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Rocks on the Road and Rocks in Our Heads
Some of life’s toughest lessons are the ones we learn the hard way.
Some of life’s most important lessons are the ones we sometimes never learn at all.
And some of life’s simplest lessons are the ones we often just ignore – like the problem with rocks in the road.
As a bicyclist, I ride an average of at least 10 miles a day. Because of that, I ride over a lot of rocks. For the most part, I don’t even realize the rocks are there. But every once in a while, my tire hits a rock and – due to speed or angle – I get knocked off course and sometimes even knocked down. Getting knocked down hurts, and sometimes the resulting injuries even leave scars.
Because of that, when I do notice a rock, I try to avoid it. And when there are a lot of rocks, I might even change course.
That’s life on my bike.
But I’ve noticed a lot of “rocks on the road” in the rest of my life too.
These rocks are often comments or actions that people believe are completely normal and appropriate. But to the nearby traveler on the road of life, those same words or actions may be slightly offensive or, at worst, hurtful. Sometimes they can also cause people to change course or fall down.
Just the other day, I was having coffee with a colleague who told me that years ago she had come to my office to talk about the possibility of interning with me. When she dropped by for the unscheduled visit, she was told I was in a meeting but that I was just with my intern and could be interrupted.
That one word “just” was enough to make her turn around and walk out the door. She didn’t want to be “just an intern.”
To be honest, I think I might have been the person who told her not to worry, and she changed the story to make me feel better. I don’t remember, but regardless of who said it, the word “just” became a rock in her life’s road.
Fortunately, for my colleague, her change of course is working for her. But she also had the advantage of already having several life successes under her belt. She could handle that rock.
I worry more about people who have so many rocks in their road that they can’t avoid them: people who have been knocked down so many times that they don’t trust that the road ahead gets any easier. Sometimes they’ve fallen so much, they have permanent scars.
Instead of helping clear the road, many of us are busy putting more rocks in their way. Sometimes those rocks are too big to move or go around. 
For the most part, I don’t think we are doing this on purpose. But, at times, I think we are, especially when we make judgments about people whose circumstances we know nothing about. That’s when we become victim of the rocks in our heads.
I’ve noticed a trend of people posting comments online that belittle others who are “on welfare” or “on food stamps” or that make assumptions about people based on appearance. I don’t know which is the bigger rock: those comments or the bitter ones about people with expensive shoes, phones or cars who are receiving some sort of government assistance.
Here’s the deal. I, like most people I know, don’t believe that government assistance should be a permanent way of life. I also don’t believe that government assistance should be used for anything but basic needs. And I don’t believe smart phones and SUV’s are basic needs. I also agree that some people manipulate the system, and that we need to be diligent about stopping such abuse.
However, I also know that most people who receive assistance have fallen on hard times. Some may have previously afforded a lifestyle that included expensive clothes and cars. But then they lost their job or faced another crisis that caused them to deplete all their available resources, including help from friends and family. After that, they were forced to seek public assistance. That expensive car may be all they have left after losing their home, a spouse or a way of life.
Instead of assuming the rocks in their road are their own fault, maybe we should think about how we can pick some up, roll them out of the way or help these individuals navigate a new course.
Doing this follows the simplest life lesson: do unto others as we wish them to do to us. I know if and when I hit tough times, I don’t want to ridiculed and/or blamed.
But this lesson is so simple that a lot of us ignore it when convenient. Or until there’s a rock in our own road. Or until we get the judgmental rocks out of heads.
Unfortunately, sometimes those rocks in our heads are harder to get rid of than the rocks in our roads.
Good Books, Bad Endings, and Why I Never Had a Genuine Relationship with Nancy Drew
Sometimes, finishing a good book feels similar to ending a tragic love affair. From the beginning, I know it’s going to end, but I dive in anyway believing the pleasure between the covers will be worth all the pain of separation later.
My obsession with a really good book is often like being in the throes of a passionate affair: I think about it all the time, I ignore responsibilities so I can spend time with it, and almost every conversation reminds me of it.
That’s not surprising. My relationships with books have often mirrored my relationships with people.
While I have a lot of acquaintances, I’ve found that when I truly need support I generally fall back on the same trusted few people again and again.Similarly, I fall back on the same book or a favorite author when I just want to escape with a good read.
A good read, to me, isn’t an implausible plot that is moved forward with simple sentences and a lot of action. Just as I prefer complex, yet genuine, people, I prefer complex stories that can make me believe the unbelievable.
