Posts from the ‘Open thoughts’ Category

Oct 22

American Democracy is Worth More Than One Man’s Ego

Hey All,

So, I’m clearly on a bit of train. I’m tired of this election. I’m tired of the baseness of it all. I’m tired of Donald Trump making up the rules as he goes along and then calling foul when he isn’t winning. It’s pathetic and small minded and transparent. But, he has followers. He has LOTS of followers. People who are angry, confused and dispossessed armed with Second Amendment laws that haven’t been adjusted in centuries who might very easily follow their leader’s words to their logical conclusion.

If their election is really being stolen from them by a corrupt political system and a falsified media isn’t it there patriotic duty to rise up in revolt? Donald Trump’s inability to lose with dignity could very well usher in a period of civil and political unrest the likes that most of us have only read about.

We have to remember our Democracy is, it itself, an experiment. Our Constitution, our Bill of Rights, the very workings of our system are still evolving.

The only reason our Democracy works at all is because we agree it does.

It’s like money. Money only has value is because we collective agree that this piece of paper or these numbers on a screen mean something. Because they don’t. They’re arbitrary.

It’s the collective belief that they do that makes it real.

Democracy is no different.

The only thing that keeps this enormous, polarized country together is the peaceful transfer of power. That we all agree that when our votes are counted and the results are in those are our leaders.

Regardless of your party affiliation you have to understand, if we start suggesting that election results are up for debate the very fabric of our country begins to decay.

The Editorial board of the Washington post wrote: “The GOP should at least find the decency, the patriotism to declare that everyone respect the results of November 8th. To pursue their protests and disputes through legals channels not on in the streets. Surely that is not too much to ask of them.”

I agree. It’s just all too much.

Thanks again for all your support.

xo leigh

Oct 11

1 Comment

I’ve reached my level of tolerance with this election.

Well, I’ve had it. This election has broken my tolerance switch. I’m incensed. I’m horrified. I am sickened for the country, for our future, for the world.

I know we can do so much better.

So, with the lack of any real power to fix it, I ranted.

Love to all. Don’t forget to vote.

xo leigh

May 12

9 Comments

The Next Adventure…

Dear Reader,

First, I want to thank you for coming on this journey with me. When I arrived at the three year mark of my diagnosis and wasn’t dead, I knew I wanted to do something worthwhile with my life. To make a difference. To leave something behind so that when I did die, I’d be able to feel a little less helpless about it. I wanted to write a book. I wanted to write a series of letters to my Lochlan so if I wasn’t around to teach or guide him, his mother’s voice could still resonate in his life. When it was suggested I write those letters as a blog I was hesitant. I didn’t read blogs. I didn’t know blogs. It felt insincere to join a space that I had no knowledge of, or even, real interest in.

When I decided to move forward I did vast amounts of research. I took an extensive New York Times course and I made countless notes on what I thought worked for other bloggers and why. The publishing of my first post was thrilling because I’d never done anything like it before. My voice was “out there”. I was no longer anonymous or protected. I had allowed my story to be public and I had made myself accountable to that persona.

In the meantime, I found I loved writing. I loved the opportunity to be honest and reflexive. I loved connecting with people, both strangers and close friends but, most of all, I was grateful for the catharsis. Writing made me feel less afraid. Every post I published was one less thing I would never be able to say. The process of creating the world of ‘In Case I’m Gone’ gave me a power I no longer had in real life. It allowed me to be in charge of my own story. It became less about what was happening to me and more about what I could learn from it. Writing, and hearing from those who were reading, made me feel less alone, less panicky, less fearful that soon there would be nothing left of me than a picture in a frame. Everything I published became a reminder that I had lived. That I was real. That I’d loved and cared and made mistakes and learned from them all.

When I was approached to write this blog as a book I was thrilled. It was what I’d hoped for. The opportunity to write my story in a forum I really understood. To leave a part of me behind. To be able to look back on my life and feel as if I’d done something real, something tangible. What I didn’t realize at the time was how long it would take to write that book. How difficult it would be to honor someone else’s idea of how it should look and feel while still making it my own. It took me almost three years to get it right. To have a book that really felt like me. This wasn’t some fictional character’s story. This was my real life and I had to do it justice. It had to be exactly right.

Though I continued to write the blog I found it was a real effort to keep the two things separate. I’d have an idea about something and think, is this a blog or a chapter? Is it on message? Does it serve a purpose? Would anyone care? It was a crazy amount of work and, I’m not ashamed to say, there were months where I wasn’t sure what I was even doing anymore and the book would sit completely dormant. When everything clicked last summer I was able to rewrite the book in it’s entirety in just over three months and, after two more of rewrites for my agent, by January we were ready to submit to eight different publishers.

I’ve never worked harder on something in my life. I’ve never done anything as intimate or daunting. I put my heart and soul into those pages and it felt right. In many ways it made my struggles feel worthwhile. As if coming to terms with my own death I could potentially help others live a better life. It felt hopeful and personal and, dare I say it, successful. The day I finished I cried. I cried my eyes out from relief and exhaustion and pride. I’d done something, something real and, at the time I said, “Even if the only person who ever reads it is Loch. It’ll be worth it.”

Little did I know how true those words might be. As of now, all eight publishers have passed. Passed in the most glowing, complimentary way but, passed all the same. Apparently everyone loves the book but doesn’t know how to sell it and in a world of marketing and branding and everything being for sale this isn’t particularly good news. I can’t properly express the greatness of my disappointment but, I can say, I’m almost positive it’s not the end of that tale. The outcome may not be what I’d hoped, but the product is. I’ve written a book I’m truly proud of and, hopefully, someday many of you will want to read it. For now, I have to be resigned to it sitting on a shelf.

Which brings me to today. I haven’t been writing much lately and, though I could blame it on a million “busy” things, I’ve come to realize it’s because I’ve reached a crossroad. The completion of my book, though not culminating in the desired result, still represents the end of a journey. A journey I started in 2011 and one that’s now reached its’ conclusion. Lochlan is finally at an age where he’ll remember many of things I’ve said. He’s old enough that he might actually get to know me. I’ve made a singular impact on his life and, even if I haven’t, I’ve left a tangible part of myself behind in my writing. No matter what happens to me now I’ll have existed for him and, honestly, that’s all I ever wanted.

I am called to something new. I’m not exactly sure what it is but, until I take my foot out of this world I’ll never be able to firmly plant myself in another. I have a million things to say and I don’t want to feel boxed in by a “brand” or “message”. I’ve loved writing from the perspective of a mother who’s dying because, I am and I will but, these days I feel drawn to tell a different story from a different perspective and, if I’ve learned anything from being sick it’s that you have to listen to your heart. I could write ‘In Case I’m Gone’ until I was, but for now, I’m actually here and I owe it to myself to see where the next road leads.

