This blog post is going to get a little personal. I’ve been struggling with it the past few days...do I dare expose myself to this extent, and at what cost? Writing is supposed to be a cathartic and expressive process that allows the author to get what they are feeling down on paper and to leverage life experience for the sake of creativity. Much like a songwriter uses music and lyrics to express themselves and to cleanse themselves of pain, a writer uses words. It is for this reason that I made the decision to share this with you – my few, yet honored readers.
I recently had a conversation with a kind-hearted gentleman – a man of the Church, one who instantly puts strangers at ease with his delicate candor and jovial nature. I’m not exactly a stranger to this man as I’m friendly with his children, but even so – he doesn’t really know me from Eve. Yet somehow I found myself engaged in a conversation with him on a random Friday night about broken people: people who have a hard time figuring out where their place in the world is because they have been hurt and abused by life. I found myself admitting to this man that I didn’t think I would ever find the one to marry. He said to me (and I’m paraphrasing here) “Elizabeth, in a way everyone is broken. When you meet the right one, you will know and God will make it happen.”
Everyone is broken.
Now - I freely admit that I am broken. My heart shattered into a trillion pieces time and again, only to fuse itself back together, but weakened over the course of much heartache and disappointment. I could sit here and tick off the number of people who have wronged me over the years yet somehow that seems counterproductive. And I know there are other people out there who are just as broken, and even more broken than I am. I never once suffered at the hands of an abuser, nor has my life been anything less than blessed and fortunate. I know that my past experiences have – in a way – made me stronger and wiser and I really shouldn’t feel too sorry for myself. But it still isn’t easy. It’s downright difficult sometimes to get out of bed with a smile, to be optimistic and hope that one day I will meet that person who will not only love me for me, but who will appreciate and respect me as well. And someone who can make me stop looking over my shoulder to see who else is coming up from behind because my needs are not being met. So far, that person has eluded me. I thought I found him once, but that wasn’t meant to be and now he is gone forever.
True confession: I have feelings for someone. I won’t say who that someone is and he may never realize who he is for I’m too scared to tell him, nor do I think those feelings would ever be reciprocated. That’s what happens when you are broken: you don’t trust your own heart as it has betrayed you so often. You don’t trust your instincts. You become jaded and pessimistic. My only hope is that one day, I will meet someone that will enable me to overcome those fears, and heal my heart to wholeness again. I may be jaded, but I’m still a hopeless romantic.
Love and devotion all the way, you know?
Monday, May 21, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
A little dose of doubt before bed
12:50AM
Just got in from watching three of Seattle’s finest bands perform in one of the city’s best music venues. I knew half the people in that room tonight. I see them out at shows, at mixers, on Facebook. Together, we are working toward a common goal – that is to bring forth a change to the local music scene and put Seattle on the map as a true “City of Music”.
Sometimes it’s overwhelming. The people, the sounds, the egos. Times like now, where I come in late at night tired in body but alive in mind; I can’t settle in for my brain won’t let me until I get down what I am feeling. I feel like my universe is shifting somewhat. I’m moving away from a dreary corporate life, where I am simply a drone among many, to an existence that demands far greater emotional fortitude and wherewithal than I’ve ever been prepared to offer in the past.
Can I do this?
I suppose everyone has those moments where you wonder if you made the right decision…wonder if by raising your hand to volunteer for the mission was your best laid plan. Doubt is a natural emotion after all and there is no shame in feeling doubtful. Having said all that, I do suppose I am ready for this; I am ready to tackle the world and call it my own.
Yes, I can do this.
Just got in from watching three of Seattle’s finest bands perform in one of the city’s best music venues. I knew half the people in that room tonight. I see them out at shows, at mixers, on Facebook. Together, we are working toward a common goal – that is to bring forth a change to the local music scene and put Seattle on the map as a true “City of Music”.
Sometimes it’s overwhelming. The people, the sounds, the egos. Times like now, where I come in late at night tired in body but alive in mind; I can’t settle in for my brain won’t let me until I get down what I am feeling. I feel like my universe is shifting somewhat. I’m moving away from a dreary corporate life, where I am simply a drone among many, to an existence that demands far greater emotional fortitude and wherewithal than I’ve ever been prepared to offer in the past.