In other words, content is more important than showmanship, and flawed characters are more interesting than heroes who always say and do the right thing.
That’s probably why, as a girl, I just could never relate to Nancy Drew. As a lifelong mystery lover, I don’t recall having much issue with the plots of her books, but I definitely remember having issues with Nancy herself. She was too one-dimensional, and I could never relate to a girl who had it all: good looks, a boyfriend, a chic wardrobe, and popularity.
As an awkward kid who struggled with getting through each day without too much turmoil, I don’t know what bothered me more – the ease with which she went through life or that her perfection was incredibly boring.
I still don’t do boring or predictable well. And because of that, I’ve been known to play the field with a lot of books. I’ve even developed a reputation for dumping many before I make it past the fifth chapter.
But at least those books didn’t suck me in before it was too late. There is absolutely nothing worse than a book that gets me all excited throughout only to fail to deliver at the very end. I don’t know if the authors just don’t plan well, get bored with the writing process, or have to meet a deadline, but they seem to be meeting their own needs rather than that of their reader.
I’ve been encountering more and more such books lately. They start off with a well-developed plot and characters that capture me completely through most of the pages. But then, they end quickly by tying up all the loose ends in a neat package that leaves me feeling disappointed and unsatisfied.
Such books used to leave me doubting my own judgement. But not anymore. Just as we grow with both our successful and our failed relationships, I’ve come to believe we can also grow with each book we read no matter how it ends.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I find myself completely immersed in my latest book. And just as with the start of any relationship, I have high hopes that it will be both satisfying and leave me wanting more.
Ten Lessons about Love for My Ten Year-old Daughter
Being a very practical person, I’m extremely fortunate to have a pragmatic daughter. Unlike many of her peers, she’s shown little concern about romance and relationships. Other than incessantly listening to Taylor Swift songs and keeping tabs on Taylor’s love life, she just doesn’t seem to care.
And while I hope that doesn’t change, I also know that, eventually, it will.
I can’t imagine that she’ll ever be the type of person who feels incomplete without a significant other, but I do know that she will start dating at some point.
And that also means she’ll have her heart broken.
But before that happens, I feel obligated to share ten lessons I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) about love:
1. You can’t truly love someone else unless you love who you are. And who you are is an imperfect person who makes mistakes, gets mad and will sometimes say and do very stupid things. Love yourself anyone. How you handle your mistakes and flaws is more important than trying to hide them.
2. Love is only genuine when you are being true to yourself. Don’t pretend to enjoy something when you don’t. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t compromise. You should. Love requires a great deal of compromise. But compromise doesn’t mean you should pretend to be someone you’re not. If you do, you’ll wind up being miserable.
3. Love isn’t a competition, and you can’t make someone love you. You will always be loved for being the unique person you are and not because you are prettier, smarter, funnier, sexier or nicer than someone else. Therefore, you should never worry about what others are doing to attract attention or affection. Being yourself is enough.
4. You don’t fall in love. That indescribable feeling of “falling in love'” is usually a combination of infatuation and physical attraction. Love is something that is grounded in mutual respect, grows slowly and doesn’t necessarily bloom as much as it thrives.
5. Love isn’t about romance. It’s about experiencing someone at their very worst and realizing that walking away would still be more devastating than dealing with a tough situation.
6. Love is about having passion in your life – but not necessarily in the way you might think. Never invest so much of yourself in a relationship that you don’t have time for everything else you love. Be passionate about a hobby. Be passionate about a cause. Be passionate about your family and friends. And also be passionate about your love.
7. True love means you aren’t worried about what other people think about your relationship. If you spend time worrying about what others are thinking or saying, you likely have concerns yourself. If you’re confident about your relationship and the integrity of your significant other, you won’t care what others say. Always stay in tune with your inner voice and be honest with yourself.
8. Love means saying you’re sorry. Unlike the quote “love means never having to say you’re sorry” made popular in the 1970’s movie “Love Story,” love means that you’re willing to let go of your ego. Admit when you are wrong or when you’ve said or done something hurtful. And when you are in a relationship, you will say and do hurtful things at times.
9. Don’t expect love to always feel exciting and new. Just like life, love can sometimes be dull and boring and predictable. Relationships are like roller coasters: sometimes they can be difficult and sometimes they can be easy and fun. But being able to work together during the uphill battles is what makes the downhill ride so enjoyable.
