The Power of Voice

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Today marks five years since Candace passed away. I remember that day so clearly, standing next to her and talking to her for a few moments, even though she was in a deep morphine coma. I remember how it felt to see her in her bed in the living room with her family around her and the hospice nurse. Then, leaving with the kids to have breakfast in Sunbury and while eating, getting the phone call that she had passed. Telling the kids, then taking the kids on a drive to look at Holiday decorations because they weren't quite ready to go home.

My grief this year is less, but my anxiety is probably more; I suppose there is always a balance. Today I listened to all the voicemail messages from her I saved - I have four of them. When I hear her voice she is still here. Right next to me. Is it weird I saved her voice? I've kept it on my phone for over five years now. I can feel her presence when I listen to those voicemails, I feel her near me.

It's funny how powerful the voice is. Playing the recording, I'm right back with her. Sitting in the living room, hanging out. Sitting in the hot tub, laughing. But it is so real. So much more real than even a photo. Last weekend, her daughter, my sister, and I took the snow train to Leavenworth. Madi and I sang our hearts out. Candace couldn't keep a note on tune for anything. But she sang with wild abandon. She had fake microphones in her van so she and I could pretend to be pop stars and sing along with the radio. As painful as it was to listen to her sing, it was replaced with the sheer joy she had when laughing along with the music. It's lovely that Madi has such a nice voice. Maybe, just maybe, Madi somehow got that from me.

So much change has happened since she passed, and so much change is still coming. One child is off to college soon and one child will be starting high school next year.  I try to stay with my head above the water and love the journey. I never expected this journey. Never expected any of this. But I remember five years ago when I kissed her forehead as she passed and told her I would take care of them and how much I loved her. And it would be okay. I knew it then and I know it now. It will be okay.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. This summer, we were at Disney. Madi was handing Grant some lip balm. For a brief moment, Madi looked so much like her I gasped, same hands, same mischievous grin, same vocal tone. The two went off to ride a ride and I sat and had some coffee and basked in the energy of her. I knew she was enjoying Disney as much as I and the kids were. And, I cried.

This isn't a long tome to her, I've written so many of those. But this is a tribute to her voice and the power I feel when I hear it. And so, today, I thought I would share it. I apologize it is so clunky, but there is no other way to upload the file here :(.

Love you too, friend. Love you, too.

https://vocaroo.com/i/s0vgjKO1mWdw

Love to you all,

MaryKate

Finding Fabulous at Fifty

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I turn 50 at 11:47pm tonight. I thought somehow I'd feel different. But I don't. I still got up this morning, had breakfast (they forgot my bacon!) and went to work. I had lovely presents on my car from a friend, and presents at school from friends and from my sister. Oh and I got a 'join us' card from AARP. Am I old enough for AARP?????

My life is really good right now. I'm just riding the wave of two teenagers who can't decide on much and keep shifting around what and who they want to be. I'm learning to just smile and let it go, even when it hurts my feelings, stabs at my heart, or when I get attached to something that is gone the next day. Pretty typical life with kids. I wonder sometimes, how my mom and dad did it. How anyone does it... I mean, how do any of us survive parenting?

I realize, however, that something has changed in me - my tolerance for being around people who are unhealthy. My tolerance for misery and melancholy. We all go through struggles. I have gone through crying myself to sleep every night for months. But in terms of having people in my life that are chronically negative, or tear down the things that bring me joy - I'm not able to navigate it anymore. I can deal with depression and I can hold someone's space through trauma. But when it is pretty much a chronic state, when I find I start to feel bad about who I am because of someone else's unhappiness... well, I realize I need to step away.  I'm not sure if that is a good thing or not a good thing. Does it mean I have lost my patience? Or that I have lost my compassion? Or that I am a bad friend for walking away? I honestly don't know.

What I do know is that I still love fiercely. And I am still kind. And I will have your back at the drop of a hat if you need me. But I'm far from perfect. After all, my cup says "almost" perfect (thanks, Rachel!)