Thank you for supporting me. For listening to me. For reaching out and sharing with me. I wish you luck and love and success on your own journey. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, I’ll be writing for you again but, this time from the pages of a book, the dialogue of a movie or, even, from the mouth of a politician who believes, as I do, that we as a people can do better than we are.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting me as I found my voice. I promise to try and do something truly worthwhile with it before I go.

All my love,

xo Leigh

Jan 21

14 Comments

Drowning in Reality

So, we were robbed again.

Again.

Almost one year to the day our car was broken into and all of our luggage and bags were stolen, it happened again and it hit me really hard. We took a family bike ride. One of the first opportunities I’ve had to really participate in something physical in a while and it was wonderful. A full two hours of talking and riding together. My boys off roading while granny here tooted along with her oxygen watching their adventures to the rhythmic puff of my O2. When we finally arrived back at the car it was to the talk of ice cream and watching the second Harry Potter since we’d finished reading the book the night before.

As we came up on the car, getting off our bikes in the open dirt parking lot, I was struck with the fact that it appeared to be unlocked. Our car locks itself using an outside keypad but, since it has a history of acting up, I’d insisted Sean bring his set of keys lest we get locked out after our ride. The car being unlocked made no sense. We’d definitely locked it. We’d done a whole song and dance around locking it. Sean told me it was probably because he’d been close to the car when I’d tried to open it but it seemed weird to me.

After Sean put the bikes on the rack – Loch and I passing the time racing each other (something I can’t do more than twice without gasping for breath but attempted anyway because I hate feeling like the “lazy” parent who doesn’t do anything fun) – we piled into the car to continue our lovely day. It was at that point I reached for my purse, the one I’d hidden in the back under the passenger seat like I always do. Out of site, out of mind and all that. When I couldn’t reach it I told Sean to stop the car and I hopped out to open the back door and grab it. When it wasn’t there I looked across under the driver’s seat thinking I must have just put it there by mistake and that’s when the panic set in. The next few moments consisted of the three of us tearing the car apart, hoping against hope I’d randomly put it somewhere different but really knowing, all along, it was gone.

The five minutes following were a Master Class in futility. We may as well have laid on the ground and had a tantrum. We ran around looking in random cars as if our stolen items would just be sitting on someone else’s seat. We frantically asked strangers if they’d seen anything. Sean even asked a guy to open his trunk. We called the restaurant we’d been to earlier in hopes I’d just lost my mind and left it there and, I made the incredibly classy move of screaming at a mostly empty parking lot, that “whoever took my purse is a TOTAL A*^H#@)!”

Just first rate immaturity epic fail parenting.

After the breakdown we got down to it and started making calls. The first officer I spoke to couldn’t have been less interested and decided our conversation was an appropriate time to correct my semantics. “If you weren’t there Ma’am it wasn’t a robbery, it was a theft.” Here’s the thing. I actually know that. I know that from the LAST TIME our things were stolen! I understand I wasn’t held up by gunpoint but, come on, you can’t used the word “theft” as a verb and, quite frankly, after you’ve had your ID, credit cards, bank cards, smart phone, car keys, house keys, alarm fob, sunglasses, makeup, and medicine (among many other things – the purse itself for instance) taken, correcting my choice of verbiage was not particularly helpful. What he did recommend was that the police report could be filled out in a “timely manner” but that calling the banks and credit card companies should be done right away.

The first card I called to cancel already had a charge on it. 4 minutes prior someone had purchased $43.88 of gas at a station not 5 minutes away. Hearing this Sean turned into Liam Neison in Taken 7. He tore over to the station (promising not to get us in an accident) while I stayed on the phone with the bank reversing the purchase and canceling my other 3 cards. We pulled into the Chevron Dukes of Hazard style and Sean jumped out and started looking into all the cars. He then went inside to discover the thieves had just left. Turns out they were able to use our card (without the pin) because they had our zip code (from my ID) and that’s all gas stations require to confirm who you are. The most we got out of it was the pump number and based on the time and amount spent we can have the manager check the surveillance (when she’s working) to see if the cameras recorded a license plate or perpetrators on video.

As we drove from the service station to the police station it dawned on us that, not only did the thieves have my purse and wallet, they also had our home address with our house and car keys. Holy *&^%! They could be there right now cleaning it out! They could be driving away in Sean’s car! We couldn’t fill out a police report!! We had to get home!!! We peeled away from the police station the backup camera screaming. We couldn’t even be sure the ‘secure alarm’ report on Sean’s phone was accurate because my keys also included the alarm fob so all our potential house gutters had to do was press the button and safely turn it off. Bah!!!!!!

becuo.com

Over the next 4 hours we had every lock in our house changed ($250), set up an appointment with the alarm company to reset our codes for the missing fob ($277.70). Drove to the Ford dealership to reprogram Sean’s key and have my key replaced ($350), made an appointment to have Sean’s car keys reprogrammed and all the locks changed ($1600), talked to AT&T about what do do about the phone I’d had for less than 2 weeks but now needed to be completely replaced ($899) along with apple care ($100), attempted to navigate the DMV website for a replacement license (first available appointment: 3 months) and talked on the phone to our insurance company who were less than pleased that we were making yet another claim so soon after our last one. Oh, and Sean went back and filed the police report.

Having things stolen from you is a violation you’re never quite prepared for. If you’re someone who would never do such a thing, it hits you like a ton of bricks. You can’t wrap your head around it. How does someone just take something that isn’t theirs? How can you screw someone over like that? How do you carry that purse or wallet or wear those sunglasses? What goes through your mind when you find all those medications or a blood oximeter? Do you feel bad or do you just not care? This isn’t a Robin Hood situation. We weren’t ^%#@*s to someone and got what we deserved. There’s nothing noble or understandable about this. It’s just awful and, according to the police officer we did file the report with (a very nice man eating his sad squished PB&J out of the lunchbox he, obviously, brought from home to save money himself) this is something that happens ALL THE TIME.

This is just the tip of the problem (Bernie Sanders Facebook meme)

I get it, people are struggling. The rich get richer and the rest of us are drowning. I understand it because I feel it. The cop eating his broken chips out of a Ziploc feels it. The manager of the service station who won’t be in for 2 days feels it. My family, with all our hours and hours of work and very little to show for it feels it. Something is wrong with our society and things are reaching a tipping point. I just read a great article in Elle about the hyper educated poor. About academics who are subsisting on food stamps despite the fact they have a PhD and jobs at universities. People are hurting and something has to give.

