Third Time's a Charm. Letter to my Grown Up Kids Part Three.

You're entering new territory.  Now it's a place of your own and full time work. The demands of your daily grind while you are still setting and surpassing goals and reaching for your dreams can be overwhelming. You're no longer those two adorable children who dreamed of being an actor and a musician. You're adults with dreams within reach but learning to balance it all is tough for even the most accomplished among us. Hold steady. Don't panic. Breathe. Look up.

And, while you're looking up you may realize that the rope is thin, tenuous, close to breaking. How do you strengthen your hold on life and dreams?

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought" -Buddha

Fill your brain with positivity and gratefulness. Fill it to the brim. Fill it so full that the doubts, the negativity and the thoughts that beat you up are diminished and then decimated. Start your day with positive affirmations. Talk to yourselves in the mirror like the wonderful and crazy people I know you are. Give yourself the gift of good thoughts and then pass the goodness along to others.

While you're passing that goodness around you must learn the art of guarding your hearts but keeping them open. From my own life: Moving to Los Angeles was terrifying for me. Thrown into the mix of fear and loneliness is the the fact that it's hard to make true friends out here. A few years ago I was "settling" in the friend department. I let people into my life that, quite honestly, I had a nagging and unsettling gut feeling about.  I opened my heart, my family and my friendship to them. When they were ousted from my life I did not grieve because they were gone, I grieved because I had ignored my own instincts.
 
Be better than me. Good parents do the best they can but when our children are grown there is not a parent alive that doesn't look back and think they could have done better. We learn to parent from our own parents. Deep down we may know what we're doing wrong and what we're doing right when raising little souls but we find it hard to uproot our own deeply rooted angst. Please embrace the good and accept my apology for the bad.

It's hard to change and change is hard. As I write, I am surrounded by stacks of big brown boxes that hold our memories of the last 5 years in this home. In the beginning, I refused to embrace this upcoming move. So many changes coming all at once. I am taking my own advice: Hold on, breathe, look up.

Max, I walk through the apartment and see a big black smudge of dirt where your desk stood and your flip flops rested against the wall. You were at that desk almost every night strumming a guitar and mixing music. A lone sock, a half dozen or so guitar picks, and the window screen off and propped against the balcony wall (who needs doors when you can just step outside your window) are the only visible remnants of your life living with us. Haley, your room still has some boxes stacked against the wall. One holds a mish mash of hats; earrings that have lost their twins; boots, boots and more boots; your elusive health insurance card; the checkbook that was misplaced; and snips of paper with notes from friends and snaps of shots cataloging our move from Texas and your decade in Los Angeles.

Our parental goal was to raise you up to be kind people, to choose life paths that made you happy and to make sure that you moved out of our home and into your own. It's done. But, never forget that I'm still here for hugs and help. Those hugs are probably more for me than you.

The letting go is like dark chocolate; bittersweet and good for all of us.

Impatience Ain’t A Virtue.

  Sincerely, Someone Who Cares

by Guest Blogger Amanda Bauer

 “Take your time”…used to be one of my lesser favorite phrases. I am not someone who has necessarily been good at taking her time…with anything. I blow ahead, charging forth, allowing myself to get utterly overwhelmed with too much all at once and then have a full on raging meltdown five seconds later. I’ve always taken myself to be more of an “all or nothing” person, but I have to say, it used to be a lot more extreme than it needed to be.

Me now? It’s a semi-completely different story. I find comfort and happiness in everything I used to hate-organization, solitude, and more importantly-patience. There was a moment a few years ago when I was having a “heart to heart” with my grandma on the phone and she may not know it, but she said something that has stuck with me ever since, “Everything will happen when it’s supposed to and it will be great.” I think she’s right. Personally, I am someone who believes that things happen for a reason-mainly because my life up until this point has seemed to work out that way. There have been some very valuable life lessons that I’ve learned as of late and I haven’t yet had a big moment where I understood the significance of their timing, but I know that that moment will come.

