Sunrise on 27 & The Risks I Took To Get Here

Today marks my 27^th year, which before, I wouldn’t have expected it to mean much. But as I sit in my bed and look through my sloppily written journals and the endless pages of changes since last year, I can honestly say this day means more than any other. Maybe it is because I no longer feel emotionally insignificant, inadequate, or insecure. Or maybe, it is an awareness that I am imperfect and I’m okay with being criticized by others.

This is huge for me.

But here’s the thing, the steps I made during the past 12 months have changed my outlook on the world and fed my once starving soul. These are things I share because I am proud of who I am and the risks I’ve taken to get here, in my favorite place, my own bed. These are the risks I took to fill the emptiness in my heart;

• I stripped the ego (as best as I knew how) and traded what I can only describe as “glitz” and false promises, for truth. In doing so I found simplicity, which is surprisingly rewarding.
• I stopped worshipping the “party” and started worshipping my work; finishing my degree and being an asset at my job.
• I crossed the Bridge of the Gods, walked through The Narrows and explored more miles on my feet than I had since my grandmother passed away, finding peace on natures path again.
• I finished 3 journals front to back, full of poetry, notes of inspiration, and prayers (yes, to God).
• I volunteered. I made a difference in peoples’ lives that couldn’t give me anything in return… only to find out, they gave me everything because they gave me their hearts (a few donuts) and their stories.
• I spent more time with my family doing what we do best, laughing.
• I figured out how to not give a shit (even though I sometimes do), and gained a new skill; Being kind about it.
• I kept myself open to love, despite paralyzing heart-ache, and found that love is everywhere, especially during the vibrant morning sunrise.

And most of all, in my 27^th year, I learned to A D O R E my once broken, bourbon sippin’, brilliant soul.

And that my friends, is worth celebrating. CHEERS.

Process of Healing – 10 Things People Don’t Tell You About Divorce.

I remember the smell of the ocean, stinging Mediterranean salt, the sand beneath my feet and the rosé coursing through my body, making it feel a warmth the sun cannot provide. The voices around me drifting together from the people on the beach, some visitors, natives of Spain, and some European vagabonds speaking together in chaotic unison. These were the summers of my past, months of travel and learning more about people from their facial expressions than their languages. These were the summers of my marriage… a marriage that has now ended.

Over the course of my divorce, I’ve learned that people are not completely forthcoming with what they tell you in the failure of marriage. Once you’ve decided to walk away, you will likely hear things like;

“You will be okay.”

“You deserve happiness.”

“Your new life awaits you!”

Or my personal favorite: “Take care of yourself.”

But there are so many things that no one warns you about. Maybe it’s because they don’t really know how… after-all, painful situations are uncomfortable for everyone. But here are 8 steps of divorce people won’t tell you;

1. You will lie flat on your apartment floor, looking up at the ceiling fan and with each passing blade, feel the cold tears on your face race towards the ground.
2. Divorce is numbing. There will be days you feel absolutely nothing. Your movements will be robotic because honey, this is shock.
3. You will yell repeatedly at the electronics in your house because you have no idea how to set them up or use them. This was always his job, damnit.
4. You will wake up in the middle of the night, look through the shades of your bedroom window, and wonder why you are alone, then close them quickly because you feel unprotected.
5. You will feel rejected. Horribly rejected (cue a loss of confidence).
6. People will be intrusively interested in your drama, but mostly because they want table gossip for their drab lives. You’ll figure those ones out quickly darling, don’t take it personal.
7. You will feel all the stages of loss, but after the anger leaves and you are able to gain a realistic perspective again, prepare for the unexpected triggers (smells, food, buildings, even driving through neighborhoods. The list is endless.) then tears, and more tears. Don’t try and keep them in, just invest in cool cucumbers and a good night cream for your puffy eyes.
8. And finally, you will dream of your past life often. This will happen so vividly, that you must wake yourself up and walk around your apartment a few times, remembering where you are and why. You will call out for your dog, your cat, but they won’t come and if you are able to fall back asleep, you’ll hold your pillow a little tighter and be more grateful for your clocked zzz’s.

◊◊◊

I read once that “after the big hurt, comes blinding radiance”, which I didn’t fully understand until I went through each and every one of these 8 stages, or rather, the “big hurt”. Through this, I’ve realized that my nostalgic need to reminisce over my past lately serves a purpose. Nostalgia makes its presence known before we can truly live forward. I call this step 9.