The thing is, our family’s has been running on fumes for long time and we’ve told ourselves time and again our hardships are almost over, that things are finally going to change. That we couldn’t work this hard for this long just to fail at the 10 yard line. As Linda Tirado, whose blog on her minimum-wage existence catapulted her into the national spotlight last year, wrote in her new book, Hand to Mouth: “Being poor while working hard is fucking crushing.”* Sean and I always figured you don’t swim 500 miles just to die a mile from shore. Yes, things were hard. Sure we’d been dealt some seriously tough cards but, it was all leading to something good right? The struggle, for all it’s pain, was there to make us stronger and better so when our ship finally did come in it would be that much more worth it… right? Darkest before the dawn? But yesterday, having those people just TAKE from us was too much for my little soul to handle.

ilmabad.com

When I’d finally dealt with all the logistics I could, I completely shut down. I internalized. I felt like someone flushed the toilet and my life was just going down the drain. What, really, was the point of fighting? We’d been doing it for so long. Maybe I was done. Look, we’re artists. We live an artist’s existence. That means 4 to 5 jobs between us, lean months that overshadow the fat, working till all hours of the night and waiting, waiting, waiting for our break to finally come. Compound that with the financial and emotional strain of being chronically and, technically, terminally ill while trying to raise our child in today’s “bigger is better” world and we’re at the end of our rope on a daily basis. Everything is strained. Our bank account, our marriage, our patience, our tolerance. I understand what drives people to steal. I just don’t understand how they do it.

After Loch had gone to bed I asked Sean if he thought we were cursed. He looked at me like I was crazy but I was really asking. Every day I get up and try and make it work. I push the fear and worry and realities aside and put on my positive face. I interact with the world. I try to help other people. I do my best to be a supportive wife and good mother. I wrote a book. I do this blog. I raise my child. I run the school’s fundraiser. I’m involved. I’m committed. I’m living every day the best I can but yesterday, yesterday, I just shut down. My fight left me. My positive mantras failed. I felt done and broken. I felt as if it was just one too many things. It felt like the straw.

livingadepressedlife.wordpress.com

I went to bed a zombie. Maybe the world had just become too shitty. Maybe we really were just going to drive our country to disaster or civil war or world annihilation. Maybe things wouldn’t work out. Maybe God really did hate me. How else do I explain all the bad luck? My conscious mind was aware of how many blessings I have. How many good things surround me but, it had been a heck of a week. A heck of a year. A heck of a decade and I was spent. I wondered aloud, to Sean’s horror I’m sure, if all the struggle and bad luck and pain and effort was all for nothing. Maybe it wasn’t going to work out. Maybe our lives were just f*^#ed and I should just accept it.

I woke up in the morning and lay there listening. Sean and Loch were getting ready for school (something I normally spearhead) and though I was grateful to Sean for being kind and letting me rest, it also made me feel numb, as if I had no purpose. I considered going back to sleep and pretending my life wasn’t happening but, despite the draw, the reality of checking out doesn’t really suit me. Real life, even with all it’s struggles, isn’t like that. It doesn’t matter how sh^%#y it gets, it goes on and it’s your choice to either deal or die. I didn’t fight my disease this hard just to roll because my purse was stolen. I considered the alternative. I just decided not to choose it.

I may be infuriated with the expectant, entitled behavior of people who have no real struggles yet continue to complain. I may be inspired to punch the newsstands at the “issues” of the rich and famous. I might scream at my computer bitterly when I read about corporations getting tax refunds while the rest of us drown in reality. I may be livid with the illegal behavior of someone who chooses to break into my car and steal my life but I can’t give up. What’s the point of that?

My Dad told me how proud he was of how I’d “handled” the situation and I burst into tears. I felt like an imposter just like I do when people tell me I’m “brave” to deal with my disease. I don’t deserve the praise. Half the time I feel like I’m barely holding it together. But, I also resent having to live up to that kind of compliment. I didn’t handle it well. I snapped at my child and yelled at my husband. I allowed myself to feel dead inside and I’d teetered on the verge of throwing in the towel. I may not have cried. Perhaps I didn’t wallow in a “this is so unfair, why me” blah blah, but I’d thought terrible things. I’d shut down. I’d considered giving up. Every day is a struggle for us and this particular situation combined with everything else that’s currently on our plates just pushed me over the edge. I needed to have those feelings in order to move past them and being complimented for not having them felt grossly unfair. Compliment me for not wallowing, for moving on the next day, for getting on with it but don’t praise me for breezing past them, because I didn’t nor, should I have been expected to.

Ultimately I’ll leave this post and move on. I’ll get new cards and new ID. I’ll replace my credit cards and change my online information. I’ll get a new bag, and new keys, and new codes. I’ll do all I need to in order to reset my life but, I felt the way I did yesterday for a reason. Having your purse stolen sucks but, it shouldn’t break you unless your life is already on the verge. I need to find a way to get my life to a place where terrible, frustrating, inconvenient things can happen and not be devastating.

Terrible, yes. Soul crushing, no.

The fight goes on. I’ll keep you posted.

xo leigh

* Elle magazine, December 2104 “School of Hard Knocks”.

Dec 31

12 Comments

Ringing the Bell

For Christmas this year some dear friends gave us a bell. It wasn’t just a pretty bell or a decorative bell, it was a bell with a story and the story went something like this:

A bell symbolizes magical enchantments.

As our family welcomes 2015 it will be in mindful awareness that we’ll ring the bell recognizing “the little moments”… A big fat belly laugh, a good talk, a yummy meal, a fragrant summer breeze, a beautiful moon, an unexpected hug, a giggle that echoes through the house or a snuggle on a rainy day…

Knowing how lucky we are to be in the little moments.

Right now. The present. Where life happens. We are in it.

We are grateful for YOU. As we bring in the New Year we will be ringing our bell in celebration of YOU in our lives.

Happy Holiday and may the New Year bring you a waterfall of beautiful “little moments” that make you feel loved and lucky.

glassdoor.com

What’s so lovely about a gift like this is that it isn’t so much a thing as an idea. An idea that, if allowed, has the power to change your life by simply adjusting your perspective. This fabulous family’s present wasn’t so much the gift of a small, reverberating piece of metal but, rather, the gift of awareness. In telling us they loved and appreciated us, our friends were reminding us to love and appreciate ourselves, to be mindful of the world around us and the small, often passed over moments that make it special and uniquely ours and, since receiving their gift, I’ve found myself infinitely more conscious of those moments both big and small. It’s my hope I’ll be able to hold onto those realizations well into the new year before I need reminding again.