One of these big lessons was not rushing. Take relationships for example, I always used to throw in my crazy “full steam ahead” attitude right from the get go and do you know what happened? Before I knew it I was in some serious relationship with some random guy I hadn’t taken the time to fully get to know and saddest of all- I lost myself somewhere along the way. Then, it all ended and I was back at square one re-finding myself, re-learning, re-trying to make myself happy again. Do you know how long that process takes to get back on track?! A LONG time, and my impatient self just can’t seem to be okay with that. So, one day I decided that nobody was worth that process for me, because if they truly were-that wouldn’t be the case. Sure, things happen for a reason and we all learn lessons from relationships (good and bad) but one thing remains-nobody ever is, nor ever will be worth losing yourself for.

I’m not (usually) one to offer unsolicited advice, but I think that this is something we all need to learn if we haven’t yet: Take your time. Stop and smell the roses and the duckies and anything else that looks pretty (or shiny.) Don’t assume, don’t write people off, get to know them in their own time and allow them to get to know you in yours. You have instincts for a reason…trust and acknowledge them. If they take off before you’re able to get to know each other, then it truly wasn’t meant to be, and they are simply not worth it.

When I look at the people in my life I smile because they’re pretty rad. However, this place that I’ve come to with them has taken time. We’ve had to get to know each other and evolve together as people. We didn’t spend every waking moment together (and still don’t,) we didn’t try to fit a square peg into a round hole-it just was, and it fit, so it happened. The time that we do spend together is great because it is quality, not quantity time. As a result, I have a lot of confidence in patience because for me, it’s been worth it.

ABOUT AMANDA       

Amanda Bauer is an actress, writer, director and producer living in Los Angeles. She can be seen in The Myth of the American Sleepover (an Official Selection at the Cannes Film Festival, AFI and the Special Jury Award Winner at the SXSW Film Festival.) Her most recent film, Forev, premiered at the Los Angeles Film Festival 2013. She has appeared in Mad Men and other television movies and shows and has Executive Produced, Written and Directed her own web series, The Common Room. She's an all 'round creative gal and heads up her own production company, Little Daydreamer Pictures.

How To Kill Your Own Spiders is a Guest Blog by Amanda Bauer

How To Kill Your Own Spiders

 

I have done the unthinkable…I killed my own spider.

Now, to back up a bit, I hate spiders. HATE. For the first four years of my adulthood I have always lived with a roommate, and whenever there was a spider in the apartment-it didn’t matter where it was or how close I was to a shoe, I always had the roommate kill it for me. One roommate even took a picture of me on the couch, hiding under my comforter in one room while he was standing on a chair killing the huge and horrible spider that was dangling from our ceiling in the other room. Pathetic, right?

Fast forward to about a week and a half ago, when I found out that my current roommate would be moving back home and that I would be faced with living alone. A series of questions flooded me; first-who would kill my spiders?! And truthfully, how would I feel coming home night after night to an empty apartment? The idea of being alone with my self, having to deal with my thoughts and my life all the time scared me. I have spent a lot of time avoiding this scenario, and now that I would be forced to live alone with my self, whatever would I do? Who would distract me?

In the past, I had the misfortune along the way of dealing with people who took advantage of my self-respect, and the repercussion was that I came into my adult life putting more effort into showing other people how much self-respect I had, instead of showing myself. As a result, I found myself dreading spending a significant amount of time alone, as I didn’t want to face that. I feared having the time, too much time to get lost in my own thoughts and to have to deal with the lack of security I had in my own self and my own self-respect. However, the fact is that at the end of the day, you’re only responsible for yourself (my mother taught me that.) There were life lessons that I needed to learn, and whether I liked it or not-I was going to have to face them eventually.

No matter how old I am, I need to learn how to deal with me, and how to like and be comfortable with having that relationship with my self and to make it a priority. As a person, I’ve talked a lot about confidence and self care to other people, but I had realized that I was being a hypocrite. I wasn’t applying it to my own life to the best of my ability. I hadn’t been giving the necessary attention to the one relationship I have that will never go away (no matter how hard I try.) So what about that incessant need to prove myself to everyone else? I realized that the only person I ever needed to prove it to was the one person that needed it the most-me. I recognized that that quiet connection within myself would speak far greater volumes than any words I could ever say. And, that power and that confidence comes solely from the security that I have within myself. So, what better place to start that journey than in having my own place?