Here’s the beauty in getting through all the steps and 1 more thing people won’t tell you;

10. It is the moment you realize you are okay alone, you can date and have loving feelings towards yourself and others and you are capable of being vulnerable. You know you can get through gut-retching defeat and you start looking at yourself in the mirror with strength, more confidence, finding beauty inward and exuding beauty outward. People will start to see your real smile, the true self, a rawer YOU. And most importantly, you will be liberated.

I may not be basking in the Mediterranean sun anymore, snuggling up to a cold glass of rosé, but I sure as hell love the smell of the trees as I walk to my nearest coffee shop and the sound of the bells from the Cathedral at 8:00am. I adore the voices of the friends who have always been there for me and I’ve stopped taking belly-jerking laughter or sips of wine for granted. I’ve gained an unspoken appreciation for people in my life, old and new, who have reached out their hands and offered their hearts. And last but not least, it’s thrilling to receive a paycheck doing what I love, having earned my independence with each and every penny. These are the summers of my present and these, are the blindly radiant pieces of healing.

The Woman & The Guru

Once upon a time, a woman moved to a cave in the mountains to study the guru. She wanted, she said, to learn everything there was to know. The guru supplied her with stacks of books and left her alone so she could study. Every morning, the guru returned to the cave to monitor the woman’s progress. In his hand, he carried a heavy wooden cane.

Each morning, he asked her the same question: “Have you learned everything there is to know yet?”

Each morning, her answer was the same. “No,” she said, “I haven’t.”

The guru would then strike her over the head with his cane.

This scenario repeated itself for months. One day the guru entered the cave, asked the same question, heard the same answer, and raised his cane to hit her in the same way, but the woman grabbed the cane from the guru, stopping his assault in midair. Relieved to end the daily battering but fearing reprisal, the woman looked up at the guru. To her surprise, the guru smiled.

“Congratulations,” he said, “you have graduated. You now know everything you need to know.”

“How’s that?” the woman replied.

“You have learned that you will never learn everything there is to know,” he said with a half smile and sincere look. “And you have learned how to stop the pain.”

---

I’ve been reading a book about “co-dependency” – the concept of losing oneself in the name of others- and this old story was told towards the beginning. It seems that many women around the world struggle with feeling the need to please others, almost to the point of ripping themselves apart in order for others to be whole.

So in honor of international women’s day, I wanted to share this story for all the mothers, sisters, wives, and young ladies out there. You already have it in you to stop any pain or insecurity you feel and gain control over your life.

Just reach up and stop the cane.

Here are a few of my favorite pictures of women I’ve met around the globe over the years. All of them beautiful, unique, and inspiring.

If you would like to read more about co-dependency and how it has affected our culture and society, pick up Melody Beattie’s book “Codependent No More”.

Safely Disconnected.

I sat restless in the corner of the classroom, in the same spot I always sit, feeling anxious to get one more class under my belt before heading home. The class is Personality Theories, taught by a very well known child and family therapist whom I both respect and look forward to the lectures. Call me neurotic, even selfish, but I try to get to class at least 15 minutes earlier than the rest of the students just so I can reserve this corner spot. I’ve talked myself into thinking I’ll learn more efficiently if I keep with the same routine, in the same corner, plopped into the same chair for 2 hours. But the truth is, I enjoy the comfort of believing I am somehow less visible there. Less vulnerable. Most days the plan works flawlessly and I escape quietly, taking in the many points and notes my professor shouts without drawing too much attention. But this past week I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease due to the topics being brought up and the truth they spoke within my own life. Last Tuesday my professor starting talking about empathy, connection, and disconnection. I froze.

The safety of my corner seat faded.

I’ve always been softhearted, naïve even to some. I take things personally and overthink more than I should. I admittedly approach situations without asking too many questions and trust too easily, well, up until 2 years ago. I think it was then that I decided I needed to stop caring so much, to stop being so naïve and toughen up. The events the led me to this quieted, silenced state of mind seem unimportant compared to the perspective I’ve gained since then. I see now this pattern that I started, turning my empathetic, weak face into a hardened version of myself was clearly a cry for help. I had counted on this new version of myself to aide me in feeling confident…less emotional.

