Kiowa didn’t believe that he should go any faster, he began to buck.

                I’ve dealt with bucking horses before and let me tell you, they are a pain in the ass. The best way to handle a bucking horse is to not get off and keep going. If you get off of a horse when they are misbehaving, they will learn that if they misbehave, they get their way, so they will continue to be a jerk. By the end of the training lesson, both Kiowa and I were dripping in sweat and I pulled several muscles in my back but we ended on a positive note and there was a lot of licking and chewing on Kiowa’s part.

                A bucking horse reminds me of life. Sometimes you go through something that you think is going to be easy and smooth and then you realize that the situation turns out far different then you thought it would but just because you are on a “bucking horse” doesn’t mean that you give up and get off. It means that you need to work through it because in the end, the situation will teach you an important lesson. Don’t give up on something just because it is harder than you thought it would be. If you just pull up your boot straps and keep going, you never know where you will end up and in the end maybe all of that work you put in will teach you an important lesson and take you to places you only dreamt you would go.

Dream Wars

                A few weeks ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine in California about change. It was a sad time because we were saying our last goodbyes before my big move. She expressed to me that she didn’t want me to leave and when she said these words I felt my stomach twist and blinked back the tears that were forming at the corners of my eyes.

                “I have to leave.” I told her while looking into her watering brown eyes.

                She looked down at the ground with deep sadness in her eyes and a solemn voice asking, “Why? I thought you liked California?”

                I felt my jaw tense as I thought back to all of the amazing memories I have now stored away in my mind. California helped me find myself in many ways.

“I do. I love California and the people that I have met here and I am going to miss everyone that I have met but the thing is, I came here because I felt like I was supposed to and I am now leaving because I am supposed to. I don’t want to leave but I have to leave.”

                “Aren’t you scared?” she asked me.

                “Yeah, I honestly am. However, sometimes you have to do things even if you are scared shitless.”

                Often times we don’t run after our dreams because it means change. I have had a lot of change happen in my life and I am equally uncomfortable with every change. In fact, I admit change is scary. When I initially moved to California, I was afraid. It was the furthest move that I had ever done and I drove across an entire continent without a job, without furniture, and with only the items that I could fit in my old beat up Honda Accord with transmission issues.  My dog was in the back seat and my cat was in the front. But I knew I was supposed to go to California. I didn’t know why but I knew I needed to. I was so scared when I moved started driving that I cried almost every day for a week. The closest family member was about 2,000 miles from where I would be staying and there is nothing scarier than to realize that you are doing something completely alone. I didn’t submit to my fears, even though every ounce in me wanted to. Because of this adventure, I met life-changing people. I was able to experience the action of love from complete strangers and able to meet the rarest form of individuals- genuinely good people.  

                Now here I am, moving across the United States to a state that I never have even visited before. Yes, I am scared because change is scary and my mind is doused in the terrible “What if’s”, but I am taking things one step at a time. I am not just following my dream, I am running after it as fast and hard as I can with determination crushing the fear that burns within me.

 I am writing this blog for everyone out there not following their dream because they are afraid. Perhaps you are afraid to fail. If you are not following your dream, you already have failed. Not succeeding isn’t failure, it just means that the universe is adjusting your path a little bit. Failure comes when you allow fear to inhibit you from doing what is deep inside of your soul. Only then are you truly failing yourself. You are currently alive in this life. Take your dreams and turn them into a reality or at least fight for that reality. It is scary and sometimes it means a giant move and a lot of change, but in the end whatever outcome that will happen is supposed to happen. For me personally, I would rather be on my death bed and say, “I tried and I fought for my dreams”, instead of wondering, “What if?”

Not just a funnel cake

Yesterday was quite a day. All day I felt like I was running around like a maniac getting things done without a moment to breathe. Finally my father called me and asked if I could run an errand for him. I tell him yes, because I know how stressed he is at work and I really want to help alleviate some of his strain while I am here in Tennessee. As the conversation was coming to an end, his voice suddenly perked up and he asked me in a thick southern accent, “Do you wanna see a ball game tonight?” My brain was saying, “Do I want to watch a group of men hit a ball with a stick for hours? No.” However, my lips said, “Sure! Sounds like fun.” I didn’t say yes because I have a problem with saying no. I have no issue saying, “No.” In fact it is one of my favorite words. However, love is an action and not just a word that you spit out when it is convenient. I love my father so I am more than willing to power through several hours of my life and force myself to like overpaid men standing around all night not hitting a ball with a stick, and enjoy myself and his company. I have learned in my life that if you come into something determined to have fun, you will end up having fun even if it is not your thing. Pretty much you have to make it your thing for the time.