Can I do this?
I suppose everyone has those moments where you wonder if you made the right decision…wonder if by raising your hand to volunteer for the mission was your best laid plan. Doubt is a natural emotion after all and there is no shame in feeling doubtful. Having said all that, I do suppose I am ready for this; I am ready to tackle the world and call it my own.
Yes, I can do this.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Building a More Perfect Union
In my line of work, I hear A LOT of music. Sometimes I have to step back and give myself a break from it as it tends to all run together and sound the same. Having recently come off a self-imposed hiatus from listening to new music, one of the first places I turned was a band called Ben Union. Led by a cat called Ben this band first came onto my radar about a year and a half ago when the teenage daughter of a friend of mine visiting from Alaska mentioned she wanted to see this show up on the Hill by a band I had never heard of before. She waxed on with “OMG! Ben is such a hottie!” I smiled appreciatively and said if she needed anyone to take her, I would be happy to as I clearly remember a time *not so long ago* when I wanted to go to shows as a teenager and my Pop-eschewing parents wouldn’t take me.
(Remember the NKOTB incident, Mother??)
Anyway, during the ensuing year I heard noise here and there about the band, but didn’t pay it much attention as I was still trying to absorb what was happening around me, attempting to learn what I could about the whole Scene by osmosis. A chance meeting with Ben a couple weeks ago prompted me to download the band’s album, titled This Blessed Union, Volume 1. I had been told by a mutual friend that it seemed Ben had run the gamut of life’s difficulties just by the tone set in his lyrics. At the time I thought “what songwriter hasn’t portrayed that in his music?” Now that I have heard the album in its entirety several times over, I see what she means. The lyrics are honest and hard-hitting, giving the listener a peek into the complicated soul of their writer. Poignantly expressive, Ben is just an honest person. Having spent a little bit of time with him the past month I know him to be a spiritual man with a deep respect for his faith and beliefs; outgoing and friendly, he has a calm about him that can belie the energetic passion expressed in his work. I’ve not seen Ben Union perform live, but I understand they are all brilliant showmen who leave the audience in a sticky tizzy.
My only cause for hesitation after listening to the album was the lyrics might be little too deep to appeal to the commercial masses. What works in the Northwest, may not fly at the Mall of America. There is a reason the Katy Perrys and Justin Biebers of the world are so successful…the songs are about as deep as the shallow candy dish in which they are presented to their audience. These are troubled times and people are looking for escape. It’s a fine line to walk as a pop songwriter….how far to the edge do you go before you fall off? Even so, the musicianship is clearly present on all the tracks and provides a catchy, arse-shaking platform for the words.
I hear that Volume 2 is in the works. With a resourceful and brilliant management team behind the band, fortifying a talent and tenacity that comes so naturally I’m looking forward to hearing and seeing what is coming Ben Union’s way in the not-so-distant future.
Side bar - if you are interested in seeing Ben Union live and in person, there's a show this Saturday at the High Dive. Prepare to get sweaty.
Side bar - if you are interested in seeing Ben Union live and in person, there's a show this Saturday at the High Dive. Prepare to get sweaty.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Battle of the Sexes
Whoever said Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus was a bit too optimistic when it comes to the distance dividing the two genders. This comes to mind as I just had a brief exchange yesterday regarding a female friend who was recently in an "engagement" with another female involving their mutual male friend. Said male friend summarily dismissed the argument as "you women are so competitive with each other". In this case, the man in question held his ground on that point and continued to wash his hands of the matter, even after the other party tried to pull him into the tussle. Eventually the matter resolved itself and neither women talk to each other anymore. But the guy...well, maybe he would have been better served to mediate the situation rather than stick his head in the sand as he is ultimately the one who now has to dance back and forth between his two friends.