What I didn’t count on was the disconnection I would feel with almost everyone around me. Many times throughout the last 24 months I’ve thought, “What is wrong here? Being tough should be a good thing. Having more strength than weakness, should make me more likable, more trusted, more secure.”

I was “shoulding” all over myself.

◊◊◊◊

Fast forward to me slumped into my corner seat last Tuesday, listening to my professor speak confidently, as only someone with more life experience can. She asked us the last time we felt disconnected from our family, friends, loved ones and to write it down. My words spilled out onto the pages of my notebook like oil in water; dark, messy, and completely overwhelming.

She then asked us to write down the last time we felt connected to someone, what it felt like and who it was. I wrote: Last weekend. My sister. We empathized with each-other. I felt heard. I felt loved.

My eyes gazed up off my paper, biting my lip because I didn’t want to be weak. After all, I didn’t take out loans and ride on scholarships so I could show weakness in a college, I “should” be more capable. But it was without success. My damn should’s couldn’t hide what I was feeling or cover the emotions filling my muddled mind. I softly cried and the sweet girl next to me handed me a tissue. The professor expressed her sympathy for this tough topic and continued to explain that much of our disconnection from others happens because we are unable to empathize with them, and vice versa. The result is hardness, anxiety, resentment, jealousy and fear.

The moment she spoke the words, I felt them in my soul. I knew it was truth.

This toughened Haley, the one that “should” have given me strength, had let me down and only taught me to be unavailable for others, less charitable, and more distant. I’ve been admittedly unable to empathize with those who have suffered and as a result, I’ve felt less empathy in return. Danielle LaPorte puts it perfectly by exclaiming:

Because in a world that teaches us that vulnerability is weakness, crying is “girly” or unacceptable, and feeling alone is okay, I say, I’m over it! I desperately want to be connected to the world and to the people I love because I know what disconnection feels like and it’s hardly glamorous. I want people to know what I’m feeling and why because I’ve realized when we open our hearts to the possibility that those who have hurt us, may actually be hurting themselves or when we try and see the other point, we start to empathize and we connect. It goes without saying but I’ll say it anyways,

No one. NO ONE, is sheltered from the pains of being a human being.

And yet, it is only when we truly understand or at the very least, open the door that it becomes immensely easier to pull our heads out of our asses and be soft again. I’m excited to have let my guard down in a classroom full of my peers and have felt no judgment, just empathy. It seems that through the withdrawal of toughness and with the application of tenderness, I’ve been gifted with seeing more clearly. I write truly grateful for a new perspective and acknowledge that it is something that I can now reciprocate, pulling others away from the comforts of their own corners and away from the loneliness hidden within even the toughest individuals. Better yet, I’ll let one of my favorite writers simplify my point more eloquently:

Go out into the world and empathize. I promise you won’t regret it.

Morning-Made

I’ve decided that women have terrible memories. We too often forget what we are truly looking for because we are caught up in our own mind and imaginations. Men, on the other hand, neither have terrible memories or terribly good ones. They just don’t know what women really want.

I awoke this morning to the dull dusk of the Salt Lake City sun rising over our towering mountains. I took my first breath from a good night sleep in over a week. The day wasn’t particularly beautiful, it was quite normal for January, but it was the feeling I awoke with…just knowing this would be a gorgeous day. Most mornings I don’t notice feelings of “good or bad” —

I just wake up empty.

Because of this, I turn to my memory for guidance, chapters of the past that I’ve written to solidify the meaning of life. I pull out chapters in my mind much like I would off a library shelf, one by one, reminding myself of the value of each changing page. Someone once told me, “the past is a story we tell ourselves”, and I haven’t yet found a witty way to disagree. The fact is, there isn’t one. Our stories and our imaginations can lie.

I can’t really speak for all women, but I have a hankering that most would agree, we love stories. From the time we are children we are fed with what life looks like; the husband, obedient children, warm family life. Maybe it looks more like travel, adventure, and higher purpose or the life “your parents never had”. It doesn’t matter the story, we all create expectations or “scripts” of how life is suppose to pan out and although I respect those stories, it’s my theory that the “perfect” man, house or job, isn’t really that perfect at all. But damn, imagining them to be is much easier than the truth isn’t it?

And so it continues, the stories we tell ourselves, the reels of tape keep rolling, and we remember the best moments – I can recite every minute of the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower, the sound of the train tracks rolling across the metal bridge, the smell of espresso in the streets, and the gentle rain falling when my husband proposed. Every bit of it.