As the late evening approached I made sure to eat a large bowl of rice pasta and finish it off with a cake. I wanted to make sure that I would not be hungry during the game and boy, was I stuffed when I had finished eating. An hour later, my father comes home and rushes me out the door saying, “Hurry up! I don’t wanna be late!” We hop into his new shiny silver car and zoom over to the stadium filled with country boys and southern girls, rootin’ and tootin’ with mugs of bubbly cold beer sloshing in their hands. My father turns to me bright-eyed and full of excitement and asked me if I wanted nachos while excitedly pointing to the stand containing numerous sodium-packed items of pure gluttonous joy. Looking up into his big brown eyes I thought to myself, “I guess I can fit nachos in my already full stomach without getting sick. I’ll just have to eat slowly.” So I replied with, “SOUNDS GREAT!” In the most enthusiastic voice that I could muster up. We pass by the nacho stand and I watch my very ADHD father see a pizza sign, his eyes light up even more. “Girl.” He says to me in a thick southern accent while licking his lips and gazing at the giant slice of plastic pizza over a tiny stand containing trapped humans serving slices. “You have GOT to try their pizza. Every time I go here they always run out and I have to get a hot dog. Their hot dogs are nasty. Let’s get some pizza.”

“I guess I can fit a slice of pizza in my stomach.” I think to myself as I look down at my stomach and imagine it begin to expand till I pop like a balloon. “Okay! But then no nachos.” I think my father misunderstood me when I said the words, “No nachos,” interpreting it as a question because he immediately responds with, “No! It’s okay! You will get both!” Thanks for spoiling your little girl, dad. There is absolutely no way in hell that my tiny body can fit both pizza and nachos inside of me after eating pasta and cake. That is my version of going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and eating all of it, literally. I had to quickly let my dad know that I can’t handle both nachos and a slice of pizza so I told him that I will just stick with the pizza. He nodded without really listening to me due to the fact that the deep dish pan pizza was calling out to him like a siren on the rocks. As soon as we get our pizza, we sat down in our seats and gazed onto the light-drenched baseball diamond as players from both teams displayed the convulsing movements and contortions that they like to call “warm ups.” Some of this movements made me laugh out loud because of the extent of ridiculousness that was exhibited while maintaining an earnest face that seemed to say, “Look at how awesome I look when I chew on my tobacco and how far I can spit. I am SO cool.”

My father quickly stands up and tells me he will be right back. This should have been a warning sign to me but I was too distracted by the row of women and gay men in front of me taking more selfies of themselves than Kim Kardashian does on a good hair day. In fact I was impressed by the length of time they were able to obsess and take and post selfies of themselves. (Hint, it lasted the entire game and bonus! They brought selfie sticks.)

My dad returned more excited than ever with two MASSIVE funnel cakes covered in powdered sugar. I am pretty sure that my face turned a new shade of pale as I wondered how I am going to fit so much food inside of me. Of course I thanked him and made a quick mental note that my father is no longer allowed to be unaccompanied at a ball game. I also acknowledge that this is his form of showing the action of love by buying me a tremendous amount of food at an event that he treasures and enjoys immensely. 

I admit, I could not finish the food. It was far too much. Despite having no interest in baseball, I maintained a good attitude and even found myself screaming at the players like a banshee to root on my father’s favorite team, the “Tennessee Smokeys.” Life isn’t about experiencing only the things that you are interested in. Life is about spending time with those that you love and if you truly love them, taking an interest in what they love. Truly loving someone means going to that baseball game and rooting for the team even though I would much rather be in nature taking a walk or writing a book. Truly loving someone means setting down your work and saying, “I have limited time with you in this life so I will spend as much as I can making memories.” I will never be interested in baseball, but I will always remember how much my father smiled when he watched me scream at the baseball players “GO! MOVE FASTER! GET THAT GOAL!” Then learning that it isn’t called a goal.

Yet a goal was achieved. A dad and his daughter spent an evening at a baseball game and created an indelible memory of love.