I think this scenario just serves to further demonstrate how most women will approach these tete-a-tete interactions on an immediate emotional level, always reacting based on how the other party is making them feel. Likewise, when women see their friends being "attacked" by a third party, they will always react from an emotional angle and immediately come to the defense of their friend. In reverse, most men tend to evaluate a situation and wait it out, rather than reacting from an emotional place. Which is the better way? I really don't know. There is a saying that "Cooler Heads Always Prevail", but is that truly the case? I think there is something to be said for instinct and intuition; your initial reaction will almost always be correct. In my experience, if something (or someone) doesn't pass the sniff test, it's likely there is something rotten at the core.
Maybe neither side is right. Chinese philosophy touts the existence of ying/yang: the two fundamental principles definining the balance and behavior of the feminine (yin) and masculine (yang) in people and in nature. These differences keep life interesting and unpredictable. It could very well be this is the driving force behind the continuing survival of the human race... this constant "battle" fuels the fire within us and compels us towards each other. We get off on the challenge of overcoming obstacles and striving towards successful relationships - not just intimate relationships as not all couples are male/female, but how we relate to everyone in every type of situation we encounter in our day-to-day lives.
At the end of the day, maybe we just weren't meant to understand each other, but rather to just accept our differences and learn to coexist with each other.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Rock the Ages
"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."
- Mark Twain
Upon entering my fourth decade a year and a quarter ago, I thought back on a time when I was a teenager and 40 just seemed so...OLD...to me. Back then I thought for sure by the time I was 40 I'd be married, with a couple kids, living in New Hampshire a stone's throw away from my aged parents. Now at 41, I'm single, childless and living 3000 miles away from parents who really aren't that aged. Clearly, God has another plan for me.
I hung out for the first time with a new friend yesterday. He is a dapper, young, up-and-coming musician with a bright smile and charming disposition. After a brief meeting the previous Saturday, we decided to get together for a getting-to-know-you beer and game of pool. Animated chitchat ensued and the subject eventually came around to age. After trying to laughingly divert him, I admitted I was 41. He nearly fell down in shock. You see, good genes and a lifelong obsession with moisturizing & SPF 50 have served me well. I don't look my age, nor do I act my age. When I ask people how old they think I am, I get guesses anywhere from 27-34.
It's ironic that when I was younger I used to loathe my baby face. I wanted to look as mature as my more sophisticated classmates. My mother used to tell me "Honey, don't worry. Someday you will appreciate that beautiful baby face!" Naturally, I thought she was crazy because moms have to say that stuff, but alas...Mother was right. Again.
(Side bar - I laugh now when I think back on an incident that happened with my mom in Target a few years ago. We were walking through the store joking about something, and I made a snarky comment that prompted a nearby woman to turn to my mother and say "I have a teenager myself at home, so I know what you are going through!". I was 35 at the time...)
In any event, my new friend shared with me he was feeling a little uncomfortable about turning 26. I mulled that over for a couple seconds and replied that I recalled that time in my 20s when I felt the same way....like time was slipping away from me and getting older was just a scary proposition. However, with each passing year I am more accepting of my age. I don't believe that I need to lie about the fact that I am 41, even if I don't look the part, just because of the perception that 40+ is "old".
And I certainly don't feel 41, which in itself can be a bit of a struggle. Speaking to my boss a couple years ago when I was still 30-something, he told me that things happen when you turn 40; people start taking you more seriously and have greater expectations of you. I have to say he was right. Particularly in my corporate life, I feel a certain amount of pressure to conform to how others think I should be acting and doing. It's certainly put me in a different place than I was just a few short years ago. That's not to say I am not up for the task, but it requires an adjustment in thinking, and how I approach my work. That being said, I absolutely refuse to cave completely to what I view as unrealistic expectations rooted in outdated societal standards.
At the end of the day, age really is nothing but a number. More importantly, how you choose to live your life is what really matters. Think young, be young. That's how it goes.
- Mark Twain
Upon entering my fourth decade a year and a quarter ago, I thought back on a time when I was a teenager and 40 just seemed so...OLD...to me. Back then I thought for sure by the time I was 40 I'd be married, with a couple kids, living in New Hampshire a stone's throw away from my aged parents. Now at 41, I'm single, childless and living 3000 miles away from parents who really aren't that aged. Clearly, God has another plan for me.