But ask me about the first time a man cheated on me, how it felt when I was sexually abused, or the sunken realization that I’d been rejected and I seem to blank the details. Terrible memory.

This isn’t because they didn’t happen, I know they did and they were real, but these are not the stories I tell myself when I wake up. They are not the scripts I dig for when I’m looking for a reason to get out of bed.

And herein lies the problem.

Because many of us blank the details of how it feels to be betrayed, hurt, or forgotten, we do ourselves a great disservice. We can’t possibly set hard boundaries or protect the true nature of what we need if we are only caught up in the beauties of the world. Sure, the story of the handsome man with a lot of money, fast car, and great house sounds like a good one. Hell, I know plenty of women who only date men with that story… but what about his integrity? What about ours?

From my experience, men only hear the fairy tales of what women want because that’s all they see us asking for. They believe that success, money, status, and nice things are priorities over our basic needs. This leads them into what I call, “manic work mode”, stretching their time too thin and leaving their family life on the back burner. Then they wonder why we are dissatisfied when they’ve accomplished all their work goals, provided for us, and given us the life of dreams. Trust me guys, I would probably be pissed too, it’s hard work. But we must all understand the secret of life no one ever teaches us in school…

Our ability to put down our morning-made scripts and feel.

• Men, remember the feeling of a woman’s embrace, her soft skin and the satisfaction in her eyes when you opted to make dinner or watch the kids.
• Remember how it felt when she giggled, with that cute half smile because you remembered to open the door for her.
• Remember the sex. When she made love to you because she truly wanted to, with passion, not due to routine or repeated advances.

And women, we need to stop picking patterns that repeat themselves. I know I tend to talk myself into reasons why these patterns are okay, or why “I need to change my attitude”, but this is a lie. As women, we NEED to remember our pasts, not so we can be bitter bitches, but so we can set firm boundaries with the men in our lives, expressing what is truly important.

• Remember the feeling of a man gently pushing back your hair, laying a soft kiss, and saying “good morning”.
• The feeling of him noticing that someone has offended you and standing a bit closer in defense.
• The feeling of receiving a song that reminds him of you. Or a text that says “I’ll never leave you”.

If we can do this together, we regain the meaning of life and feel the delicacy of a morning kiss, the security of love, and the importance of a promise kept or a listening ear.

Being realistic about our needs is the only way to honor our past hardships. 

It is the only way to give them purpose. 

I am still left with a feeling of ease, knowing I will close my eyes tonight and I don’t need to be afraid of the morning. From the words of Oscar Wilde, “A man [or woman] who is the master of himself, can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure.” – Put down the morning-made scripts and master your mind, your relationships, and your dreams.

The One That Never Was

I wonder what my expression was when, before my time on earth began, I walked into the courtroom to be read my nearing fate. I’m not really a religious person although, I have to wonder what it would have been like to walk into a large room, stand in the center, and have the “Chief of Justice”, “God”, “Big Man” or whatever you want to call Him, read me my life story. I imagine the lights were bright as I entered and I was feeling special, like my story would be something unique. I can almost hear the murmur of the gentleman on the stand next to Our Maker, whispering about what was to come. Then He starts:

“Haley Brooke Jones”, his voice says booming. “You’d better get used to that” he half smiles, winks and flips a page.

“Don’t be frightened young soul, you will live a beautiful life on earth. I will give you a loving mother, a charismatic father, a handful of brothers, and one sister, whom will keep you in line. You will be challenged at a young age, forced to grow up fast, but it will be needed in my plan for you.”

I nod my head as if I actually understand what He meant. In heaven, comprehending a challenge is much harder than it is on earth.

“Ms. Jones, by the age of twenty-five, you will have another family, but not from your own womb. Three beauties and an adoring husband.” He flips a page.

I clap my hands because I’m so happy. I can’t help it!

Understanding pain in heaven is difficult, but joy, that comes easy.

I start to turn because I think it’s over.

I got the life I wanted, I think to myself.

 

“Wait! Young soul. I’m not finished.” His voice deepening.

I face the judges, biting my bottom lip while the lights dim around me and a small spotlight shines directly on my face.

“You my dear are special. Enough so that I am giving you a challenge I don’t give many.” He flips a page.