The next half of my life is going to be focused on being happy. On finding my joy. On being with people who bring me joy - I couldn't even begin to list them all here. Today, two friends from my past showed up on facebook! How wonderful! It's a joy that people I love and have loved for a long time are still in my life, showing up, being present and sharing their sorrows and their excitement about their adventures. Maybe I'm finally realizing at fifty, no one is going to make me happy. I can share my happiness with others, but I have to make my own joy. This next part of my journey I am going to pursue finding those qualities - even if finding those qualities in my life means great change and moving out of what makes me comfortable. I'm going to pursue connection and community, and I get excited even contemplating what that means.

Don't misunderstand, I don't actually know what pursuing love, pursuing happiness, pursuing joy and pursuing connection is going to look like or what it is going to mean, but I am excited to see where my newfound determination leads. 

Maybe the biggest gift I am giving myself this year, is that I am going to stop pursuing perfection. And I am going to stop pursuing the search for all the answers and feeling like I have to be in control to feel safe. Because sometimes, I think maybe I am asking the wrong questions anyhow. And maybe, just maybe, this year I'll learn to be a little kinder to myself. I'll learn my own value and maybe, I'll start to listen when people I love tell me my value... maybe I'll believe them - instead of doubting them and their honesty.

Thank you all for loving me. For being kind. For being patient while I move into who I am all the while continuing to stumble while I learn. We of the Meyer line live a long time. So I'm looking forward to at least another 45 years of life on this planet <3.

Peace and love this holiday season,

MaryKate

The Minutiae of Grief (or 'Rational' vs 'Emotional')

136

A few days ago, I got an email from an ex. It was a canned 'I'd like to be connected' email generated from a popular website. The email had a photo and some current information. Our relationship didn't end well and when I got the email, I felt the lid I had welded shut on that time in my life blown off; frustration and aggravation flooded my heart. All those memories of feeling dismissed and helpless were almost as raw as the day everything ended in a whirlwind of confusion and dismay.

Then, at three am this morning, I logged into my yahoo account. I couldn't sleep and for some reason I got a nudge to go and look at the account I hadn't logged into for over a year. Apparently, yahoo mail has a new feature where you can search old yahoo instant messenger messages. I searched for candyxxxhoo, Candace's old yahoo account. And there they all were! Every single message we had shared since 2009 when she created her account (after I begged her to get one). We IM'd almost daily, up until a few days before she passed and was too sick to type. It was beautiful reading through some of our old messages. I didn't read through them all, there were over 2,000 conversations; the ones I did read through gave me an accounting of many of our sorrows and joys. The most recent messages, before we were no longer able to chat, were about the house I had recently purchased and how she couldn't wait to come and visit me - both of us knowing that wasn't going to happen.

Finally, in my English 12 class this week, we have been reading the Herbert Mason version of Gilgamesh; one of my all-time favorite mythic tales. We were at the part where (spoiler) Enkidu dies. I read the passage* about grief out loud to my class. I got teary eyed at the end of the passage. My students looked at me with compassion and kindness. It was a moment of me being terribly genuine and vulnerable and my students responding with understanding and compassion. It was... amazing.

It's that time of year where the Autumn Equinox hovers around the corner; it's not too surprising this week has been about connecting with grief. I struggle with the emotional side of grief. Rationally, when my relationship ended and when my best friend passed away, I knew I had to pick myself up because hey... life goes on. After a while of rationally processing the situation I put away being 'hurt' and moved on with my life. I had my daughter to take care of and after all, relationships sometimes end, right? I started dating again, and in time found someone with whom I hope to share my life. I am grateful for having love in my life and for these present moments of happiness and joy. I look at my daughter and every single day see glimpses of Candace's face looking back at me. Certain funny faces she makes are faces her mom made. I don't even think she knows that, but each time I see her face squish up 'just so' my heart skips a little and I feel the ache of loss.

I guess I didn't realize that you can be happy in your life yet still have moments when you grieve something from the past that you didn't even know you were still grieving. The relationship I spoke of earlier wasn't the best of relationships - it wasn't all that healthy. It was, however, important to me. I loved, deeply. It ended abruptly and I felt left behind, dazed, and wounded. It feels like the end of a relationship isn't that different emotionally than having someone you love, die; it is an end to a connection, the 'price' of love.