I hung out for the first time with a new friend yesterday. He is a dapper, young, up-and-coming musician with a bright smile and charming disposition. After a brief meeting the previous Saturday, we decided to get together for a getting-to-know-you beer and game of pool. Animated chitchat ensued and the subject eventually came around to age. After trying to laughingly divert him, I admitted I was 41. He nearly fell down in shock. You see, good genes and a lifelong obsession with moisturizing & SPF 50 have served me well. I don't look my age, nor do I act my age. When I ask people how old they think I am, I get guesses anywhere from 27-34.
It's ironic that when I was younger I used to loathe my baby face. I wanted to look as mature as my more sophisticated classmates. My mother used to tell me "Honey, don't worry. Someday you will appreciate that beautiful baby face!" Naturally, I thought she was crazy because moms have to say that stuff, but alas...Mother was right. Again.
(Side bar - I laugh now when I think back on an incident that happened with my mom in Target a few years ago. We were walking through the store joking about something, and I made a snarky comment that prompted a nearby woman to turn to my mother and say "I have a teenager myself at home, so I know what you are going through!". I was 35 at the time...)
In any event, my new friend shared with me he was feeling a little uncomfortable about turning 26. I mulled that over for a couple seconds and replied that I recalled that time in my 20s when I felt the same way....like time was slipping away from me and getting older was just a scary proposition. However, with each passing year I am more accepting of my age. I don't believe that I need to lie about the fact that I am 41, even if I don't look the part, just because of the perception that 40+ is "old".
And I certainly don't feel 41, which in itself can be a bit of a struggle. Speaking to my boss a couple years ago when I was still 30-something, he told me that things happen when you turn 40; people start taking you more seriously and have greater expectations of you. I have to say he was right. Particularly in my corporate life, I feel a certain amount of pressure to conform to how others think I should be acting and doing. It's certainly put me in a different place than I was just a few short years ago. That's not to say I am not up for the task, but it requires an adjustment in thinking, and how I approach my work. That being said, I absolutely refuse to cave completely to what I view as unrealistic expectations rooted in outdated societal standards.
At the end of the day, age really is nothing but a number. More importantly, how you choose to live your life is what really matters. Think young, be young. That's how it goes.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Quality over Quantity
I am not so vain as to not realize that my following is minimal. I have a handful of people who actually read this blog; fewer than 400 Facebook friends; and fewer than that on my Twitter roster. I've never been one to strive to increase my following on any of my personal accounts, as I dont really feel the need to feed my ego that much. After all, I am not *that* interesting. When I blog, it's usually when I have something so pressing on the brain, that I need an outlet to express myself. I approach my tweets and posts with a similar mindset: sometimes I have a lot to say, sometimes I dont. I never post anything simply for the sake of posting.
All that being said, I do manage several business-related social networking accounts, and there it is a little different. I strive to increase our following in all those virtual places to further promote those projects. I look for ways to entice people to Follow and Like us. I attend workshops, mixers and conferences, all for the sake of increasing our fanbase. However, I still believe that Quality of the Content I am putting out there is of the utmost importance. Crappy content is still just that - crappy. I hold myself, and the others I work with, to a very high bar with respect to the product and content we put out into the ether as it is a reflection of who we are.
More and more, I am noticing some "influential tweeters" (or ITs as I call them) are relying on the assistance of Tweetbots: software programs designed to not only troll for new followers, but actually tweet "motivational quotes" on their behalf - 3 times every hour, 24 hours a day.
Wow. That's, like, the very definition of lazy.
Here's how it works:
Say you have an IT with 200,000 followers on Twitter, but her Facebook fan page only has about 300 fans. As Twitter allows Tweetbots to seek out accounts based on keyword searches and auto follow them, and the IT has the Auto-Tweet program installed, the increased and consistent content with exponentially increase the number of possible hits for the bots and Bam! Her following skyrockets overnight! Facebook does not allow for that. A user has to manually seek out and "Like" the fan page. By my calculations in this scenario, allowing for a percentage of Twitter followers actually interested in reading motivational quotes 3 times every hour, this IT only has about 500 people who take her seriously and actually care about what she have to say.
