Running Scared

by Cathy

Last week, I had lined up a workday downtown with various store visits and meetings. Before entering one of these meetings, I had about 25 minutes of reprieve, which allowed me to sneak in a quick lunch in the form of a McDonald's Premium McWrap. I entered the waiting room/lobby of my next meeting early and as I was helping myself to a cup of water, with my lunch sprawled out across the counter and bags half-falling off my shoulder, I noticed a woman behind me waiting patiently for me and my exploded belongings to make way.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I replied, hurriedly scooping up my unraveling McWrap, careful not to spill my teetering cup of water. "I'll be out of your way in a second."

"Don't worry about it," she said with a flick of her wrist. "I know how it is. Always going, going,
going,"she laughed knowingly. "I'll tell you, you know, we're always running, things to do, places to go,
but to be honest?" She stopped what she was doing and looked me square in the eyes.

"I'm scared of slowing down."

That made me stop in my tracks. I chuckled at her and blurted out a commiserating "I hear you!" before turning away to find a seat.

Her words played over and over in my head. "I'm scared of slowing down." She verbalized what a lot of us do on a subconscious level. Enough to make me slow down and take it in.

We all bitch about how tired we are, how much we have to do, how little time we have for this or that. But really...really...if someone were to take these responsibilities, jobs and obligations away from you tomorrow, what would you be left with? What would you do??

For some, slowing down is the beginning of that end. What would it mean if we slowed down? Would it mean we might just stop altogether? Give up on life, goals, dreams and plans? Would we no longer be deemed worthy to our loved ones or to ourselves? Or would it mean that we were forced to face the stillness of life, that moment when we hear nothing but our own voice, see nothing but our own true self (which was lost long ago amidst life's plans and paths), and realize that we haven't done what we wanted to do for ourselves? Fittingly, I saw the following posted on Arianna Huffington's Facebook page today as I sat down to write this post:

Silence is not just about not talking. It's a void...a place where all things come from...all voices, all creation...when you're standing on the edge of silence, you hear things you've never heard before...and in ways you've never heard them before.  -- John Francis

For many, this type of self-reflection can be very traumatizing - especially when we don't like what we see staring back at us; when we don't want to hear the voices that come from that silence. And so we run from it. We create static to break the deafening silence that threatens to disrupt life as we know it. We keep running...scared.

Beggars CAN Be Choosey

by Cathy

Stopped at a stoplight. Walking in and out of stores. Walking down the street. Running down the street. We've all been confronted by peddlers while doing any one of these tasks and then some. Some give what they can, some ignore, some give no mind at all. (Bless my daughters' kind hearts, they want to give money to every person holding a sign at every intersection, and every street corner, every day. In Chicago, that's a lot o' dollars.)

We give what we have, when we can. That's a realistic approach we've exemplified for our girls. They've watched my husband and I hand our leftover food to homeless on the street while coming out of restaurants, buy an extra cheeseburger for the ones loitering around the McDonald's drive-thru and heck, Joe once even reached in and handed a beggar everything he had in his pocket, just because he was feeling good. I think that was about $30. Like I said, we give what we can, when we can.

So it baffled my husband to no end when, the other day, he was scoffed at by a beggar. As usual, minding his own business, stopping in for a coffee at a local shop, he was handed a piece of paper by a man. The paper claimed that he was a deaf mute and could he please help him out with any change he is willing to spare? Joe dug into his pocket, and all he had was .18 cents. He placed the change into the now wide-open palm of the eager man, who sat and stared incredulously as he counted the change. He slowly and deliberately rolled his stare up to meet Joe's eyes and shrugged his shoulders in a "What's this?" kind of way. Joe could not believe what he was encountering.

He turns to the cashier and says, "Can you believe this? I give this guy the change in my pocket and he gives me attitude." The cashier shakes her head.

He turns back to the man, who has now deposited the change into his pocket, and motions for him to give it back. "Give it back," he says, not knowing if he can hear him or not, yet the beggar knew exactly what he had set off. "If you don't want it, give it back. I can use it if you can't."

His eyes shifting everywhere, the beggar now is fumbling around in his pockets, dragging out the process as if to say, "On second thought..."
"Hmpft. Yeah. Forget it," Joe waves his hand at him in dismissal. "Just keep it."

So which saying applies here? You're damned if you do or damned if you don't? or No good deed goes unpunished? Both seem fitting. I'm not saying all peddlers are finicky even though there was a hungry (his sign said so) homeless guy downtown whom I gave my leftover pizza slices to and he paused to curl his upper lip in thoughtful decision. There was that homeless guy who actually returned the diamond engagement ring a woman inadvertently dropped into his cup. All I'm saying is that we do what we can, when we can and when we don't, I will try not to feel as guilty about it.

We Walk the Line

by Cathy

“I’ll tell you a secret. Something they don’t teach you in your temple. 

The Gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”- Achilles, Troy

Because we can all appreciate a visual when it comes to Brad Pitt as Achilles

I had the pleasure of seeing this film again recently, thanks to my daughters' school curriculum and their study of Greek Mythology and the Trojan War. So I watched it with my kids. Yes, I realize there is abundant violence and a smattering of nudity, which I explained as such: "Honey, everyone slept naked back then. Why? Because they didn't have pajamas." However, we were quickly drawn past those distractions and got to the heart of the great story behind it - the lessons, the sacrifices, human empathy in the face of fame and glory.