It’s not that I’m physically carrying around the bell or rushing into a room to ring it in order to make a point. It’s more that I’ve accepted the idea of what ringing it represents and, since then I’ve been inspired numerous times to just say “ding” out loud.

My Dad dancing in the kitchen with Loch while my mother laughs and scoots out of the way. Ding. Skating outside with my family in the crisp Canadian air and finding, for once, I’m not out of breath while doing something physical. Ding. My childhood home filled with my childhood friends and the chatter and laughter of our children and families on Christmas Eve. Ding. Lochlan lying on the floor in his undies writing a thank you note to put alongside Santa’s milk and cookies. “I don’t want to just thank him for remembering ME Mommy. That’s too vain. I want to thank him for remembering all the children in the world!” Ding.

There was even a bell hung low on our tree this year so I knocked into it a couple of times while handing out the presents. In the classic Christmas film It’s a Wonderful Life George Bailey’s daughter has the famous line, “Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings” but that wasn’t my first thought when I heard it ring. In those moments when the sweet tinkling filled the air, I was pleased to discover the power of the bell also worked in reverse. In this case it was the sound itself that reminded me to stop and take stock of where I was and how I was feeling. Of course, given what I was doing, it was difficult not to feel grateful but, I think it could work in any variety of moments.

Summer friends in Winter fun! Ding.

My life, despite it’s obvious (and hidden) struggles, is full to the brim of reasons to ring the bell. Multiple moments to stop, take notice and say thanks. This world moves so fast. So many of us are pushed to accomplish more, succeed more, earn more that we often don’t realize – bombing towards our next goal, next desire, next instagram post – that so much around us is already wonderful, already successful, already complete and joyous.

The bell, whether its’ sound comes before or after those realizations, is a reminder of that.

The bell resonates, not only in the air but, in our hearts and I, for one, am extremely humbled by its’ lesson.

Happy New Year. Go ring your bell.

xo leigh

My love. Ding.

Nov 3

22 Comments

I Am Someone’s Mommy

I’ve spoken before about how I often feel like an afterthought in my son’s eyes. How his Dad can do no wrong and I’m a pain in his ass. Sean’s the playmate. I’m the teacher. He’s the joy. I’m the heavy. My illness makes me weak and Sean seems like the most capable man in the world. His Dad shapes breakfast into starships and his Mom insists he put on shoes before we leave the house (the injustice!). I’ve come to accept that, for the most part, I’m lame and Sean’s cool. I don’t like it but, I’ve come to terms with it. He may love us both the same but, I can’t compete. I’m his rock but his Dad’s his Hero and a Hero throws a pretty large shadow.

The other night however, Lochlan was sick. Not crazy sick, just bad cold sick and it had been a long day so, after I put him to bed, I went to sleep myself. Sean was out and, when he got home, Loch woke up and started calling for me. Apparently, no matter what he did, Loch was still asking for me so, eventually, Sean came to wake me up. He apologized, saying he’d tried everything but, Loch just “really needed his Mommy.”

This is literally how Sean presents Loch's breakfast. There's no competing with that!

This is literally how Sean presents Loch’s breakfast. There’s just no competing with that!

Here’s the thing, I’m an insomniac. Sleep is a struggle for me. When I’m already asleep, I REALLY hate getting up because once I’m up, I’m often up for hours. I’ve spent way too many nights just staring into the darkness worrying, writing notes, breaking down and trolling Facebook, counting the ever shrinking hours until I have to be out of bed again and, just waiting for the sleep that doesn’t come. It’s incredibly frustrating and I really do my best to avoid it at all costs.

I didn’t want to get out of bed that night. I didn’t want to be awake until 3am exhausted at home the next day with a sick child but, my baby was calling for me so, it didn’t matter what I wanted, I was going. I understood. Sometimes you just need your Mom.

He blew his nose and I gave him more cold medicine to break up the phlegm. I refluffed his pillows, straighten his sheets and flipped his blankets and, when he was finally settled, I sang. I sang the lullaby I’ve been singing to him since the first day he was born. I sang it soft and low while I patted his back and scratched his arm. He lay on his side, his little hand resting on my knee and I could feel his tiny shoulder blades through his t-shirt, the little hairs on his forearm, the impossibly soft skin on the top of his hand. I sang and sang and, finally, I just sat. I listened to him breathe. I listened to the sound of his stuffiness, to his little, muffled girggles and, then I made the disastrous mistake of asking if he wanted to blow his nose.

“Mom! You woke me up!!” (I didn’t). “You’re going to have to do it all over again but, this time when you’re done, don’t talk to me after ok?”

“Ok, babe. Sorry about that.” (He’s sick, I’ll give him a break on the tone he’s using.) “DO you want to blow your nose though?”

“Um…Yes.” (blow)

I started again. The singing, the back patting, the arm tickles but, this time, I became aware of how amazing the moment was. I’d passed the fresh out of bed, trying to get back to it phase. I was there now, awake, in it, and the intimacy of the moment, the warmth of being there in the dark with him, the satisfaction of being able to give him the affection he needed, it all overwhelmed me. I was struck by the fact that my love for him had become a tangible thing. A security blanket he craved. Something he needed to hold on to. My very presence was like a xynax for his soul. Despite all the hero worship, in this moment, it was me who made a difference. Me who was required.

The thing is, being diagnosed when Loch was 5 months old, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to experience that feeling. It didn’t seem as if I’d be around long enough to ever really matter to him. To be remembered or, make any lasting impression on his life but, sitting there quietly on the side of his bed just allowing the song to settle, I recognized I’d made it. I’d lived long enough, and put in enough effort, to register as essential and, it felt amazing.

Eventually I took his hand off my knee, stood up, walked to his doorway and…

Tripped on his door stop.

“Mom!!”

“Sorry! Sorry Lochie! I didn’t see it.” (Ow. My toe.)

“Can you sing it again?” (It’s my own fault. Damn you rock.)

“Of course baby.”

I crossed back to his bed and sat down. I felt his little hand searching for my knee in the dark.

“When you’re done will you tuck me in too?”

“Do you want your arms under the blankets?”

“No, just my shoulder.”

“Ok, babe. I’ll do that.”

I wasn’t annoyed. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t rushing to get back to bed. I knew I would be there for as long as he needed me. His little, pudgy fingers softly moved against the flannel of my pants as I started the song again and, this time, I found myself getting choked up. For all it’s efforts, being a parent is an incredible blessing. What an honor it is to be the person who can calm and improve a situation simply with your presence. How extraordinary to be the one looked to for help and guidance, the one who offers security and, in this case, how touching to be the one chosen. The one required above all others.

I sang the song two more times, even after I knew he was asleep, not wanting the moment to end and, every time I sang, the importance of my role grew on me. The repetition was a gift that allowed me to see the wonder.