Frankly it's a little bit insulting. These ITs point to their following as an achievement, when they really havent done anything to earn that recognition. As someone working at a grassroots level, building a community and trying to inspire those around them to take the high road while keeping the quality high in the process, watching these virtual chirpers gain recognition for their large followings is deflating.
The Internet is a wonderful invention that educates, informs and unites us together. However, it has also cursed us with an inability to tell what's real from what is fake. I encourage the few of you who are actually reading this blog to take stock of what you put out there. It's a representation of who you are as a person, and if all you are doing is quoting other people and relying on software programs to define your legacy, then how real is your contribution?
All that being said, I do manage several business-related social networking accounts, and there it is a little different. I strive to increase our following in all those virtual places to further promote those projects. I look for ways to entice people to Follow and Like us. I attend workshops, mixers and conferences, all for the sake of increasing our fanbase. However, I still believe that Quality of the Content I am putting out there is of the utmost importance. Crappy content is still just that - crappy. I hold myself, and the others I work with, to a very high bar with respect to the product and content we put out into the ether as it is a reflection of who we are.
More and more, I am noticing some "influential tweeters" (or ITs as I call them) are relying on the assistance of Tweetbots: software programs designed to not only troll for new followers, but actually tweet "motivational quotes" on their behalf - 3 times every hour, 24 hours a day.
Wow. That's, like, the very definition of lazy.
Here's how it works:
Say you have an IT with 200,000 followers on Twitter, but her Facebook fan page only has about 300 fans. As Twitter allows Tweetbots to seek out accounts based on keyword searches and auto follow them, and the IT has the Auto-Tweet program installed, the increased and consistent content with exponentially increase the number of possible hits for the bots and Bam! Her following skyrockets overnight! Facebook does not allow for that. A user has to manually seek out and "Like" the fan page. By my calculations in this scenario, allowing for a percentage of Twitter followers actually interested in reading motivational quotes 3 times every hour, this IT only has about 500 people who take her seriously and actually care about what she have to say.
Frankly it's a little bit insulting. These ITs point to their following as an achievement, when they really havent done anything to earn that recognition. As someone working at a grassroots level, building a community and trying to inspire those around them to take the high road while keeping the quality high in the process, watching these virtual chirpers gain recognition for their large followings is deflating.
The Internet is a wonderful invention that educates, informs and unites us together. However, it has also cursed us with an inability to tell what's real from what is fake. I encourage the few of you who are actually reading this blog to take stock of what you put out there. It's a representation of who you are as a person, and if all you are doing is quoting other people and relying on software programs to define your legacy, then how real is your contribution?
Monday, September 5, 2011
Metaphor
In Seattle, the very mention of Pioneer Square (“P2”) for some people conjures up images of needle exchanges and homeless men lined up outside the many missions that call the neighborhood home. For hipsters and art appreciators, the numerous galleries and antique shops in this area of town comprises an artistic hamlet-within-a-city, with one of the most vibrant art districts in the country. History buffs like the area for the not-so-distant past role it played in the Alaska Gold Rush. For sports fans, P2 is a gateway to our city’s three major sports teams, with the Clink and Safeco Field mere steps away; it also serves as an after-party venue for those wishing to celebrate or, more often than not in Seattle, drown their sorrows after a game.
In any event, I have come to regard P2 as a colorful and quirky, culturally significant place I call home. I’m comfortable here. Even with all the homeless and the tweekers, I have rarely felt my safety to be compromised and feel absolutely fine walking around after dark with my dog. But I’m also constantly on my guard when walking after daylight hours as there is still that seedy element that populates any urban area. And lest I forget and let my guard down, I am continuously reminded of the existence of the dark side that will occasionally rear its ugly head and demand attention.
The most recent reminder happened on Friday night: Seahawks Pre-Season Game Night. Because of the neighborhood’s proximity to the Stadiums, I’ve learned to tolerate the presence of the Sports Fans. Seahawks fans though, are particularly challenging. They do dumb stuff – like have tailgate parties at 7AM, and then leave their trash for the seagulls to pick through. They dump there extinguished charcoal briskets in the weeds where the neighborhood dogs go to take care of business, forcing owners to walk over ash. They get drunk early in the day, and then spend the rest of the time terrorizing an otherwise peaceful area with their wild debauchery. Not that I’m opposed to debauchery; I just prefer my debauchery be done in the dark confines of seedy bars and not out on the street in the light of day.