This quote from Achilles drove home for me a thought I've had for a long time: There is a very fine line between living and dying. Just one moment, one second, can change your life or take your life. I've always been cognizant of this, especially, as I've driven past cemeteries.

Safely from the confines of my car, I view this fence as the figurative line which we must all cross

We drive past these eerily silent resting places of people who were once as vibrant and full of life, hope and dreams as we are today, whizzing by with our music blaring, our voices singing, our kids laughing and our thoughts racing to what we get to do today. It's a fine metaphoric line and a fine figurative line - that fence which divides and defines. It's the fragility of luck that allows us to be on one side rather than the other, depending on how you see that proverbial glass of water.

I've come to realize that not only is there a fine line we walk between life and death, but in every other aspect of our lives we take for granted: a fine line between being healthy or sick; between having a job and losing it; between having a house and losing it; between having your loved ones and losing them; between landing an opportunity and just missing one that could potentially change your life.

We all walk these fine lines every day. If we keep ourselves in check about what we stand to lose in a given moment on a given day, yes, we will live in a sub-circle of fear, but one that is the sweetest of all fears. This is what Achilles was saying: We live with that notion that something can always be taken away, which makes everything more desperately real.

There is no joy to be had in something that you know you will always have and fittingly, take for granted. Included in this is our youth. Like many of you, I fret about getting old, day by day making out the lines on my face, the wrinkles around my eyes and the generally more haggard face that stares back at me in the mirror. Yet no matter how old we are, we are younger today than we will be tomorrow. I will try to keep this in mind myself, as vain thoughts will no doubt compete with my daily affirmations.

So, while this may appear as a gloom and doom message, interfering with the sparkling, promising new year we are in the throes of, it's cleverly disguised as a life affirming message. This message is part of my goals for the year: be positive, laugh, sing and dance more (preferably with my children), be more cognizant of those small moments with loved ones, live my life to the fullest my capabilities will allow and mostly, cherish it all.

Let's make the most of this life, like we're gonna die young. 

 

True Wealth

by Patti

I am in the Dominican Republic right this very second. It is certain that by the time you read this, I will have survived a very annoying plane ride, but I do not take lightly that the key word in all of this is "survived". It is also quite certain that as you read this, I am sitting by the pool, sipping on a suitable summer cocktail, trying to ignore the roll of fat mocking me through my bathing suit. "You think I'm hidden, but I'm not! Ha ha ha ha!"

This trip to the DR is one that we have taken many times. The first one was for S's fifth birthday. How many five-year olds get to celebrate turning five with a stamp on their passport and an an infinity pool overlooking the Caribbean? Not many, that's how many. Unless you're a Jolie-Pitt, or something. But for Skokie shack people like us, it's a treat and a treasure and most definitely not a way of life. We've been fortunate to have been able to go back many times since, thanks to a generous "house donation" by one of M's clients. This house? I can't even begin to properly describe it. Let's just say it has 14 bathrooms. Is that enough of a description?


Hi, House with 14 bathrooms that is not ours and will never be.

Yeah. Imagine people like us, Skokie shack dwellers, who were, at the time of the first visit, completely accustomed to having only ONE bathroom (we've since upgraded to TWO bathrooms, living the highlife, we are), suddenly having 14 at their disposal? I'm not too embarassed to admit that we still pounded on the bathroom door and yelled "hurry up!" to one another the entire vacation. We simply could not compute that there could possibly be more than one bathroom available at the same time.
So, yes: We are very much looking forward to seeing our temporary house once again, and food like this:

But mostly, what I am looking forward to is seeing the kids again. Several years ago, before one of our visits to the DR, M did a "baseball bat drive" to collect as many bats and balls and gloves as he could to donate to an orphange with which his client was connected. Once there, attired in bathing suits and cover-ups, we lugged the goods to the orphanage, and were immediately surrounded by a gaggle of smiling, grateful faces. They gathered around, excited about the bats, but even more excited that we came from the United States and might possibly know Justin Beiber. So of course, I belted out my old lady version of "Baby, Baby". And they loved it.

S lovin' on one of the babies as I sang "Baby, Baby" in the background

S completely fell in love with one of the little girls. Her name was Lady, and S talked about her for a full year after meeting her. Because this particular orphanage actually mentors and raises the children through 18 years of age, we are hoping we will get to see Lady again this trip.

Mr. Personality and Lady with S

And M? Was completely smitten.

It was impossible not to be. These kids were bright and full of energy and smiles and light. And they had nothing. Not even parents. Yet, they still managed to be happy.

Humbled, we headed back to the 14-bathroom house and its stunning backyard.

I couldn't stop thinking about those kids - how each and every one of them was motherless. I wanted to save them all, but I couldn't. Yet, somehow, they saved me in just one visit. I'm not going to lie: I had been feeling poor and sorry for myself that something like this incredible house would never be mine. But now, it was amazing to sit there and see and smell the ocean, and be served cocktails, and feel the breeze and know that, although this house with this view was not mine and I would probably never be rich enough to ever make it mine, I was acutally rich beyond measure.