Why I can’t write fiction

My life long dream from as young as I can remember was to write a book of fiction.  Not just any book, a best seller, something that would graze the book store windows for weeks on end.  My first book, my only book, was written in elementary school and featured a mouse and some stolen cheese.  Author, illustrator, editor, I was very proud of my creation and even more so to “publish” it to my parents and sister, a kids most important audience.  Through the years thereafter I developed stronger words, wrote some poems, editorials on life, and even a short story my high school history teacher never stopped praising me for.  But then I slowly lost grasp of my dream.  Time became sparser, life became busy, excuses more abundant.  My dreams and needs were channeled into the dreams and needs of others and now I have a series of half started novels surrounding me, covered in dust bunnies.

The more I try, the more time I’m given, the less I get up and grab the reins to get back on the horse and until today I never quite figured out why. 

At first I blamed a fear of rejection.  Who in their right mind wants to hear that the thing they love the most and yearn to do most every minute of every day is garbage?  But then I started blogging, publicly blogging, and learned that isn’t quite the problem. Every day I have a new follower, another like, so while rejection is still out there, it’s no longer making me cower in the corner.  

My next resolve was that the more I write, the more I release my heart and true self into society’s hands.  Being a very private person when it comes to certain parts of my life (contrary to what my facebook friends might think), this isn’t in my nature.  Sure, I’m fine telling the world about the hilariousness of my kids, the moments of my life that make me say “WAAAAA????” either in hilarity or anger.  But when it comes to the deep stuff, the stuff that makes me tick, I lock it up and fight battles behind closed doors.  Hence, when the emotions start pouring, the easier to quit.  Though I firmly believe this area adds a good amount of weight to the problem, it is not the center, nor the majority. 

The problem, I’ve reconciled, is that I’ve become too stuck within myself.  In all of the semi novel ideas that fill my mind, all the half written pages that stock my shelf, not one book is void of an event I’VE personally experienced, or a person that hasn’t played a huge role in my life, positive or negative.  It’s all about me.  How can one hope to look outside themselves to create something new when completely caught up in their past life?  Don’t get me wrong, I could probably write close to ten novels on the things I’ve encountered in the last year alone, all very interesting.  But none of it fiction, none of it taking me creatively beyond my wildest imagination, none of it fulfilling my dream.

Writing is an outlet, yes.  It is a healthy way for me to scream, to cry, to laugh, to relive some of the best moments I’ve ever had and discard the worst.  But it has the potential to be so much more, too.  By staying “stuck” in these “moments, by not releasing myself of the pain that most of my past entails, I can’t dream or hope to experience my future or live my dream.  The unknown will always be just that unless I allow myself to venture out of the old and into the new.   These windows of emotions I keep at bay and happenings I have lived through, they shouldn’t be the catalyst to push my writing into a better place.  While it’s certainly not unheard of to utilize life’s fortune and misfortune to create bestsellers, the drive should be the wonderment of unleashing the beautiful mind….the excitement of charting untraveled lands, experiencing new places and situations only imagination can build, creating amazing new characters, with all of the traits I long to possess or admire in others.   To conquer the beauty of something new, I need to lay down the baggage of the old and the toxic, get OUT of my head, AWAY from my life, and dream up a new one. 

 

Death, redefined

Back in days of ole, when someone passed away, whoever was in the room with the deceased would immediately stop the clock. This ritual began in the Victorian era, and it was based on a belief that when a person died time stood still for them and a new period of existence started without time. To allow time to continue was to invite the spirit of the deceased to remain and haunt unendingly. Stopping time was a way to allow the deceased to move on.

As I sit in my kitchen, surrounded by a semi silence spiked with my Pandora mix, I look up to the wall and realize I haven’t changed the calendar since agreeing upon a death of another kind, divorce. Not only is it the death of my marriage, but of a huge part of my adult existence. So it sits. Up on the wall, blazing with my pain, empty boxes, birthdays jotted down long past, denist appointments long expired. And, there I sat. Future vacation plans untraveled. Future dreams left to waste. Future memories unmade. Future picture frames empty of 5 smiles. My heart at my feet and my head hanging down.

Can it be this is a death worse than death? With true death, you watch the light leave someone’s eyes, and then you see them no more, other than in your head and the footprints they’ve left on your heart. You rationalize that the loved one truly is moving on to a better place, as sad as that is for all to bear and whether you believe that place is heaven or a completely new life with new possibilities and new breath, does not matter. In either event it’s a place of beautiful and of happy, not of worry, uncertainty, instability and sadness. In this instance, this kind of death, the loved one is not only still in front of you, but no longer loved, you aren’t allowed to love them, at least not in the same context they once were. I’ve lost a partner, mate, confidant, hugger, friend, and too many other adjectives to list, and by choice, not circumstance. The memories linger longer, bolder, because they are memories now tangled with that fateful memory that ended it all. And every time I look upon that face from now until my last breath, that conversation, the last one, is burning in their eyes. That day, that moment, that part of time has been lost. My heart from that minute has completely shut down and is frozen in that world of months ago, never to move forward, never to replay. The deceased, aka my marriage, is left to remain in peace, buried 6 feet under, resting quietly in darkness and stillness for all eternity, to offer me hope to gain new life and new love, free from the horror and fright of ghosts.