I am Lochlan’s Mom and, no matter what ends up happening to me, I can say with all certainty that I mattered. That I made an impression on this small, wonderful boy’s life. To him I was irreplaceable.

Thank you Sean. Thank you Lochlan’s cold. Thank you stupid door stop. Thank you beautiful son. Thank you lovely and haunting “Bye Oh By Baby”.

I went right to sleep that night, a completely happy girl and, a totally fulfilled mother.

Blessings to you all.

xo leigh

Oct 17

4 Comments

Tinder: Dating in the New Millenium

Sean and I recently came home to find our baby sitter busy scrolling her Tinder account. Loch was asleep and she was watching a movie on mute while checking out prospects. Having heard of, but never really seen, Tinder I sat down beside her to check it out. An hour later I was STILL there.

Is this is how people date now?! For reals? How old am I? It was completely ridiculous…and totally addictive.

Tinder is an on-line dating app that locates you with GPS then uses your Facebook information to create a profile (nothing about Tinder is posted on Facebook). A Tinder profile is simply your first name, age and “up to” 6 photos of your choice. It also includes any public pages you might have ‘liked’ on Facebook. Tinder then uses an algorithm to find you potential matches and you further narrow the choices by age, distance and appeal.

These days, if you’re single, you’re probably on Tinder. Since I’m not single, and this kind of technology didn’t exist AT ALL when I was dating, I completely missed the boat and, it’s a hell of a party boat!! You can literally “shop” for a person. Our sitter is a doll, with a great sense of humor, and she thought it was a riot to give the old lady her phone and allow her to drive. I learned to “swipe left” on anyone I didn’t think was right for her and press a heart button for those I thought were. I could further “examine” a profile by checking their other photos and short bio and, I could just as quickly discard someone who didn’t make the cut with the touch of an “X”. It took SECONDS for me to judge and decide. “No. No. No. God no. No. Please! Dude, where’s your head?” Even taking the time to look further into someone took less than a minute. You check their pictures – make assumptions based on their aesthetic, background location, clothes and friends – and read their “bio” which seemed to range from the bare minimum – LA<NY<CA or, their height, which apparently is a big thing on Tinder – to cleverly written self-descriptions that offer insight. If you were still intrigued you could “heart” them and their picture was stamped with “Liked” (much like the the post office would stamp a package with “Fragile”) and, if that person also “liked” you, a separate page would appear with the offer to “Send a Message” or “Keep Playing”.

thisisyourconscience.com

Keep Playing!!! It actually said that. As if the entire thing was a game.

If it was, I was in it to win it.

trendblog.net

Our sitter’s the best and she happily sat beside me while I continued to “play”. I became giddy when we (yes we, I was an active participant now) got a match. I was abnormally excited to come up with something clever to say when they messaged her. I was careful to take her personality and likes into account when crafting my response and check before I sent it off but, I know her well so, I think it’d be fair to say, I did a pretty good job of capturing the vibe she was looking to send out. At one point she even said, “Dude, you got him hooked!” and I felt, God help me, proud. You know what’s incredibly attractive? People who are happy, who aren’t really looking, people who don’t feel the pressure of needing anything to lead to anything.

Happily married people can apparently kill on Tinder.

Look, for many reasons I’m glad I’m not single but, it really is a new world out there and, I believe parts of it can be truly fun if you allow them to be. A friend who’s my age recently joined Tinder after a disappointing run with on-line dating and very little help from her married friends. She said the process was horrifying but, it was also kind of awesome to be encouraged to embrace your instantaneous and shallow reaction to people. She said “Tinder teaches you a lot about yourself and your biases”. She told me she realized she was kind of “nameist”. That if the guy was named Io, or Jebbadaiah or, God help her, Five (real name for a real guy who came up shirtless in her pile) she was “swiping left”. I totally get it.

ohnotinder.com

It’s pretty easy to be judgey from the privacy of your own phone. No one gets hurt if your shallow flag flies because no one knows. You either like someone or you don’t and you don’t have to make up a whole song and dance excuse at a bar in order to have them go away. With a flip of your finger they’re just gone. You might go on some bad dates. The guy that turns out to be 4’1″, a grump or, worse, a bully but, that can happen no matter how you meet someone. I went on any number of bad dates as a single person. The guy that did six shots of tequila at a bar before the movie and then proceeded to get into a fight with someone he thought owed him money. The guy who verbally shamed me for over 10 minutes after I ordered a glass of wine because, unbeknownst to me, he had just decided to become sober. The first date who left me sitting alone for 45 minutes in a restaurant without a call, text or apology. Even the waiters wanted me to bail. There are a million jerks out there, how you meet them is kind of irrelevant, you keep trying because one day, the hope is, you’ll finally meet someone good.

Honestly, I found the whole Tinder thing incredibly amusing. I’m sure it can be just devastating if you’re never “matched” with anyone or your dates all turn out to be duds but, without risk, there is no reward. Personally, it made me feel like an incredibly successful matchmaker. I’d look at people’s pictures and say, “Ok, he travels, that’s good” or “He likes animals. That’s important.” Or “Aw, he’s hanging with his niece. You love to do that.”

thescreamingroom.wordpress.com

I picked dudes with tats and piercings because she likes tats and piercings. I chose alternative looking guys I found borderline homeless but, she found hot. I avoided the clean cut guys that appealed to me but were too “boo-jee” for her. Despite being over a decade older, a “married with kids” to her “single, ready to party”, we ultimately had the same goal. We both know she deserves better in the love department. We both want to see her in a solid relationship where she feel good about herself and, just like the friend who’s my age, we both know she’s a terrific girl who deserves a terrific guy. I’m not sure if either of them are going to find him on Tinder but, it seems like a legitimate place to start.

Meeting in a bar, at work, through friends, it seems slow and archaic in today’s busy, busy, go, go, social media is mecca, world. Tinder speaks directly to our culture’s shallowness, our preoccupation with physical attraction and our increasingly limited attention span. It’s a game where the winner gets a date, a hook up, or just personal validation.

Ultimately I had to force myself to stop. It was just too fun. Too addictive. Too tempting.

Single people, I don’t envy your situation but I am slightly jealous of your applications. Permission to flirt without expectation? The ability to follow through only if desired? Picking a date out of a virtual catalogue of potential suitors? I know finding love can be tough, but lighting a flame on Tinder…that’s kinda hot.

xo leigh

Aug 18

12 Comments

Exuberance

I was recently in Starbucks – my new go to work space after I discovered how much more I’m able to get accomplished when I don’t make my writing compete with my laundry and dishes – when a father and son came in and sat at the table opposite mine. The father was older than me, maybe forty-five, and the son younger than Loch, close to four. As they enjoyed their separate drinks and explored their different handhelds, I found myself unable to work, not because they were bothering me, but because they were so charming. The little boy was just everything wonderful about childhood squeezed into one person. All fleshy elbows and turned up nose, legs dangling off the floor, his orange ankle socked feet shooting straight up in the air as he sneezed into the arm of his shirt.