I realized this week that it is okay to grieve. It is okay to say to myself that even though I am in a place of joy, I can still have tender spots in my heart that are painful when poked.  I realized, that makes me normal - it doesn't make me a failure for not 'being over it by now'. The rational part of me had been whispering that I *really* should have moved on with these issues; I felt stupid for still feeling hurt about events that happened in the past in a relationship where there won't be resolution or answers. I felt broken for being vulnerable and still caring. For a while, I even felt I should stop missing Candace.

However, the heart is not ruled by a rational timeline; the heart has its own timeline. And the heart, or more accurately my heart, doesn't want to be punished for loving by being denied the time it wants and needs to grieve the loss it feels. It's on its own timeline and that doesn't make me weak or broken. It makes me human.

I guess the rational part of me is just going to have to be okay with being imperfect. Turns out, I'm just fine with being human.

Peace,
MaryKate


*Here is the Gilgamesh piece on grief:

All that is left to one who grieves
Is convalescence. No change of heart or spiritual
Conversion, for the heart has changed
And the soul has been converted
To a thing that sees
How much it costs to lose a friend it loved.
It has grown past conversion to a world
Few enter without tasting loss
In which one spends a long time waiting
For something to move one to proceed.
It is that inner atmosphere that has
An unfamiliar gravity or none at all
Where words are flung out in the air but stay
Motionless without an answer,
Hovering about one’s lips
Or arguing back to haunt
The memory with what one failed to say,
Until one learns the acceptance of the silence
Amidst the new debris
Or turns again to grief
As the only source of privacy,
Alone with someone loved.
It could go for years and years,
And has, for centuries,
For being human holds a special grief
Of privacy within the universe
That yearns and waits to be untouched
By someone who can take away
The memory of death.

Dancing past perfection

133

Perfectionism shows up at the oddest moments in my life. In the past, it crippled my ability to be present in the moment and enjoy my life. Friday night, I realized how far I have come in my effort to move past perfectionism.

Psychology Today defines perfectionism this way:

"For perfectionists, life is an endless report card on accomplishments or looks. It's a fast track to unhappiness, and perfectionism is often accompanied by depression and eating disorders. What makes perfectionism so toxic is that while those in its grip desire success, they are most focused on avoiding failure, so theirs is a negative orientation. And love isn't a refuge; in fact, it feels way too conditional on performance."

In my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. I can't even measure the hours I have spent trying to avoid failure and 'predict' what someone else wanted so I could appear 'together' and on top of my game. When I was in the throes of perfection? I was never on top of my life. I was too busy trying to prepare for the next problem before the next problem ever showed up. 

Dancing Friday night brought back some of those past struggles with perfection. As a birthday wish of someone I care about, I agreed to go dancing - contra dancing, actually. In the past, I would have politely deferred; I would have been terrified to look stupid or incompetent.

Friday, I took a deep breath and realized I have come a long way from earlier struggles with perfection. I knew I would be dancing with someone who enjoyed deancing, who would help me if I needed it, and I knew I could let go and just have a good experience. 

I grew up terrified to make mistakes. Mistakes often meant screaming and yelling, so learning to move past that fear and just relax and enjoy the moment has been a goal of mine the last few years. I've worked hard to move past the mindset that liking myself depended on earning approval of others by being perfect. That view of the world led to a lot of unhappy relationships, friendships and experiences. 

Friday, when I got the invitation to go and dance, I didn't even hesitate. I realized I have grown past a great deal of my anxiety and I decided to just enjoy my evening and let the night unfold as it would unfold. We got to the hall and the first half hour we learned some of the basic dance moves. My partner smiled at me, and I leaned into that and had fun A couple of times I stumbled trying to figure out what the moves were, but he was patient and the other people there were very kind and accommodating to any missteps. I had a wonderful time, even when things sort of fell apart during the last dance we stayed for of the evening.