In the end, I came to the conclusion that living alone would be the best way to begin this growth and work within myself, and that I was more than ready for it. So, one of my goals in this new chapter of my life has been to finally kill my own spider. Low and behold, after a long chat with my mom about my newfound inner connection-I happened upon a spider in my room. Now, mind you, it wasn’t a small spider, but you know what I did? I squealed a bit…then grabbed my shoe and whacked the shit out of the thing! And you know what I call that? Killing your own spiders.

Amanda Bauer is an actress, writer, director and producer living in Los Angeles. She can be seen in The Myth of the American Sleepover (an Official Selection at the Cannes Film Festival, AFI and the Special Jury Award Winner at the SXSW Film Festival.) Her most recent film, Forev, will premier at the Los Angeles Film Festival 2013. She has appeared in Mad Men and other television movies and shows and has Executive Produced, Written and Directed her own web series, The Common Room.

 

 Attitude. It's Everything.

When my father was 12 years old he contracted gangrene and had his leg amputated at mid thigh. Penicillin was a few years away from discovery. When I was a teenager he told me that he could still remember the horrific pain of the amputation and that, even after decades and decades, he still felt the phantom limb. That was the first and last time he ever mentioned it to me.

My father was not defined by the loss of his leg. He never considered himself disabled. He fished, he hunted, he climbed ladders to make home repairs, he tended to our huge yard and he never took a handicapped space in a parking lot. He offered words of encouragement to other amputees. I saw him approach a young boy in a wheelchair whose leg had recently been amputated. I will never know what he said to the child but I saw my dad pull up his own pant leg and I watched the little boy take a timid hand and softly knock on my dad's wooden leg. The child smiled.

My dad wasn't a man who talked a lot. He certainly wasn't a man who complained. His wooden leg was just that...made of wood. It was heavy and it was cumbersome. The old artificial limbs were not nearly as efficient as today's lightweight limbs. My dad's had a hole cut out where he would place his "stump." He would pull a white cotton rag through a small hole and create suction that kept the leg attached. He would screw on the valve, tighten it just so, and be set for the day. The leg rarely fell off. But, sometimes it did.

After a business dinner one night in Galveston he headed downstairs with a group of men. My dad's leg made it downstairs before anyone else. Picture the heavy rogue leg bouncing down a very long flight of wooden stairs near a beach boardwalk. For the guys who drank too much at dinner and for the people passing by on the sea wall below,  I'm sure it was a shock. My dad thought it was funny. Attitude is everything, isn't it?

Lately, I've been putting that "attitude is everything" mantra to good use. My friends know how difficult it is for me to publicly acknowledge my own health issues and I'm sure they've always wondered why. My father is my reason why.

I feel like even mentioning how I feel is the same as complaining. Oh, I know that's crazy. But, I grew up with a father who spent his life propelling himself forward and upward even when faced with obstacles that seemed too high to scale. He put on a happy face. He must have saved the complaining for his private moments but I wasn't privy to it. His physical disability did not define him. He would hate that I used the word disability.

A year or so ago I was diagnosed with Connective Tissue Disease. For most of my life I have felt like there was something wrong. Over the years I have made intermittent trips to doctors and have been diagnosed, incorrectly, with a variety of things. My faith in medicine was not so great. The closest any doctor came to a correct diagnosis was my obstetrician. Both of my children were premature and he recognized that my pregnancies were very similar to the high risk pregnancies of women with Lupus. So, I diligently reported to his office every 6 months for a few years and each and every time my autoimmune tests came back negative. I quit having it checked and thought feeling bad was just my lot in life. I now know that it can take years and years to get a correct diagnosis and that it hasn't been until recently that doctors are getting a clearer picture of Connective Tissue Disease and all autoimmune diseases.