Aside from the extreme cuteness and the fact that I wanted to go over and hug and kiss him because I no longer have a three-year-old of my own to cuddle, what struck me most was the boy’s exuberance. His unmitigated joy for almost all things. His outward, visible manifestation of everything that thrilled him. Finding the right table to sit at, taking the phone from his Dad and talking animatedly to the person on the other end, eating his croissant, everything was wonderful and worthy of note. Being told he was allowed to play Angry Birds on his Dad’s tablet resulted in a full body, booty shaking dance that made him fall over. He was just so into everything. He karate chopped the air when the birds hit their target. Pulled out the double fisting air pump “Yes-es!” and exhilarated “I can’t believe this” Whoooooo’s when he completed a level. He was fabulous and, no matter how into my writing I was, it was impossible to not just abandon it to simply watch this kid exist.

That’s the thing about people who fully commit to life. They’re infectious. It’s too bad we often lose that enthusiasm as we age. Life, bills, marriage, stress, anxiety and, quite frankly, the bloody news just make it more and more difficult to be truly thrilled about anything other than flopping into bed.

The entrance is literally through that fridge! How great is that! Nice play #GoodTimesAtDaveyWaynes

I guess that’s why I’ve always been such a big fan of parties and holidays and long dinners with people who’s company I love. It’s so amazingly nice to have a reason to leave the everyday behind and live in a moment of excitement no matter how brief. I really wanted to go to this super cool club for my birthday this year. It’s a fully themed Hollywood bar set up like a 1970’s house party where you enter through a vintage beer fridge at the back of a garage sale. What?!?! Come on!! So good!! It’s all shag carpeting and lava lamps and beer served in #1 Dad mugs. I love the idea of it. I love the effort that went into creating it, the attention to detail and the complete lack of irony in which you can embrace it. There’s a roller skating show for crying out loud. How can you not love the idea of putting on wide leg jeans and drinking properly mixed cocktails with your friends in a different decade?

Sean & I at the Speakeasy. We were not the only people dressed up!! Yay enthusiasm!!

It was in the same vein that Sean and I planned our school’s fundraiser last year. It was a 1920’s burlesque slash prohibition night at a club owned by the same people as that 70’s place. These genius brothers took one of the oldest private homes in Los Angeles and turned it into a what looks like a very hip, traditional speakeasy. Again, how fun to be greeted by a 1920’s madam in a vintage hotel room just to be directed to a secret set of stairs that leads you to a vintage club? Even knowing how reticent grown ups typically are at the mere suggestion of costumes, we went ahead and encouraged theme dress and it was amazing to see how many people actually made the effort to show up in period. The thing is, once you get over the discomfort of doing something out of the ordinary, people usually have a pretty good time.

Aquaman & his biggest fans!

Halloween for most children is right up there with Christmas and their birthday. It’s a BIG deal and they devote themselves to it whole hog. On Loch’s first Halloween, like the newbie parents we were, Sean and I decided to embrace the holiday and try to enjoy it the way the kid’s did. Every year since then we’ve done our best to be the Supemes to our child’s superstar. We try to back up the costume he’s committed to and attempt to have fun while doing it. When he was a three-year-old vampire, we tossed around the idea of being people who’d been bitten but, to ensure we were also entertained, we ended up as Sookie and Jason Stackhouse from the popular vampire show “True Blood”. Loch had fun, but so did we. Last year’s costumes were my favorite so far because Loch’s adamant decision to be Aquaman (a costume that is NOT sold in stores by the way) stumped us on what we should be. After talking though relatively pathetic, homemade jelly fish and squid costumes, we considered – for the first time ever – abandoning our family plan. When we finally figured out something we could get on board with: Punk Aquaman fan club members, it became easy and, once again, fun. Multiple fake face piercings and our son’s own costumed picture silkscreened on our shirts, we arrived at Loch’s school Halloween party with an unbridled enthusiasm that darling boy from Starbucks would have truly appreciated. Plus, we kind of made people nervous, which was an added bonus.

The McGowans circa 1955.

It’s fun to be committed. It’s incredibly enjoyable to dive in to things with enthusiasm and, from what I’ve noticed over the years, that kind of keenness is contagious – even if it’s just to yourself. Putting energy into something and getting positive feedback inspires you to make that kind of effort again and do it even better. That’s exactly how my family ended up with our increasingly elaborate Christmas card.

Every year we’ve been married Sean and I have sent out a Christmas card. For a while we couldn’t afford an actual card so we’d send a short letter with a separate photo we’d mass produced. Personally, I love getting Christmas cards but I wish every single one had a picture. I love to see people. How they’ve changed. How they look. It’s nice to get smiling faces in your mailbox and really, so much better than what usually ends up in there. I’m looking at you bills and black widow spiders! Anyway, in 2010, burnt out trying to write our Christmas wrap up, Sean came up with the idea to put our family on the cover of a magazine called McGowan (fonted to look like Esquire) with just teaser titles to highlight our year. It was easy and fun and the response we received made it well worth the effort we’d put into it. We were so glad we’d done it, in fact, we found ourselves in the catch twenty-two of trying to outdo ourselves the following year.

The McGowans circa 1973.

We failed.

2011’s photo strip was cute – with the added bonus of it’s size leaving absolutely no room for any sort of written debriefing – but at the end of the day we felt we could have done better. So, the next year we stepped it up and did a full fledged 1950’s family portrait that entertained us probably more than the people who received it. It was a riot. In fact, it was that card that solidified for us that sending a Christmas card to your friends and family shouldn’t feel like a burden. It should be a happy thing that makes YOU smile as much as anyone else. If you’re not enjoying it what are you doing other than adding yet another thing to your “To Do” list? So, with that idea firmly in mind, and Loch old enough to truly be on board with the revelry, we went straight over the top last year with a card inspired by Sean’s Barry Gibb hair phase and shot a Bee Gee’s type Holiday Album cover. I take the fact that people tell us they now “look forward to our card” as both a compliment and reminder that we’re doing something right.

Take a moment and remind yourself to embrace life with the joy of your inner orange socked kid. Find the things and people that make you want to double fist pump or scream whooooo! Why not commit to a little escapism? Is it really so terrible to engage in things that might make you smile?