The contra dancing took place in a small gym in Seattle. It was exceptionally hot , there were a lot of people, and not a lot of ventilation. The dances were pretty long, and after the second one, I took a break to get some water. My partner wasn't around (he'd gone outside to get some fresh air) and a very nice man asked me to dance. I agreed but told him I had no idea what I was doing. He laughed a little and said he did know and not to worry. I smiled and we moved onto the tremendously crowded dance floor. The dance moves baffled me! No one really knew what they were doing. I stuck with it for about ten minutes while the caller on the stage kept giving out instructions. I found myself so confused and maybe it was the heat, maybe it was so many people on the floor, maybe I was just tired, but I started to feel that old anxiety. The room started to feel really small and I knew I would not enjoy the dance. This was not an 'uncomfortable but just push past it' moment. I looked at the gentleman who asked me to dance and said, "I can't do this. I'm so sorry, but this is more than I can do tonight." He smiled at me and said that it likely would have been easier to understand if we had been in the middle of the line instead of the very end, but it was okay and he walked me over to the side of the dancing area. By the time I left, he sat talking to two other ladies and we smiled at each other as I walked out the door.

Perfectionism would have, at one point in my life, prevented me from ever even going dancing! My fear of making mistakes in life crippled me from moving forward. Friday night, being able to know what I could and could not do, being able to take care of myself and speak up for myself when I knew my limits, felt so liberating! I had so much fun just dancing and laughing and twirling and enjoying myself - and seriously it was awesome exercise. Not only did I accomplish something I would have avoided in the past, I got a great workout - win/win!

I suppose once I go to a karaoke night and actually sing.. I might really have mastered this whole perfectionism thing :). 

One 'step-to-the-center' at a time.

Peace,
MaryKate

I'm an explorer!

129

That's me on the left and my sis on the right. I was maybe 8 or 9. Skinny! 

I grew up loving exercise.

Okay wait. That is wrong. Let me rephrase that.

I grew up loving to explore.

I can remember being very young, may be 9 or 10? and I would get up at 6am on Saturday, make myself a bullseye (egg in a window, bird in a nest - you know, a piece of bread with an egg fried in the center), and watch the morning cartoons on the tv:  Electrawoman and Dynagirl, Thundercats, Voltron (my favorite was when the spaceships were cats),  Superfriends (with the Wonder Twins of course)... the list could go on, but after cartoon time, I would put on my tennis shoes or my sandals, or my boots, sometimes I'd kiss my mom (who would be up by then with her cigarette and coke) on the cheek and go on a 'walk'. My mother never asked where I was going and knew I wouldn't be home for four or five or even six hours. I was going off to explore. I don't know how she did it - my mother worried about everything. But I guess we lived in a small town and my family lived in a very close community, and she felt safe that nothing would happen to me. As I walked out the playroom door, I would hear her say, "Be home for dinner!" and off I would go.

My walks took hours. I never knew where I was going. Sometimes I'd go behind the community clubhouse and see where that led me, or I'd take the path behind the Cooper's house and go into the woods. I would walk and look at trees and rocks and streams. Sometimes, I'd go to the abandoned tree house in the woods, or sometimes I'd go to the pond down the road. One time, just for the heck of it, I walked all the way into town! Then I called my dad to bring the truck and come and pick me up. Granville, the way I walked, was about six miles from my house. It doesn't seem like much now, but then it was really far away! Sometimes, I would walk in the other direction. Just to explore. Just to see what I could find. I would call my dad from the craziest places, and he would get in the truck and come and pick me up. No cell phones, so I'd have to find a pay phone or ask a stranger if I could use their phone to call my mom. Sometimes I'd have to call collect. Worst case, I'd have to walk home, although I'd try to find a shorter route! Almost always, my mom would answer the phone, I'd tell her where I was and she'd locate my dad and twenty or thirty minutes later he'd pick me up. We'd talk in the truck all the way home. He was never once angry or upset. Sometimes he'd ask how I ended up where I ended up, but since he was the one that had first taken me on long walks at seven or eight years old, he never scolded me for exploring. Some of my best memories are my long walks with my dad.

For me, growing up, Saturday afternoons and Sunday afternoons were times to explore. It didn't really matter the weather, I was out there finding that abandoned building, sneaking into locked houses that were for sale (I have this weird thing where sometimes doors just open for me. Wasted talent!), watching frogs in the pond, finding rocks or cool leaves. The world was my treasure and I just wanted to find out everything I could about it. I explored my world like that until I was 13 or 14, I think.

