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.
Today was one of those picture perfect fall days in Atlanta: crisp, cool and sunny. I met my friend Sarah and her daughter, Kayla, at the annual Scottish Highland Games held at Stone Mountain Park. As soon as I exited my car, almost half a mile from the festival, I could hear the pipe and drum bands warming up for the opening ceremonies. Bagpipes make my soul smile.
Can’t you almost hear the pipes?
I had an hour or so before I expected Sarah and Kayla. I made my way over to the athletic field to watch the guys compete in sheaf throwing, basically using a pitchfork to toss a burlap-wrapped 28 lb ball of hall over a pole 15 feet in the air. Even the pros couldn’t make it look easy. I started chatting with a woman next to me who ran the Savannah Rock n’ Roll Marathon last year and was delighted to hear that I’m running it in two weeks. She warned me that I’m going to catch the marathon bug and that this will be the first of many. My aching body from all of the training miles says she’s wrong. I guess we’ll see.
In case you ever wind up kiltless in Florida…
Before long, I spot Sarah and hear Kayla’s giggles. After a brief interval of playing the coy three-year-old, she immediately warmed back up and wanted me to hold her. In fact, Kayla certainly got her Lisa fix today and I got an upper body workout trying to carry the squirming, growing-bigger-by-the-minute, preschooler. We navigated to watch the pipe and drum bands present their clans for the opening ceremonies. I wear those tunes move through me for weeks to come. I’m not sure how my Norwegian ancestors would feel about that. Oh well, for a day, I figure I can be an honorary Scot.
Think these guys will follow me on my marathon?
After the exhausting task of feeding and pottying a youngster, we navigated to an excellent viewing area to watch the caber tossing. This is my favorite event. There is something about the pure testosterone of burly men in kilts throwing trees end over end that makes me grin with glee. And makes me wish I became a chiropractor.
Tree in a tornado or caber being tossed? You decide.
Of course Kayla was intrigued and somewhat puzzled by the point of the whole sport) so we took her to the children’s area where they had kid-sized versions of the adult games.
Kayla tossing a cardboard “caber.” Does it get any cuter?
Much of the emphasis of this festival is on the reuniting of the various clans. There are booths set up for each lineage where they proudly display their crests and tartans. The intersection of The South and Scotland is an interesting place. Something about a man in full Scottish gear with a Southern drawl just doesn’t allow a straight face.
I guess he’s a member of the camouflage clan:)
I noticed something new this visit. There were some people, mainly women, who had on more than one tartan, thus representing multiple clans. When I inquired about this, I was told that there family, either through marriage or blood, had combined two or more clans. The one deemed less important would be an accessory while the primary colors occupied more prime real estate. It’s a way of honoring ones past while acknowledging the importance of the present.
This guy was watching the exit. Maybe he was checking for stolen cabers? 🙂
Eventually, the game, pipes, and Kayla had played themselves out and it was time to go. My drive home took me through the area where I spent my first year in Atlanta. I drove by the rental business where we got the van that moved us into our home, I passed the location of my wedding reception, and I saw the turn that would have led to the apartment we occupied when we became husband and wife. It was okay. I used to wear that tartan of my marriage from head to toe, but now it has been changed into an accessory and I proudly wear the colors of my new life.
To the uninformed, these may appear to be the same thing. After all, they both require the release of something. Both create a void. And both originate from choice. Although on the surface quitting and letting go appear to be twins, the motivating substance behind the facades is quite different.
Quitting is born from fear or frustration. The latter tends to result in micro-quits; short periods where we give up and walk away only to return once sanity is again restored. Macro-quits, those life changing, never going to back decisions, are usually propelled by fear. You quit when you are afraid of what will happen when you proceed. Sometimes this is wise. Your fear may be telling you that the path is too treacherous and it is safer to turn back. However, fear is a sly companion. It is the taxi driver capitalizing on your ignorance to lead you astray. Fear will lie to you and tell you that you are in mortal danger when, in fact, you are perfectly safe. When you quit, you are listening to that fear and believing its stories. You may feel embarrassed or ashamed that you chose to throw in the towel. You may get defensive, throwing up walls and justifying your decision. When we quit out of fear, we often feel unfinished. Unsatisfied. Unsettled. When you let fear be your chauffeur, your destination will not be the one you intended.
Letting go happens when you face your fear. It is that moment when your fear is telling you to grip tight and you choose to release. Letting go is born of acceptance, an understanding that you cannot control all of the outcomes. Letting go gives a sense of peace. Of weightlessness. Quitting is easy. Letting go is not. It is conscious, deliberate act that may take years or decades. It requires patience and compassion. Give yourself that gift and be the driver of your own life.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 