That little boy’s voice. His shining face. Every day my Lochie grows farther and farther away from being a little person and I want so desperately to make sure he doesn’t lose his joy while doing so. He’s still excited about everything. He’s still lives in a world without shame or self judgement but, I see it changing. He’s aware of people now. He’s mindful of who’s watching. He’s becoming conscious of what’s “cool” and what his friends are (or are not) into.

That little boy in Starbucks didn’t care anyone was there but his Dad. He was in the moment every single second and I want my boy to be able to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible. I don’t want him (or me, for that matter) to turn into some adult who’s forgotten how to have fun. Someone too jaded to be thrilled. Too caught up to let go. I want Loch to live in a world where, even with all the real problems and worries he’ll face, he will still strive to find the moments where he can fall over laughing.

In my perfect future that joy will advance past Angry Birds…but, you know, I’ll take what I can get.

xo leigh

Jul 9

5 Comments

The Waxing and Waning of Friendships

I recently unfriended my first person on Facebook. I’ve never done it before. I’ve blocked people’s feeds when they post too frequently or I heartily disagree with their politics. I’ve ignored friend requests, not denying them so much, as simply leaving them in Facebook purgatory because the alternative feels judgey. Who am I to deny their “friendship”? We deny friendship in real life – when we can’t find the time to “grab a drink” or “get the kids together” – because time in real life is finite and it’s truly impossible to be friends with five hundred people, but on line it’s just a click, so what’s my problem? The thing is, I’m not into “collecting” friends. Though I consider myself incredibly lucky to have a rather large and eclectic group of extended friendships that seems to span the globe, my day to day group of friends is really quite intimate. Real time friendships take more effort than a thumbs up or the occasional comment. There aren’t enough hours in the day to be part of everyone’s life so you have to make tough decisions. Social media sites like Facebook and it’s ilk (Twitter, Instagram) are already monster time suckers so, to realistically get anything out of them, you have to keep your numbers low there too. I recently decided I was wasting too many hours – mostly sleeping hours – devoting myself to other people’s thoughts. So I’ve decided that when it comes down to it, if someone’s life has little or no baring on my own, I can’t take it on virtually or in real life. It’s unrealistic to think you can truly be friends with everyone, and even though the effort of being friends on line is a minimal one, I still find it necessary to make that call. A vast amount of followers doesn’t stroke my ego.* I think if you really want to properly assess how well you’re liked it’s best to look at the faces you see rather than the feeds you follow.

thehungryartist.org

This has been a big year for friendship shifts for me. I haven’t made this many new friends since starting University and I was beginning to think “my people” would always just live in another country (Canada, UK, Hong Kong) and I’d have to just accept the loneliness that came with that fact. However, with the natural reshuffling that comes with changing schools and jobs, I’ve found that people I was doing everything with for a time are suddenly no longer part of my life and, people I didn’t know a year ago, are some of my closest friends, just scratching the surface of what could be. I found people I can truly count on this year, people I’m not ashamed to ask for help, people who share the same values and sense of humor and, for that, I feel incredibly grateful. This is not to say if I saw some of my previous friends on the street I wouldn’t be thrilled to catch up, simply that the relationships didn’t have a strong enough root system to continue to grow without the constant attention of daily care. Though the waxing and waning of friendships can feel uncomfortable, I think it’s a natural and necessary part of growth and change.

The decision to actively “unfriend” someone, however, is an interesting one. In real life, that process can be quite messy. I was unfriended in real life over the past two years by someone very close to me and for a while I fought it. I was sad and angry. I felt unheard and used and disappointed, but ultimately I came to understand my friend simply made the decision that, despite our past together, she’d prefer her life move forward without me and there was no alternative but to accept her decision. I’m sorry to see her go but I believe the future remains unwritten. I’m not hoping for a reconciliation. I’m just not writing one off. Unfriending someone on line is so much simpler. All it takes is a click of the mouse and that person is no longer part of your life. If I’m being honest it was actually a pretty liberating experience and I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t do it sooner. This particular person added nothing to my life and, quite frankly, just seeing his name on my newsfeed made me angry. The whole act of cutting ties was clean and simple and, in many ways, preferable to the drawn out desolution of a real life relationship.

Whether you fight with someone or grow apart naturally, losing friends is a part of life. Some friendships are location sensitive, some are born out of necessity, others simply have a shelf life. As you change, so too do your friends, and the combination doesn’t always work. This process can work in reverse as well. People you aren’t close with as a younger person can grow into dear friends over time. My closest confident and I were peripheral friends through high school and college, drifted apart for years and then found each other again as adults. What we share now is stronger and more important than anything we could have had in our youth. Life dealt us both some serious blows and we’re ultimately better and more connected because of them. This isn’t to say friendships from childhood can’t be wonderful life long relationships, just that over time certain ones will become like feeds on your Facebook page, passive and perfunctory. You’re happy to hear about their lives when you can, but you no longer actively pursue the relationship.

Visiting Toronto this summer I realize this habit of limiting of my numbers extends into my old life as well. At first I was concerned I was becoming an introvert, happier to stay home with Loch and my parents than rush out to see anybody, but now I recognize it’s simply that I prefer to catch up one-on-one rather than in a big group or a crowded setting.** Sean and I have a pretty large group of extended friends in LA with whom I have no problem actively socializing. The difference is, I’m not trying to update them all on my past year. They proably saw me, at most, two weeks ago. In Toronto, there’s a lot more to say, a fire to rekindle from a glowing ember rather than one already roaring and I just find it’s easier to build up one fire at a time. It’s a hoot to get together as a group, just not the way to truly visit. It’s my experience that I either become sick of my own voice – while I recount whatever story best explains my past year over and over – or never get past the small talk pleasantries that dominate a chaotic setting. I prefer to take the time for each person separately. That way I can properly see how they are rather than simply graze the surface. If I can do both…all the better.

I’m also making an effort to not just disappear from my LA friend’s lives simply because I’m no longer physically in LA. I usually go radio silent for six to eight weeks a year while I’m in Canada, but I started to notice that when I returned it was increasingly difficult to pick up where I’d left off. I don’t have the history with the LA people that I do with the Toronto people. So instead of trying to build a fire from a glowing ember, I found I was dealing more with a lukewarm ash. Old friendships are like old growth trees, requiring minimal maintenance to continue to thrive, new relationships are like saplings. They need more tending if you don’t want them to die. I’ve recently been lucky enough to add some great people to my life and it’s my hope that making a concerted effort to keep in touch will ensure we’ll hit the ground running when I get back.