I don't remember why I stopped exploring. School got harder. I went from not caring that I didn't have a lot of friends, to really wishing I had a lot of friends. I gained a tremendous amount of weight when I turned 15. I was put on a bunch of hormones and steroids which didn't help the situation any. But somewhere in my mid-teens exploring shifted to exercise. To regimented movement. And it didn't take long for me to realize I hated exercise. Maybe the switch happened when I tried out for the track team, someone made fun of my slow running and I quit. Or in gym class when I was afraid to embarrass myself and the gym teacher told me if I wasn't so fat I wouldn't be embarrassed. I don't know. Maybe it was the neighbor boys' endless teasing. Maybe it was the chaos at home, but the net result was that I quit exploring.

And maybe that is the crux of it. I started to see exercise as harmful, not as fun or adventurous. Gym class was an opportunity for others to tease and for me to demonstrate just how uncoordinated I truly was. No one said, "Hey, exercise doesn't mean you have to be able to hit a ball perfectly! Go love what you love! Go swim! Go explore! That is exercise!" I just gave up on moving. And for 30 years I have seen exercise as torture.

Until recently. Until last summer. Until I started running. I didn't love running. But I loved moving. I started to remember how I enjoyed being outside. How I enjoyed exploring. Don't get me wrong, those first months of running were exercise and they were not an adventure! But as I moved, I think I woke up my muscle memory. I started to think about moving not as torture, but as fun. Part of it was seeing my daughter play lacrosse as well. Seeing the girls on the field move in such grace reminded me of the things that made me feel graceful. Swimming, exploring. I think that is why I kept running even when I knew something was wrong with my knee. I was terrified if I stopped running, this fire I was developing for movement would go out. That once my knee started to heal, I wouldn't have the motivation to go back to moving.

Turns out I was wrong. Maybe it was the walk with my friend Lori when I realized I could go much farther than I thought I could. That no one was going to tease or be mean. For 30 years I had held on in my head to what kids in school had said about me - I was fat, ugly, not good at sports, etc. and used it as an excuse to abstain from exercising. Those old recordings in my head faded. I started to hear new ones - or maybe in my case, older ones. The ones that said movement was adventure!

It helped that I had motivation. I took on being a full-time mom. The relationship I thought would last, ended. Somewhere in that mix, I started to get to know my Self again. I unlocked my heart and found that I missed exploring. Not just exercising, but exploring everything about me! Looking in to see what was there. Turns out, exploring showed me that I hadn't always hated my body. In fact, there was a time when I was comfortable in my own body. There was a time when my body didn't feel like my enemy. And I started to embrace my own joy.

That translated into coming to see exercise not as torture, but release! I don't get to explore much right now, seeing as I'm not really allowed yet to go for long walks or bike rides. But going to the YMCA 4 or 5 times a week, putting on my headphones, escaping into my workout mix, singing along in my head, closing my eyes...  I could care LESS if anyone thinks I am weird on my machine sweating until I can barely open my eyes for the salt, exercise has become fun! When I close my eyes I think about all the things I want to do. I think about the people I love. I think about places I want to explore: Africa, or Greece, or Mexico, or Hawaii, or a thousand places! Or even exploring my own back yard. No longer is exercise torture. It is hard work, but I have tapped into that part of myself that remembers how much I love to explore.

I'm remembering what passion feels like. What being alive feels like. What loving myself and the world feels like. In the process of making friends with my body and loving my body and remembering that I am a woman who likes to explore, things have changed.

Exploring my true self and embracing her has made all the difference.

Peace,

MaryKate

Tending to the Heart

On Dreams and Other Things...
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I had two dreams last night - both of my closest friend, Candace. In the first dream, she was sitting on the couch in her living room. She was trying to talk to people because she had things she wanted to say. Everyone was gathered around her, and she was telling people how much she loved them and how she was going to miss her family and her friends. She was getting tired but we listened as she spoke to everyone individually as best she could. Then she got sick. She fell on the floor and I covered her with my body and held back her hair and she vomited - over and over. She said she was tired of being sick and I told her I love her - that everyone did. And I held her while she cried.