10. People do change, and that can affect your relationship. Our experiences shape who we become. The person who you fell in love with several years ago will probably be different from the person you know today. And you will be different too. Many times, you can join hands while you grow. Sometimes, you drop your hands and grow apart. Often, the decision is yours, but sometimes it isn’t.
As I share these lessons with my daughter, I realize that I could add so many more. But I figure one for every year of her life is enough for now. Besides, she often doesn’t listen to me anyway. Despite that, I do want her to hear one message loud and clear: even though she will ALWAYS have her mother’s heart, I hope she is also able to follow her own.
When It Comes to Sex and Relationships, I’m Pretty Sure America is Bipolar
I’m beginning to think that America suffers from bi-polar disorder when it comes to issues related to sex and relationships.
Either that, or we are simply a country of hypocrites.
Since I’d like to believe we aren’t a bunch of hypocrites, I prefer to blame our attitudes and behavior on something else.
But whatever the reason, we are definitely a country of extremes.
On one hand, the United States continues to have one of the highest teen pregnancy rates in the developed world: a rate almost three times that of Germany and France and over four times of that Netherlands (http://www.advocatesforyouth.org/publications/419?task=view). On the other hand, we have a really difficult time talking to our children about sex and sexuality.
Years ago, I felt completely beaten up when I was battling the issue of “abstinence only” education versus comprehensive sex education. But then, the issue got personal: I had children, and I want them to develop safe and healthy attitudes.
This means providing them with as much accurate information as possible. This also means providing them with the tools to use that information wisely and to feel comfortable talking with me about anything. If I don’t have the answer, I’ll help find it.
But I’m learning that’s often the exception. A lot of parents want to avoid any conversation. Period.
They freak out when certain body parts or behaviors come up in conversation, and they attempt to steer the discussion elsewhere.
This is ridiculous considering what our kids are exposed to every day in the media. I remember when 8:00 was reserved for family friendly television programs. Now, it’s hard to find anything on network television that doesn’t center around sexual humor and innuendo or that doesn’t portray casual sex as the expectation rather than the exception.
I’ve found myself explaining more to my daughter between 8:00 and 8:30 than at any other time of the day. But the discussion also becomes an opportunity to share my values, which I hope she and her brother eventually appreciate. And I hope both my children understand how self-love and independence are far more important than being in a relationship, at any age.
But that’s not easy, especially with girls. While the public service messages and textbooks are telling girls they can be anything, the rest of the world seems to be broadcasting that being in a relationship is what they should be striving for.
I was recently at a birthday party for a 10-year-old girl who was crying because her boyfriend had broken up with her. She had just turned ten, and she was crying over a boy. I just didn’t get it, and when I don’t get something, I ask questions.
First, I asked my daughter. Always her mother’s daughter, she said she didn’t get it either.
“Some of these girls always have to have a boyfriend,” she said. “It’s stupid. They waste so much time on that rather just having fun with their friends.”
I agreed, but, in a concerned manner, approached the mother about the issue. Her response? “I know, she’s heartbroken and will be up all night worrying about it. Hopefully, she’ll get over him soon.”
Get over him soon? At (barely) ten?
But then, I should have known better. This comment came from a woman who, recently re-married, has a signature on her text messages that reads “I love (the name of her husband).”
I’m thinking maturity regarding relationships isn’t her strength.
When I told a friend about how the girl didn’t enjoy her tenth birthday party because she was upset about losing her boyfriend, his response was, “They are just imitating what they see adults do.”
That’s what scares me most of all.
Despite efforts to build their self-esteem, I’m afraid the predominate message girls receive is that being in a relationship is a measure of who they are. Is that why so many woman are involved in abusive relationships? Is that why one in four women will experience domestic violence in her life and why an estimated 1.3 million woman are the victim of physical assault by an intimate partner every year? http://www.ncadv.org/.
But I can’t blame the media too much. They simply sell what people are willing to buy, such as magazines with pictures of unrealistically beautiful and barely dressed women on the covers. Apparently, our country is fine with seeing pictures of half-naked woman while in line at the grocery store, but is struggling with issues of breastfeeding in public: http://healthland.time.com/2011/12/27/the-nurse-in-why-breast-feeding-moms-are-mad-at-target/?xid=gonewsedit.
We need laws so mothers can breast feed their babies, but we are forced to look at “stars with cellulite” while buying milk?
I understand that we all get mixed messages, but our country is one big mixed message, especially when it comes to the human body, sex and relationships.
If it was up to me to resolve the issue, I’d say we need to start with some honest discussion about what we really value rather than what we pretend to value.
