This sign is located off a country road outside of Helen, GA. It definitely leads to second and even third glances followed by quizzical looks to your driving companions. After a chuckle, the sign made me think. How often do we try to express ourselves in a similar manner?
One of the most frustrating positions to be in is to not feel listened to or understood. When this happens, we grow increasingly desperate. We feel like if we can just make the signs bold enough and colorful enough, our message will be clear. Perhaps we are placing emphasis on the wrong things.
Maybe what we need to focus on is empathy.
I know what you’re thinking – “You’re right! If he/she could just put him/herself in my shoes, then he/she would understand why I am so mad/sad/angry!”
That’s not what I’m talking about, however. You cannot force someone to empathize. But you can have empathy for them. Try looking at your message through their filters. Does it hit a nerve, causing them to flood or shut down? Or, perhaps they have never experienced anything of the sort and cannot relate at all. Try changing your approach to be more empathetic and speak to their experiences.Their response might surprise you. Empathy can be contagious.
Oh, and for the record, I prefer my Beagles with cream cheese.
Not the bull I saw, but I loved this picture! Photographed in 2007 at G’s Ice House. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
No, I didn’t ride the bull. What are you, crazy? I have a marathon this weekend and I would be way too embarrassed to tell people that I couldn’t run because I fell off a taurian hunk of metal in a identity-confused bar in an aging tourist town with its own character issues. No, thank you.
This is me sitting on a non-bullish seat. Notice the lack of movement.
But, let me back up a bit. I went with a group of friends to Helen, GA this past weekend for Oktoberfest and to celebrate some birthdays. Helen is 1/3 kitschy Bavarian-themed village, 1/3 mountain country town, 1/3 biker bar, and 100% touristy. It has some of the best people watching outside of California, especially during October with its combination of Oktoberfest and Halloween.
This guy sits motionless until someone drops in a tip. Then, he strums his ukulale. Nothing ever moves but his fingers. Creepy.
Back to the bull. I used to see those things (real and mechanized) all the time when I lived in San Antonio. I think they were a requirement in any venue over a certain size. I haven’t seen one in quite a while and I was surprised to find two mechanical bulls newly installed in a bar that catered to heavy-metal bikers just last year. I guess the cowboy-hat wearing set pay better. I watched patrons try their hand at riding the bulls. Most were thrown off in seconds. Then, partly to encourage participation and partly for the joy of it, the guy running the ride got on. Watching him was a completely different experience. This guy could ride. Now, I’m sure some of the talent came from the wearing of the cowboy hat, but I learned some other lessons from him as well.
Also in Helen. I bet this bird felt like he was riding a mechanical bull!
Look Forward
The launched riders had a tendency to leave their gaze where they had been rather than look ahead. The talented guy kept his eyes looking straight ahead, even though straight ahead kept changing.
Don’t Fight the Motion
The more rigid a rider, the sooner the bull would send them flying. In order to stay on, the riders had to move with the bull rather than fight against its bucking.
Balance
This word is stalking me.:) The unschooled folks grabbed onto the rope tightly with both hands. This left their body free to swing wildly too far to each side. Our guy? He left one hand free to act as a ballast that balanced his body’s movements. Pretty smart.
Have Fun
After all, isn’t that what it’s all about!
Now, I really have no desire to ever ride a mechanical bull (I know, I know. Shameful for a Texan.) but I happen to think these four lessons apply themselves rather well to life in general. Oh, and I would add one more for me personally: Bagpipes make better party music than polka. Just sayin.
The view from the cabin – a peaceful contrast to town.
Thinking of all of you in Sandy’s path. Hoping you stay as warm and dry as possible and that this storm doesn’t take you for a wild bull ride.
Since last April, my daily breakfast has consisted of a green smoothie: 1/2 a banana, frozen mixed berries, protein powder, cinnamon, vanilla, kale, spinach, almond butter, and almond milk. Prior to last spring, I consumed my pumpkin oatmeal every day for almost 5 years: oatmeal, pumpkin, blueberries, flax seed, protein powder, almond milk, and walnuts. I’ve loved the switch to the smoothie. It still fills me up until lunch and it helps me increase my consumption of leafy greens without the time commitment needed for endless salads. I’ve loved the smoothies. Until today.
Georgia welcomed its first real cold front of the season last night. I awoke to a cold house, the wind blowing through the cracks in the windows and reaching up through the floors to wrap itself around my ankles. I poured myself out of bed, wrapped my body in layers of rediscovered winter clothes, and went to make the coffee. While I was enjoying my coffee, I realized I was dreading my breakfast. Dread or not, I made my smoothie and drank it down, which led to a subsequent drop in my core temperature with accompanying shivers. I usually meditate after breakfast, but this morning that was replaced with a mad dash to a hot shower.
Those smoothies, in all their green-powered awesomeness, are perfect in the warmer months. But, perhaps, I need to recognize that just because something was right for me yesterday, does not necessarily mean that it is right for me today. I suppose I will need to revert to my pumpkin concoction for the next few months or invent a new breakfast. Spinach oatmeal, anyone?
This is only a test. If this were a real rant, the computer would be out the window and my hands would be pummeling the heavy bag instead of the keyboard.
It is not fair.
It’s not fair that I am left cleaning up and facing the consequences of the enormous financial mess he left behind. I just found out today that it’s worse than I thought and I will be making payments on charges he ran up for the next few years. Every time I write that check, how do I keep from wondering what I’m paying for – women, booze, trips, gambling? What? When I tried to investigate the charges shortly after receiving the text, he changed the password while I was in the account. Covering tracks, I suppose.
The only reason he was on the card was so that he could handle the occasional phone calls needed for a dispute or issue since I couldn’t use the phone while teaching. Apparently he saw it – and me – as his personal ATM. I feel like I’m now paying penance for trusting him.
It is not fair.
I have worked so hard for so many years to try to get ahead. I gave up my intended career and over 100 college hours to follow him and support us while his employment was uncertain. I tutored for hours after school to make extra money to spend on trips or the hot tub we bought a year before he left. And after he left? I’ve had to be so careful with money. The lawyers, courts, and various other debts took my income that first year and made a significant dent the next two. I was just starting to breath, thinking I was making progress. But, no. Not yet. Even though he’s gone, he still manages to hurt me. It’s like the nightmare after the horror movie. I just want it to end.
It is not fair.
As far as I know, he continues to sidestep his responsibilities. They’re after him, but I don’t know if anything will ever come from it.
It is not fair.
But I’ll be okay.
Just like everything else, I’ll get through this. My marathon next week can be training for writing those damned checks. One check for every mile, perhaps. And when it’s done, it’s done. The end.
I’ll be okay.
My boyfriend’s response when I texted him the news today? “We will get through it together:).” Yes, we will. And, you know what? Coming home to a messy kitchen seems pretty silly compared to fraud.
I’ll be okay.
I’m lucky. I have it so much easier than divorced people with children to look out for. I have a solid career that gives me the ability to sign those accursed checks. This has an expiration date. I just wish I didn’t have to continue to hold on to the the soured milk.
I will be okay. I will end today grateful for what I have rather than cursing what was taken.
That is the conclusion of the test of our emergency rant system. We now resume our regular programming.
“When am I ever gonna use this?” As an eighth-grade algebra teacher, I hear this refrain at least once a week. It’s a difficult question to answer. I mean, when is the last time that your employer asked you to factor a polynomial or prove two polygons congruent? The truth is that most of us will never use the myriad of math facts and algorithms in our post-school lives. However, that does not mean that math does not have some valuable lessons for us. The following are lessons that can be learned in an algebra classroom and applied in your life. No calculator required.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 