“At 25, you will start to remember an earlier time in your life. It will be difficult to explain each detail, so you must trust me.” He flips a page. “You will remember a child in which you carried at 19. A boy. It will be a distant memory you chose on earth to cover in shame, like many human beings do. But, because I created you and I get to decide, you will eventually have to deal with that lost child. It will be confusing, you will cry and at times, looking at your husband interact with his children will be painful.”

He stops, looking at me with empathy. “Trust me, you would have been a beautiful mother on earth, but the path I chose for you is different.”

He pauses, looks down at his pages and tucks them away.

I’m confused now. “Will I be happy?” I ask, my voice cracking.

 

“That, young soul, is the challenge.”

The lights go up and I am excused.

 ♦♦♦♦♦

 

It has been a little over 6 years since I miscarried. Indeed, 6 years of burying my emotions about it, keeping myself distracted, and simply ignoring it. But over the past few weekends that I’ve had my stepchildren, I feel a pain that doesn’t subside. Almost like the man upstairs is nudging me, saying, “It’s time to deal.”

Instead of accepting that it might be time to face the fear of never being a biological mom, and the loss of a chance I once had, I have been forcefully trying to escape it; Running away, making up reasons to hide, and justifying my anxiety as something other than the truth. I am finally answering the Judge’s call and admitting that I miss that tiny possibility. The possibility of a child looking at me with eyes that say,

“I need you.”

 

But as the Judge instructed, herein lies the challenge.

I love my husband, I love my step-kids, and without them I know my life would not be as full, funny, or sometimes, beautifully insane. They are the reason I wake up, the reason I look inward, and the hope I see in my future. I’m learning to accept that even if they will never need me the way a child needs their own mother, I know I need them.

Life can seem like a twisted place if you let it. God knows I’ve sat in my pity chair many times, looking for people to brush my hair, give me a cupcake, and kiss me on the forehead. But today I am choosing to let that tiny possibility go, to let my past go and in its place, grow.

I will always be reminded of it, but in order to accept His challenge, I must choose to be happy and move on.

I am no longer a young soul, but an old one. Life has made (blessed) me this way.

We choose to make it beautiful.

 

Saying Goodbye to Peter Pan

Before the Internet, Netflix, and all forms of easily accessible entertainment, my generation depended on our VCR. My household ran a few tapes daily, with only the space between lasting long enough for a quick rewind. The movie I remember the most was “Hook”. It was a classic among my whole family, whose ages and genders greatly varied. Still, this movie brought us all together around the television, made us laugh, cry, and left our imaginations tickled.

On Monday night, I felt the unanimous jaw drop of the entire nation with the news that actor/comedian Robin Williams had passed away. I’ve seen most of his films including favorites like Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come, and Goodwill Hunting. In fact, just last week I enjoyed Dead Poets Society for the thousandths time, another reminder how special Robin was. But when I heard the news of his death and longtime battle with depression I could only think of Peter Pan.

The film Hook was truly the beginning of my love for Williams. Like many of us morning his death, I didn’t know him personally, but his films always brought thought provoking discussions to our family dinner table.

He had a way of choosing roles that added value and understanding around tough situations.

For example, as a child I related to the movie Mrs. Doubtfire and the tension divorce can bring into a home, not just for the kids but for the adults too. Another one that helped me through my childhood was The Bird Cage. In the 90’s, against popularity, Robin boldly took on a role as a gay man with children. My dad came out in 1996 just as this movie was released, allowing me to laugh, feeling less secluded from the outside world and providing me with a different perspective. A better one. 

I just wanted to take a moment today and use this platform to thank Robin Williams for his lovely contribution to our world. I imagine his last moments were the truest depiction of a great battle against depression, but maybe, wherever he sits now, he can see the outpouring of love throughout our country. I can only imagine a comedic genius like him arriving at the pearly gates and God saying,

“Two jews walk into a bar…” and the laughter rolls on.

Thank you Robin. Goodnight Peter.

Falling Shamelessly

I’ve been thinking a lot about falling. Not the kind you might immediately imagine, like skydiving or atop an unstable chair, but the kind that jolts you in the night. The heavy breathing, cold sweating kind, that promptly interrupts a dream and snatches the breathe right out of your chest. I guess you could say that I’ve been jolted, interrupted, and reawakened. So here I sit, pushing aside my writers block and responding to one of life’s most defeating lessons; Shame.