But then, I also know Americans have a love/hate relationship with honest discussion.
I’m guessing that’s also part of our disorder.
The Gift of a Dead Bee
I’ve finally figured out how to deal with the gift of a dead bee.
It’s only taken most of my life, since no one ever told me what to do with one. Or, at least if someone did, per usual I ignored the advice.
Like most of valuable lessons, I’ve had to learn the hard way – through experience. And, to quote Randy Pausch, “Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.”
I’m a very experienced woman. And I’ve been given a lot of dead bees.
I’m not simply referring to the dead bees, or any other small critters, that my cat brings me as gifts. I’m referring to all the times I’ve been given something that was intended to be a gift – a piece of advice, a kind thought or even responsibility – that I didn’t want. Not only did I not want the gift, but I overreacted to it – if not outwardly then inwardly.
Unfortunately, I’ve wasted a lot of time and energy on dead bees.
My mother was a master at giving them. To be fair, just like my cat, she was giving dead bees out of love. But, unlike my cat’s gifts, hers were harder to deal with.
Even before I hit adolescence, I remember her telling me to accept my body type since it wasn’t going to meet society’s standards for the female form. “It’s o.k. to be a big-boned girl,” she told me. ” I always wanted to be small too, but it’s just not how we are built.”
Really? I don’t remember worrying about my body type. I remember complaining that I wasn’t cool, but I didn’t think that had anything to do with my size. In fact, I never thought my 11-year old body was particularly big… kind of dorky, maybe, but not big. But from that moment on, I was sure my hips were going to grow so large that I wouldn’t be able to walk through doors.
I was almost thirty before a doctor finally convinced me I simply didn’t fit the definition of “big-boned.”
But that was nothing compared to the dead bee my mom gave me when I was 16.
The gift came during a conversation in her car. She had been covering something for the newspaper and was all worked up about the unfair treatment of a female official.
“They just won’t listen to her.” she told me. “They won’t take her seriously because she’s attractive.”
And then my mother did something she rarely ever did. She actually turned and looked at me, instead of looking at the road, while she was driving. It was brief, but it was still memorable.
“You are so lucky,” she told me, “that you are smart rather than pretty.”
That bee stung even though it was already dead. Those are just words no 16 year-old girl wants to hear. Not only did they linger when they came out of her mouth, they hung in the air long enough for me to grab hold of them and carry them with me for years.
Since them, I’ve collected hundreds more dead bees from very well-intentioned people. But only recently have I understood that these dead bees were actually gifts.
My mother’s comments about my looks and my body helped shape who I am: someone who recognizes that character is far more important than appearance.
Dead bees also make good stories. And those who know me best know I’m always telling a story – whether the listener cares or not.
Finally, they shine a spotlight on what’s really important: the relationship with the giver.
A few weeks ago I was making the bed when I flipped up a blanket to find a dead bee on the sheet. My cat had brought me another gift. But instead of freaking out over the fact that I’d been sleeping with a bee, I just laughed. You see, Skitty isn’t the most affectionate cat in the world. My husband calls her mean, but I disagree. Every night, after she thinks we’ve all gone to sleep, she jumps onto the bed and curls up next to me. I love the fact she does that, and if it means dealing with a few dead bees in bed, I’ll accept the trade-off.
In fact, I’m getting really good at dealing with dead bees in general. All it takes is focusing on the intent of the giver rather than on the gift itself.
I say this in recognition of the biggest dead bee my mother ever gave me: the tendency to give them myself. I’m pretty sure I’ve exceeded her abilities at giving dead bees, and I’ve already given a lot of them to my own children.
I can only hope I’ve also passed on how to accept and even embrace them.
Lesbian Is Not a Dirty Word
Relationships with other parents were so much simpler when my children were little. That’s primarily because we all had the same rules for our children: share with each other, don’t hit when you get mad and don’t throw temper tantrums, especially not in public.
But as our children get older, the issues become more complicated. And so do the relationships with other parents. Because the tougher the issues are, the more likely the adults are to have different values and opinions.
Take the issue of love and relationships.
My husband and I have always believed in tolerance and love. It doesn’t matter who you love. What matters is that you do love and, hopefully, are loved back. The power of love is so much greater than bigotry and hate, and we’ve tried to pass down that value to our children.
But not everyone shares that value. There are those people who believe that there is a right kind of love and a wrong kind of love. And they pass that value down to their children.
Unfortunately in that process, they try to pass their values down to other children too.
Take a recent incident in the neighborhood. Like so much neighborhood drama, it started on the school bus.