Over the years I pushed through a lot of physical pain and fatigue and just kept keeping on even though I would have stretches of time where it was an effort to get out of bed.

I just read that last sentence and I want to delete it. To me, it sounds like complaining. But, I'm going to suck it up and let it stand.

I worked hard, I played harder, I raised my kids, I moved to Los Angeles from Dallas and spent 7 long years living apart from my husband while my young daughter and son chased their own dreams. My husband joined us in LA when my health became a larger obstacle. For him, having to start over in a new city when he is past 50 has been a challenge. He keeps a smile on his face, too.

For me, a diagnosis of cervical cancer and the subsequent surgery was the impetus that brought on an onslaught of symptoms that were like my past physical ailments times one hundred and one. My body's wiring is way off. My B Cells and T Cells attack healthy tissue and muscles that they mistake for foreign invaders. It's all very James Bond. There's a war raging inside me and my own system thinks it's fighting the good fight to save me but the soldiers are getting the orders all wrong. Rashes, fatigue, sore muscles, weakness in my hips, thighs and arms, a cough that will not go away,  small blood vessels collapsing, lab results that now show high positive markers for Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus, neurology tests that are positive for Dermatomyositis and a long and boring list of other things that go hand in hand with the umbrella diagnosis of Connective Tissue Disease. And if the disease doesn't do you in you certainly feel like the drug regimens will.

I keep a smile on my face. I dress for the day each and every day. My skin rashes, swells and peels and I have not worn makeup in over a year. If you know women in the South and women in Los Angeles then you know that the one thing they have in common is that they don't even go to the mailbox without mascara, eye shadow and lipstick. I keep a smile on my bare face. I figure I save 30 minutes a day and that's 182.5 more hours a year that I can do something great. I hope that's right. Math was never my thing.

Why am I writing this now? I have a brain that doesn't shut down. I am my own best therapist. (I tried real therapy once. I tried to run the session. Did I mention that I am also bossy?) I have often said that this blog is for me and if people choose to read it I hope they enjoy it but I'm the one getting the most good out of it. There's something about writing and hitting publish that does more to clear my brain than any other tonic. My brain is switched to "on" 24/7 and lately I have been questioning why I have such a hard time letting others do for me...even my own family. They try to keep me out of the kitchen and away from the laundry and insist that I get the amount of rest that I need. I slip behind their backs and do loads of laundry and attempt to clean baseboards. I pay for it the next day. I spend time shopping for my vintage store even when my back is hurting and sorting through racks of clothing makes my arms feel like they will fall off.  I do all that for me. I do that to prove to myself that I can still do it well...or reasonably well.

I imagine my father. I imagine him never giving up. I remember him taking off his wooden leg at the end of busy days and lancing huge blisters. The very next day he would be back at work. He put on that happy face and lived his life.

The Tea Pot is Whistling

 
I've spent most of my life as a talker. Lately, I've become an observer. Learning to reign in my words has been a good thing but the problem with observing is that, eventually, I talk about all the things I see. And when I do decide to talk it all comes spewing, no filter, almost a rant, a definite emotional release but possibly off putting to some. Like the teapot ready to pour I'm letting off steam. I am an open book and if you don't like the story feel free to turn the page or set me back on the bookshelf.

Here I go. Unfiltered and with topics all over the place because that's the way my brain works.

Gender issues and stupidity.  Decades ago, the 1970s in fact, my father's secretary welcomed a much anticipated grandchild and everyone was so excited to welcome this beautiful baby into the world. When well wishers asked if they should buy baby blue or sweet pink the new parents had no answers. The precious child had ambiguous genitalia. Testing confirmed that the child had ovaries and undescended testicles. The course of treatment at the time was to immediately amputate the penis, perform a series of reconstructive surgeries, give the baby female hormones and raise her as a girl. All these years later I still wonder about this child who would now be 40 years old. Times have changed and the experts now advise waiting until the child is able to give voice to their gender.

It is beyond my comprehension to understand why anyone thinks gender issues are new issues. And if anyone thinks gender reassignment is a choice then they are wrong. It's a miracle that any of us arrive into the world with all of our parts working. We readily accept and embrace the child born without a limb, without sight or hearing or without a working heart. So why do we have to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince people that gender issues are real?