Recently I had an experience that literally brought me to my knees with emotion (I’m sure some of you can relate). I was feeling so much at once, I couldn’t find my breath, let alone the right words or thoughts to go along with it. Admittedly, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I mean, I had felt hurt, pain, and discomfort before, but never quite at this temperature. Never at this level. The only thing I knew was that afterwards I wanted to disconnect completely. The angry critic in me screamed, saying I wasn’t worthy of being a step-mom, wife, or even a good person. Every morning, after what I call, “the emotional jolt”, I felt exhausted, struggling to stay above my internal messaging and too tired to try anymore. Thoughts within me quietly shifted, making me believe the only way to survive was to hide, pull back risk, and befriend seclusion.

“No one wants to hear what you have to say.”
“Your work is not good.”
“You are not important.”
“No one likes you.”
“You don’t belong.”

These are the uneasy thoughts that would run through my mind on a daily bases and are superbly documented in my journal (us writers love a good reason to spill our guts on paper right?). I started replacing what normally would have been affirmations and short-term goals with judgment, fear, and loss of interest. This attitude wasn’t normal for me, it was defeating and hurtful, but I couldn’t stop. Each passing day I believed more and more that I wasn’t courageous, worthy, or significant. The stories in my head were quickly conducting my attitude and eventually, my behavior.

My sense of self was almost completely replaced before I stumbled across a talk by Brene’ Brown online. I then quickly purchased a book from her titled, “Daring Greatly”. Brene’ helped me realize that the silent, calm, reassuring dream I had been living was interrupted by a violent emotion called “shame”. She explained that shame turns into hurt, bitterness, and anger. It only knows how to respond in uneasy situations in the form of a “fight or flight” response. Shame is an emotion that I know many of us have experienced but rarely recognize. It develops differently in men (ex. not making enough money, unable to provide, showing too much emotion, being seen as weak, divorce) and in women (ex. feeling judged about mothering, perfectionism, staying thin or considered beautiful, aging, divorce) but the results are always the same. PAIN.

I originally thought my behavior was due to guilt, but quickly came to the conclusion that I was wrong on many levels. Shame loves the disguise, but they are two very different emotions. For example, guilt comes in the form of thoughts like, “Oh man, I made a mistake”, and can be a positive motivator for great change in your life. Shame on the other hand, comes in the form of “I AM a mistake.” Shame only motivates self-doubt and is dangerous because it doesn’t permit creativity, love, or understanding.

After having my “ah-ha” moment, looking back at my journals and analyzing my behavior, it was hard to deny that instead of feeling guilty for an uncomfortable encounter, I was shaming myself. In fact, like many of us do, I had been doing this on a small level my whole life and my “emotional jolt” experience was the catalyst shame needed to finish the job. Coming to this realization was difficult, but I felt relief in knowing it was fixable through the antidotes empathy, courage and vulnerability.

If I am being completely honest, this very expression of writing is my way of being vulnerable again. Nothing is more important to me than regaining my self-confidence although, I am still working through the un-coupling process of shame and guilt. I’ve started by replacing judgments with empathy for others and myself. I’ve also found the phrase, “I am enough” helpful, and created a necklace from The Giving Keys that reads, “Courage”. It reminds me to keep taking risks, doing as Ms. Brown suggests by daring greatly. Today I feel as if I’m freely falling again and my dream has gone peacefully undisturbed for a while. But I feel comfort knowing that the next time I am jolted awake by one of life’s unforeseen experiences, I’ll replace the heavy breathing with a few deep breathes, the cold sweat for a cold beverage, and acknowledge the interruption as another lesson learned.

 

 

 

Brene’ Brown’s Ted Talk is titled: “Listening To Shame” – google it.

Her Book is Daring Greatly (can be found on Amazon.com or audio book on iTunes)

You can create your own necklace with your unique word on it at http://www.thegivingkeys.com

Respect Difference: Sam’s Kiss is a Defiant Message Against Bigotry

Powerful Thoughts

The Chris Murray Report: A Public Forum For Sports, Politics, and Culture

By Chris Murray
For the Chris Murray Report and the Philadelphia Sunday Sun

After being picked in the seventh round of the 2014 NFL Draft, 2013 Southeastern Conference Defensive Player of the Year, Michael Sam shares a kiss with his lover, Vito Commisano on camera. The video caused a social media firestorm.