A neighbor boy called my daughter and her BFF lesbians.
My daughter was completely unaffected by the comment. She probably would have forgotten about it if her best friend hadn’t told her father, who completely freaked out. In fact, I wouldn’t have even know about the incident if the BFF’s parents hadn’t felt the need to include me in on their concerns.
“They were called a name,” the frantic father told me.
“What name?” I asked.
“I can’t say it in front of the girls,” he said. “When they are older and learn what it means, it will scar them.”
This seemed ridiculous to me since his daughter had obviously heard “the name” and had repeated it to him. But, my daughter, who never misses anything, reinforced the concept.
“I already know what ‘it’ means,” she said.
At this point, I was still completely unaware of what “it” was, but my daughter caught my confusion. “Lesbian,” she whispered.
The BFF’s father looked a bit confused then muttered, “Well my daughter doesn’t know what it means.”
Being raised not to think any of this was a big deal, my daughter immediately chimed in, “Yes she does. I told her.”
Here’s the deal. If my son or daughter even mentions an issue related to sex or sexuality, I make sure to contribute to the conversation. I want to ensure they get the facts. I’ve seen the research that shows the more accurate information youth have, the more likely they are to make safe choices when the time comes. Which means there are a lot of interesting, and honest, conversations in my house.
Apparently, those conversations aren’t happening in the home of my daughter’s BFF. Instead, she’s getting her sex education on the school bus.
After getting over his initial shock that my ten-year old daughter had told his ten-year old daughter what a lesbian is, the BFF’s father ranted on.
I only heard a small part of what he was saying. First, I knew I didn’t agree with his concerns. My only concern was that any of the children would use lesbian as a derogatory term. Of course, in the world of ten-year-olds, it was intended to be an insult to two girls who don’t yet shave their legs (which is apparently what the conversation was about). Secondly, I was thinking there are a lot worse names my daughter could have been called.
Regardless of my attention to his rant, my daughter WAS listening because she later wanted to know if lesbian is a dirty word. (My daughter’s new obsession is dirty words, and she’s hyper-vigilant as to anything that even has the appearance of being one.) And even though I reassured her that it wasn’t, she still seems very concerned. Over the last week, I feel like I’ve spent more time undoing the negative influence of the BFF’s father than I ever had to spend on conveying that love is ALWAYS a good thing.
“No,” I told her. “Lesbian is not a dirty word. Prejudice is a dirty word. Bigotry is a dirty word. Hate is a dirty word. But not lesbian. It’s a clean word.”
She seems a bit confused that none of the words I recited were on her list of dirty words, but I know that, through my persistence, they’ll land on her list eventually.
After all, I know a dirty word when I hear one.
Say Anything… Except…
I’ve never been good at hiding my thoughts and feelings.
NEVER.
When I was a child my mother used to call me Poker Face. Not because I had one but because I didn’t.
If I didn’t like someone or something, everyone knew it.
Not much has changed in the past few decades.
I’ve tried pretending. I’ve tried changing the subject. I’ve even tried wearing sunglasses during meetings so people couldn’t see my eyes roll.
But regardless, in the end I feel compelled to be genuine. In other words, eventually I always end up letting people know what I REALLY think.
Not that I’m trying to be mean. I generally trying to be helpful by being truthful.
The problem is, a lot of people don’t appreciate it.
I used to worry about that, but, like with so many other things that come with age, I’m over it.
Maybe that’s because I’ve had friends tell that they always know where they stand with me. And if they don’t want to know? Than they probably aren’t really my friend anyway.
Maybe it’s because when I give a compliment, it comes from the heart. It isn’t intended just to ingratiate myself to others.
Or maybe it’s because I’m afraid if I hold my true thoughts in, I’ll eventually implode. At least it feels that way.
But just because I’m o.k. with how I am, that doesn’t mean it’s easy to be who I am.
I’m constantly battling to survive in a world where appearances are often appreciated more than reality. Where people ask for feedback when all they really want is a compliment. And where people prefer to complain behind someone’s back while pretending everything is fine to their face.
But I understand you can’t change people or systems overnight. So all I can do is encourage people to at least be honest with me. Since I’m so blunt, I expect others to be the same.
If I ask for feedback, I want genuine feedback.. not just approval. If I say or do something ridiculous? Let me know. And if I ask if my outfit makes me look fat? Consult with my husband.
He’ll tell you the truth about how well I do when people are brutally honest with me.
Just So You Know 