In the second dream, we were out shopping for Christmas gifts for her children. Grant and Madalyn were with us. Madalyn wanted a specific pair of shoes and we were in our third store looking for them. Candace looked at me and said, "Wow, look at you all getting me out shopping. You always gave me energy when I didn't think I had any". I looked at her and I said, "Honey, you know you aren't really here, right? I mean your body is back in that bed." And she looked at me and she smiled. I fell to the floor sobbing. I said, "How am I supposed to go on without you? How do I do that, because I don't know if I know how to do that." And I full-on, open-heart-chakra started wailing. She waited a moment, smiled at me again, touched  my head with her hand and said, "MK, my body is full of light." And I knew she'd be okay, I just wasn't so sure I would.

For the last two days I have watched as my best friend slowly drifts away. She has not been lucid. She has simply slept while hospice gives her medicine every few hours and people come and whisper their "I love you's" into her ear. I have tended to the kids, and let others tend to the things that needed tending. There has been a lot of 'tending' going on. I have tended to everything... everything except my heart.

I'm sitting in my hotel room right now; my beautiful goddaughter sleeping next to me. I'm trying to cry quietly so I don't wake her up. My bff hasn't eaten or had anything to drink for 4 days. It won't be much longer now.

But in my dreams? She is a ball of light. She is smiling. And she is full of love. She is the long-haired, hazel eyed, cheerleader. She is joy. And my heart knows that even as she transitions to another place, she is not so different there than when she was here.

ETA: 3 hours after writing this blog, my best friend died. I wanted to say she 'transitioned' or she 'passed' or any of those other euphemisms, but her body simply gave out. Her spirit did not.

Dolphin Days 
97/100

I don't know how swimming with dolphins has anything to do with being healthy, as is the intent of this blog, but I'm going to chalk it up to mental health and go from there.

I swam with dolphins today. It was something I have wanted to do my whole life. It was wonderful.. and? I want to say magical.. except... yeah. I'd be lying. They were incredible, and the two dolphins I swam with didn't seem to be miserable or unhappy.

Not gonna lie, the dolphins were way cuter than I was. *laughter*. Clearly they understand photogenic.

In the end? I am glad I went, although I am still not sure how I feel about dolphins in captivity. I like the idea that on many cruise ships and in the Bahamas, you have an 'ocean' pen where the dolphins swim freely. They choose to allow you to swim with them, then they can leave when they are done. It seems more... free that way. The irony of swimming with captive dolphins on the 4th of July has not escaped me.

Do we, as a species have the right to domesticate animals? We domesticated the wolf, the horse, the cat (or as a wonderful friend once said to me, when we were domesticated by the cats)... is that such a horrible thing? To have domesticated dolphins?

What I know? Is that the dolphins were beautiful. They were loving and gracious to us humans that swam around them. I rode one, got pushed by my feet around the water with one, petted them... connected a little with them, but it is true about their eyes. Their eyes say so much... They are incredibly intelligent creatures. I hope someday, when we look back on our treatment of animals, we don't cringe at what we thought we knew...

 And find out, we didn't know anything at all.

Peace,

MaryKate

Royal Fever? or Can I please be allowed to like pop music?

87/100

Okay I know... 3 posts in 3 days, right? *laughter*. This one is going to be short. I am just getting over my case of royal wedding fever. I am. I admit it. And I'm tired of other people feeling they need to (excuse the language) pee on my parade. I heard some people talking about how horrible this whole "royal wedding" fiasco is on Friday when I was in my office. I wasn't part of the conversation so I just listened. They went on and on about how much money it cost and how a small island in Fiji could have lived off that money for 10 years (okay I *might* be making that part up) and how we fought to get away from England, why should we give a damn about a stupid wedding??? What about the tornadoes? What about Don Trump? What about the starving children in Ethopia (okay I might be fibbing about that part as well)...

Um. At first I was embarrassed. I was quietly watching the ceremony on a break during my classes. I was practically in tears watching William turn to Kate at the altar and tell her she was beautiful. I held my breath when they kissed on the balcony. YES I DID! AND I am not ashamed.

You know what? I *love* romance. It's taken me WAY too long to admit that and I am not sticking it back in the closet because someone might think that makes me shallow. And for ONE day, I am going to be okay with princesses and princes and pomp and circumstance. And tradition. And I am going to marvel at the human being and the things that make us tick. I am going to marvel at the intricateness of being human.