PHILADELPHIA—In a television special on NBC in 1968, Harry Belafonte and white British pop singer Petula Clark performed an anti-war duet—“Path to Glory”.
During the course of the performance, Clark touched Belafonte’s arm.

A white account executive from Chrysler, the sponsor of the show, demanded that the segment be deleted from the special before it aired not only because it would offend viewers from the South, but because it offended the account executive’s racial sensibilities as well. He wanted it replaced with video that showed Belafonte and Clark performing the song, but standing apart.

But Clark and her…

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Journeys.

Aboard an aircraft, after being seated, locked in, and conducting a brief introduction to the stranger next to you, one is lifted off the ground saying good-bye to the outside world. Quite literally, the earth disappears beneath you, giving you the opportunity to breathe, think, sleep, or reflect. I’ve taken this type of journey many times in the last few years. In fact, I would go as far as saying I am almost a professional. I know exactly what I need, what I like, where I should sit (never too close to the bathrooms or too far away) and what airline foods I prefer. These journeys never feel wasted, especially with my journal and favorite pen in hand. By now I’ve realized that each time the distant world shrinks, without the nuance of lingering distractions, quiet revelations are drawn out.

My latest taunts across the Atlantic were both experiences I took with hesitation. I say “hesitation” because to admit that I was scared sounds petty. The fact is, I’ve done so much traveling either alone or just with my husband, I didn’t feel adequately prepared to be in another country with my mom and my step-dad, let alone my teenage step-daughters. I felt an immense amount of pressure to make both trips flawless, as well as a deep sense of frustration that I may not get the alone time I crave. What can I say, except to admit that I am a selfish introvert. It takes more time for me to latch onto new ideas, feeling comfortable and content than the average Jane. Personally, I prefer to process things alone, with only the sound of my pen stroking private pages. These trips took me far away from my comfort zone (as new countries often do) by challenging my self-proclaimed introvert ways, and most importantly, expanding my capacity for love.

In Spain, I watched my mother get all dressed up in one of the many boutique shops. The sales woman paid special attention to her, wrapping her in extravagant clothing by famous French designers. She picked every detail to match my mothers taste, down to the earrings and necklace. I watched as the little girl in my mother immerged. I’d always seen her as “mom” but in that moment I saw the young woman inside her giggling, laughing, and spinning in the store window. I had lived with that young girl for most of my life, and yet, I was meeting her for the first time in a Spanish boutique. With that, my love for her grew.

In Paris with my step kids, we planned a day to take family pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.  I walked down the steps of our hotel room expecting to find the spry teenage girls I’d known for 5 years, but they were gone. Standing in front of me, dressed in black, there seemed to be grown women. I watched as they carried themselves to the Eiffel Tower, much like Audrey Hepburn, with class and dignity.  Many stopped to admire them and how could I blame them? These three tall, beautiful women in black were something from a storybook.  Their smiles stole the hearts of many that day, including mine. I was getting a glimpse of the women they would eventually become; my heart soared.

Also in Paris, we met up with our Frenchy friend Brieuc who dropped his entire day and schedule to spend it with our family. He played paparazzi for us as we posed in front of the world’s most famous tower and knowing only a little English, tagged along all day, trying to keep up with our fast conversations. Towards the end of the evening we sat at the top of Montmartre as Brieuc played his guitar and sang.

 

Eventually the night dimmed and it was time for him to leave. He cried, expressing his sadness that he could not stay longer. Once we arrived back at the hotel, it was late and we were exhausted but we found a note on our door with a special message for each of us. He had spent a considerable amount of time driving to our hotel just to leave this note before heading out of the city. My heart expanded with each kind word and selfless thought.

I’ve heard it said, “Aboard an aircraft, one is not so much carried somewhere, as they are carried away”. My journeys across the Atlantic carried me far, not just physically but emotionally. They’ve allowed me to see the people I thought I already knew in a different light, bringing a new and adventurous spirit to my soul, and memories I will not soon forget. As my reality resurfaces and my routine sets in, I am reminded to keep close the times above the clouds and the moments of stepping onto new soil. Travel has changed me in a continuous, yet barely perceptible way, which is why I plan to continue a life of unexpected adventures at higher elevations, without hesitation. Truly, a journey is better felt than seen.