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So, while un-friending my first person was strangely freeing, I find the act of continuing to re-friend people even more empowering. Friendship is a fluid state of being. There can be no permanence without effort and I want my friends, virtual and otherwise, to know their connection to me is an active choice. That they are respected and appreciated and that I will do my best to never take them for granted. I think you can live without money, you can live without a spouse, you can live without children but I don’t believe it’s possible to live without friends. For those of you who add to my life, I thank you. To those of you I have yet to know, I await it and, for those of you I loved once, I appreciate the memories and wish you well.

Best to all of you.

xo leigh

*Millions of followers for this blog however, that would be a completely different thing!! It’s your public life vs. personal I suppose.

** Particularly where people are smoking. I just can’t do it anymore. Toronto, stop smoking man. You’re killing yourselves and ruining patios for me. 🙂

Apr 7

7 Comments

An Open Letter to Those with Real Power

Dear Bill Gates, Warren Buffett and Larry Ellison; Hollywood Heavyweights with back end points and a conscience; readily interviewed Sports Stars who donate money; Politicians who still believe in public service and Celebrities with hope,

I need your help. I feel as if I’m drowning in anxiety about the state of our society and I can no longer bury my head in the sand and pretend everything is fine. As a culture, an economy, even a planet we are so far from fine it’s devastating. We are in serious trouble and I’m beginning to feel hopeless about our abilities to do anything about it. I’m turning to you, those with power, with influence, with the ability to really facilitate change and I’m begging you to do something.

Let me preface by saying, although I am a worrier, I am ultimately an optimist who has never found herself strung out over conspiracy theories or spent any real time time riling against the atrocities of the world, of which there are many. I feel strongly about politics but for the most part keep my opinions to myself and send money and lend support to causes I believe in but don’t do a whole lot of preaching the word to others. I feel today, however, on World Health Day, that I must speak up about a worry that has recently left me terrified. I hope I’m wrong. I pray I’m wrong. My problem is, I don’t think I am.

Until now, I thought my biggest fear was dying of my terminal disease and leaving my child without a mother, but now I wonder if it shouldn’t be watching our beautiful world fall apart around us. I was devastated reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. It was such a bleak, hopeless depiction of our future. Humanity having botched everything so terribly there was no one left to help. The only reason I finished the book was because I was waiting for the redemption that never came. I put it away in horror, but looking at the way the world is unfolding, I wonder if my child isn’t looking at a future closer to Mr. McCarthy’s than what I ever imagined. I’m petrified of the direction in which we’re heading and I’m overwhelmed and discouraged that we, as a culture, have allowed things to get this far.

Perhaps history is just fated to repeat itself. I look at lost cultures like Rome, Greece and the Mayans and I think, are we next? Will anything worthwhile be able to even follow our demise or will our self-destruction, combined with our technology, be so absolute that we will, in fact, be the Omega. After reading (and confirming) the two new studies by NASA and the UN: NASA Study Concludes When Civilization Will End, And It’s not Looking Good for Us and UN Scientific Panel Releases Report Sounding Alarm on Climate Change Dangers, I wonder if my current fear of being buried under a burning pile of rubble in Los Angeles’s “Big One” isn’t merely trivial selfishness in the wake of “the end of our planet as we know it”. America (and the G8) should be leading the battle to save us and yet we seem all too easily distracted by personal gain, the fight for wealth and power and various celebrity mishigas to take any – behaviorally altering – notice of the real issues at hand. While we should be fighting to preserve, protect and improve what we have, using our wealth and influence for change and salvation, we’re killing the environment, dismantling the middle class, attacking women’s rights, vilifying America’s poor while making it easier for the wealthiest Americans to take advantage of the system, and turning politics into a cesspool of stagnant infighting, potentially corrupting the democratic voice with the endless fundraising one upmanship. Frankly it’s hard to know what’s really happening anymore because we all just watch the news we agree with.

And these are just issues on the home front. I’m not even touching on world issues like North Korea, Russia and the effects of the Crimea takeover, the potential nucular fallout still looming after Japan’s earthquake, Syria and the ongoing crisis of Middle East. I know “We Didn’t Start the Fire” but we sure as hell seem to be fanning it to epic proportions.

It seems all too possible that this ongoing selfish, inward looking behavior will ultimately only bring about our downfall. Scientists are screaming it. I believe it’s time the rest of us started listening.

When did we get this insular? This clueless? Why are we not more afraid? More outraged? More informed? Where is our connection as a people? Do we truly need an alien attack, a environmental catastrophe, a unstoppable viral outbreak or a 3rd, planet devastating, world war to reconnect? How bad do things need to become before we, as a people, stop apathetically ignoring the facts.

ceasefiremagazine.co.uk

The time has come to get behind a singular agenda: The Salvation of the World as we Know It. I realize that sounds heavy handed but legitimate, respected scientists are seriously talking about a few decades left. That concept is unfathomable and yet, it remains a REAL possibility. “Decades Left” and we sit in our society of freely disseminated information choosing to talk about anything else. I understand the desire to ignore. Every day I pretend I’m not sick. I pretend I’m not dying. I believe this is something I’ve learned to do in order to survive, to not dissolve into a puddle of fear and sadness. I understand the impetus to bury your head. I just think we, as a culture, are doing it on too large a scale. We are pretending it’s all going to be okay, that we trust our leaders to not let us fall, to have confidence they have our best interests at heart. We are choosing to believe that everything will work out because the alternative is just too much to contemplate. It’s more desirable to hide in the fluff of the tabloids or in the “busy-ness” of our daily lives and focus our energy on fighting our waistline or crow’s feet rather then opening ourselves to the bigger and far more terrifying issues at hand.

It’s preferable to ignore but I believe that ignorance is going to kill us.

We need people like you to remind us of this fact.

Please, look into what I’m saying. Find the truth. Step up to your respective platforms and tell us what’s really going on so we can do something about it. We will listen to you. Your voices will resonate.

Major magazines and newspapers: Put a call to arms on your covers.

On-line sites, comedic news, major news stations: Come to a truthful conclusion of facts and forget the spin. Add “The Future of Humanity” to your agenda. Help us to help ourselves before there’s nothing left to discuss.

Forget your political leanings. Forget your bias. Forget your bottom line. Think of your children. Think of the future. I may not personally have one, but I sure as hell want to ensure Lochlan does.

The time has come.

Thank you.

With hope,

Leigh McGowan

smileslovesyou.tumblr

Posts from the ‘Open thoughts’ Category

American Democracy is Worth More Than One Man’s Ego

I’ve reached my level of tolerance with this election.

The Next Adventure…

Drowning in Reality

Ringing the Bell

I Am Someone’s Mommy

Tinder: Dating in the New Millenium

Exuberance

The Waxing and Waning of Friendships

An Open Letter to Those with Real Power

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