Mean girls, mean women and what's really going on. Like most women who reach 54 years of age I've had my share of run ins with mean girls. I watch my young adult daughter navigate the waves of mean girls in her own life. I'm pretty quick to strike mean women from my list of friends but the hurt that they cause sticks around much longer than I'd like. Time puts things into perspective. The raw wounds heal but the scars are still tender. So, what is really going on? I'm not a mean girl by nature but I know that the times I have been, well, let's just say not so nice, there were deeper issues going on internally. Insecurity, jealousy, stress...they all play a part in how we react to others. How we were raised and emotional blockages that we are aware of and unaware of contribute as well. Take a step back and take a long look at the real person and not the mean girl facade. You still may not want that person in your life but it certainly helps to understand the whys of their behavior.

We are rarely what we seem to be. I have been blessed to experience many stations in life. I've lived in North Dallas, and for those that are unfamiliar with that particular portion of Texas, it is generally wealthy with a predominantly poor neighborhood sitting on its western border and Ross Perot's neighborhood sitting to the east. I've had the 4 bedroom house with a big yard and pool and I've lived in apartments. I've lived in Texas and now live in California. I've had money to burn and no money at all.

My children attended private school and public school and I have served as a volunteer at both. I grew up in the Memorial area of Houston. It's wealthy and privileged although my own family lived in a modest ranch style house and we never had an excess of money.

I have spent volunteer time in the trenches with crack addicts and alcoholics and the homeless. I have spent volunteer time with wealthy women who plan fundraisers and galas. I prefer the crack addicts.

I believe that marijuana should be legalized and that by doing so we solve a multitude of other problems. I believe in marriage equality. My heart breaks over abortion. I understand why women and young girls have abortions. I knew after my second child was born that a third pregnancy would be life threatening for me. I practiced birth control even though I was Catholic at the time. I knew that if I ever did end up pregnant again I would not have had an abortion. I can't explain that and I shouldn't have to. It's my belief and I own it. For the women I know who have had abortions I understand that it was after much soul searching and that the physical scars pale in comparison to the emotional scars. I have zero judgment in my heart. My feelings on abortion are a mishmash of emotion and contradictions and that's okay. I don't need to have an answer for everything.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because, from what I see, we are forgetting that life is a muddy gray much more often than it is stark black and white. Because what you see is rarely what you get in this world. I am a middle aged woman with a passionate mix of moderately conservative and wildly progressive ideas about my own life and the world. Yes, that is possible. No, it is not contradictory. It is me.

The Internet is only as wise as the people uploading content. Just because someone "tweeted" it or posted it on Facebook or Instagrammed it or wrote it on an obscure blog or a wildly popular website doesn't make it factual and doesn't make it worthy of reposting anywhere. When did so many people become lemmings? When did so many people stop fact checking? Facebook, sometimes I dislike you because I used to think everyone I knew was smart. Now we are all open books and the content can be quite scary. I'm sure there are plenty out there who closed the book on this blog before they even got this far.

Questioning is good. I raised my children to have open minds and open hearts.  I raised them to question the status quo. They are grown but I still challenge them to question those who think that their way is the only way, that political issues are black and white and that science has no place in religion.

In past blog posts I have commented on but never wholeheartedly lamented the lack of religious upbringing in my own life. Since my family was not deeply religious it gave me the power to make my own spiritual decisions and find my own way. God has always been in my heart. I have never questioned that. I just wish more people actually lived a Christ like life instead of spouting Bible verses out of context. I will always question people who use religion as a tool for hate and I hope my children always do the same.

The tea is poured. Lately, I write in fits and starts and without the routine that I used to pride myself on. (I also let myself end a sentence with a preposition and don't give a flip what the grammarians think.) Life changes have happened much more rapidly lately and I've given myself permission to find my own daily rhythm. I hope the stretch between writing is not so long next time. We'll see. Make it a great day. Pay forward some good.