I could hear of lot of things happening down on the street Friday night, but due to the angle of my apartment, I wasn’t able to see much. Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, so I decided to take my dog for a walk. Sure enough, the streets were littered with trash, empty bottles and the subsequent vomit.
Gross.
But that was actually not the most disturbing sight I saw. I happened across an abandoned purse in a lot under the Viaduct. The bag was innocuous enough, sitting in a mess of broken glass as it clearly had been the unwitting victim in a smash-and-grab altercation. Upon closer inspection I realized this purse had been violated – raped and pillaged; forced to give up its most valuable possession. The discarded bits – a novel by Nicolas Sparks, makeup, receipts, grocery lists – were strewn about with little regard for the value they held for the rightful owner. Gone, of course, was the wallet and any identifying information it presumeably contained.
I felt a sense of mourning for the demise of the bag. Or rather what the bag represented – a life lived by a woman who maintained neatly-written grocery lists of chicken, eggs, granola and cottage cheese. A woman who likes to read real-books. A woman who keeps old receipts forever and a day for no particular reason. A woman who carried a faux-Juicy bag because she was too frugal for the real-deal.
A woman kind of like me – minus the faux-Juicy.
For me, it was a reminder that no one is immune from the bad things in life. It can strike at any point and leave you sprawled out on the streets with your entrails hanging out for the world to see. You just have to be prepared to pick up the pieces when it happens.
In any event, I have come to regard P2 as a colorful and quirky, culturally significant place I call home. I’m comfortable here. Even with all the homeless and the tweekers, I have rarely felt my safety to be compromised and feel absolutely fine walking around after dark with my dog. But I’m also constantly on my guard when walking after daylight hours as there is still that seedy element that populates any urban area. And lest I forget and let my guard down, I am continuously reminded of the existence of the dark side that will occasionally rear its ugly head and demand attention.
The most recent reminder happened on Friday night: Seahawks Pre-Season Game Night. Because of the neighborhood’s proximity to the Stadiums, I’ve learned to tolerate the presence of the Sports Fans. Seahawks fans though, are particularly challenging. They do dumb stuff – like have tailgate parties at 7AM, and then leave their trash for the seagulls to pick through. They dump there extinguished charcoal briskets in the weeds where the neighborhood dogs go to take care of business, forcing owners to walk over ash. They get drunk early in the day, and then spend the rest of the time terrorizing an otherwise peaceful area with their wild debauchery. Not that I’m opposed to debauchery; I just prefer my debauchery be done in the dark confines of seedy bars and not out on the street in the light of day.
I could hear of lot of things happening down on the street Friday night, but due to the angle of my apartment, I wasn’t able to see much. Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, so I decided to take my dog for a walk. Sure enough, the streets were littered with trash, empty bottles and the subsequent vomit.
Gross.
But that was actually not the most disturbing sight I saw. I happened across an abandoned purse in a lot under the Viaduct. The bag was innocuous enough, sitting in a mess of broken glass as it clearly had been the unwitting victim in a smash-and-grab altercation. Upon closer inspection I realized this purse had been violated – raped and pillaged; forced to give up its most valuable possession. The discarded bits – a novel by Nicolas Sparks, makeup, receipts, grocery lists – were strewn about with little regard for the value they held for the rightful owner. Gone, of course, was the wallet and any identifying information it presumeably contained.
I felt a sense of mourning for the demise of the bag. Or rather what the bag represented – a life lived by a woman who maintained neatly-written grocery lists of chicken, eggs, granola and cottage cheese. A woman who likes to read real-books. A woman who keeps old receipts forever and a day for no particular reason. A woman who carried a faux-Juicy bag because she was too frugal for the real-deal.
A woman kind of like me – minus the faux-Juicy.
For me, it was a reminder that no one is immune from the bad things in life. It can strike at any point and leave you sprawled out on the streets with your entrails hanging out for the world to see. You just have to be prepared to pick up the pieces when it happens.
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