The thing is, I look at that wedding with hope. Say what you will about the royals, I believe Diana made a difference in this world, and I believe Kate and William will follow in her footsteps. But setting that aside? For just one day, can't I believe in love? And romance? Can't I look at her dress and hold my breath at how beautiful and happy she looked? And grin about how beautiful her sister looked and wonder if it is *ever* a good idea to let your bridesmaids wear white? *smile* I want to laugh at the silly hats Fergie's kids wore. I want to get caught up in the whole damn princess drama. And, for one day? Yes, I'd like to forget about the tornadoes. And death. And starving people. And misery. For one day? I want to wash myself in hope and happiness and laughter. I want to watch that wedding over and over and smile *EVERY* SINGLE time.

Honestly? I already feel that joy fading a bit. I turned off the tv to clean today. But? I bought the new CD Shout it Out by Hanson for that fresh injection of pop silliness and happiness and it seems to be doing the trick. Cleaning today is actually fun as I dance around the house doing laundry and riding the end of the wedding joy to silly pop music :). I'm just in an incredibly delicious mood!

So yes... if you don't care about the wedding, okay. I respect that. Can you maybe return that favor? Can you maybe let me enjoy it and not roll your eyes at me or think I don't give a damn about the world? Because I do. And after a steady diet of Donald Trump and tornadoes and misery? I need a break.

Peace (and hope!)

MaryKate

The Best Medicine
73/100

Laughter. I think sometimes I forget how healthy it is to laugh. Looking back I can see that the friendships in my life that have lasted have been ones rich with laughter. I was thinking about why laughter is so important in a relationship.

Laughter implies ease. It shows connection with another human being. It shows delight and devotion. If you feel safe enough to laugh with another human you feel safe enough to cry with that person. My sister says, "It's that moment when you know someone 'gets' you. When you experience being heard." Within that delight at life, that recognition, that pure joy shared for a moment with another, a bond is formed. A bond of connection. Trust, built in moment of joy, is a foundation that can last in moments of sorrow.

I can remember being with someone where I was constantly apologizing for laughing. I'd be watching the television and something so funny would come on... or I'd be watching a movie (Galaxy Quest is my favorite for just pure laughter) and I'd laugh so loudly with such pure delight. And I'd be laughing alone. And I'd find myself apologizing. I suppose the fact that I wanted to hide my laughter was a signal that it wasn't going to last. I'd look over to not even see a smile.

Laughter to me says "I live a passionate life!" Now... I will admit that there is certain laughter that I don't include in this category. Nervous laughter, for one. That laugh you do when you feel so uncomfortable, or when someone laughs at a funeral or some other sad occasion. It's that 'laugh so I don't cry' that sometimes seems so accurate. Or when someone laughs when an animal gets hurt, it's a reaction that I truly don't understand.

Another type of laughter that isn't joyful or kind, is laughter 'at' someone. At first, it may seem like it brings two people together to laugh at someone else. It gives that false sense of connectedness to another person, but there is no safety when you are in a relationship with someone willing to be cruel to another.. 'Trust' built on moments of cruelty is a foundation that cracks and crumbles at the first sign of trouble. And friendships that are built with laughter that is cruel? Are the friendships where one day you are laughing at others and the next? That person you once laughed with is now laughing at you. It's why I never liked shows like "Candid Camera" and shows like "Punked." Those shows make people laugh at the expense of another person. They make it seem like humiliation is acceptable when the person being humiliated laughs. Except it isn't. And that kind of laughter isn't the type lasting friendships and relationships are built upon.

I'm not perfect. I've been known to make a joke or two at someone else's expense. I'd like to say I've never made fun of someone... heck I'd like to say I've never been made fun of but I'm not perfect and neither is life. And heaven knows if I can't laugh at myself I'm  in deep doo doo. I have to be able to laugh at myself sometimes. I can't take my life too seriously. I am a mistake maker and sometimes the only way to lighten my own mind is to remember to laugh. Not to dismiss the problem, but to help put it in perspective. Because even when life is difficult, it's still a joy to be alive.

But laughter? Laughter matters. And I know, as I seek fulfilling relationships in my life, that I will seek relationships where laughter - the nurturing kind- is effortless. Because the joy inherent in laughter is the joy reflected in the relationship.

Peace,

MaryKate