While the calendar sits, and I continue to make my way up to the coffin to pay my emotional respects to the relationship being laid to rest, I choose to remain breathing. Walking. Living. I will leave the calendar untouched, with all of it’s plans and deadlines, and move on to create a new one. Those memories of my past will dance forever in that space, void of time, void of life, no color. I can dance here, even in the midst of tears. I can create a new panoramic dream. One full of forest green and deep purple and hot pink, and while it’s tinged with blue here and there, maybe some black too, the vividness of what lies ahead seems to drown out the sorrows. The light needs the dark, of course, to enhance the beauty of the end result. My time has moved forward, my clock is still ticking, and as hard as it gets, no matter what booby traps are left to be thrown in my path, I soldier on.

All original content copyright by Sara Elzerman, 2014.

Source(s):
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080714233526AAy01Pg
http://www.sandiego.org/article/Visitors/665

Time

I come from a big family, full of nationalities and ideals, and I’ve gathered many stories throughout the years, and watched my grandmothers more than anyone, portray a lifestyle that was from another time, another reality.  My paternal grandmother could write several bestsellers from the horrors and excitement she has survived, and my maternal grandmother possesses a quiet strength, a strength seen by few, an honest courage, that only comes from living a hard life but a full one.  These women have been role models to me throughout time, regardless of how close or distant the relationship was, and even now, as these women are facing the final chapter in their life story, their fearlessness fading into the horizon, I can’t help but be awed by all they have unknowingly taught me.

It’s amazing how every day, we wake up, and repeat the same behavior simply for the sake of habit or materialism that 20 years from now will mean nothing,  Some of us will earn a pension for our efforts, some of us the honor of claiming our successful adult children.  But at the end of the day, when we are alone, our loved ones now engulfed in their own lives and their own families, are we going to look back at those days with happiness?  With pride?  Or wish for more?

Priorities are defined as a thing that is regarded as more important than another, the fact or condition of being treated as more important.  Priorities to my generation have become a career, financial stability, a toy or two, maybe a family, and self.  In the older generations, family was first, especially for a woman, a job second, unless you were a man in which case the first two were reversed.  A toy was a treat, a privilege, not an entitlement.   What was self?  There was no such thing.  You did what you did for the love of a family or a spouse whether you wanted to or not.  Marriage was a priority, finding a true love and not only committing to that love in a church, but for a lifetime thereafter, divorce was revered as one of the most evil sins one could ever commit.  Now?  Divorce is more predominant than marriage, if you can figure that out, for the simple love and search for complete happiness. But what is happiness?  What truly makes and keeps someone happy?  Do we even know anymore? 

I went to visit with my grandma yesterday at her assisted living home.  My grandma, the grandma who once worked two and a half full time jobs, who never sat still between maintaining her home, her kids, her grandkids and making her ever famous homemade chicken noodle soup.  The one who has lived through more loss, more trauma, more fear than anything I could ever imagine, and lived to tell about it.  Not only lived to tell about it, over and over, but with a smile on her now wrinkled face, her head high, her faith higher.  My grandma, once strong as a rock, can now barely hold a spoon up to her mouth to feed herself.  She forgets who I am, she forgets that I remember when my uncle passed away, she can’t see good enough to change the channel on the remote control or write out a birthday card. 

This is the sad truth of aging, I know that, I know that we all go through this and one day I’ll be there too.  But what hit me is how close she lives to me and how rarely I go visit her.   How in such a short period of time, I went from being able to maintain a solid conversation with her, she was coherent enough to connect with me emotionally and physically, and now I’m lucky she remembers me for the span of my visit, let alone being able to talk about anything other than the Tigers, or the food, or the weather.   Yes, I have an out of the home job, yes I have three little kids that more often that not CONSUME my life, and yes I have self care that also needs attending to, like reading and exersizing and breathing in silence, which is OH SO HARD to come by.   Do I want to look back after she’s gone and find regret that I didn’t go visit when I was driving down the street headed elsewhere? 

More important than that, though, it brought up the question of time, how precious it truly is and how easily it can be lost.  I’ve lost great people in my life whether to death or grudges or unresolved drama  or distance.  If I were to be taken tomorrow, these people would never know my heart, they would never know my apologies, my pain at the loss of them from my life.  Likewise the people I am close to still and blessed to still have around, have I done all I can with and for them as a friend, a mother, a sister, a daughter?  Did I give up those dinner plans to go to a milestone birthday party?  Did I make myself available not only to give love but to receive it?

In life, drama is always a step away.  It waits for us at all, like a ghost, the minute the house goes empty and the lights go out, it creeps from the shadows to terrify our life and upset our peace.  Drama only has control if you give it that power.  If you cut it out, refuse to acknowledge it by facing it head on, resolve hurts past and present, discuss misunderstanding, be open to hearing that you aren’t perfect either and even more open to begin a change for the better, think of how much the quality of life could improve.  No more awkward silences or run ins, no more “what if’s”, or “I should have, could have, would have” if given another chance.   No looking back in regret or wonder.  Why stay at a hated job that works you 80 hours a week because you’re afraid you can’t do anything else.  If a buddy asks you to call off and go fishing, GO.  Some day you won’t be able to.  If a girlfriend asks you to go have a cup of coffee but the schedule you’ve planned for the day won’t fit it, throw out that page in the calendar and GO.  Some day she won’t be there to ask.  If your kid asks you to come see them at a party at school midday, CALL OFF AND GO.  One day, they won’t even call you to say hello.  Of course we need to work, and we need to take care of kids and a house, but we don’t need to get so caught up in these things that we lose sight of what is important. 

A million dollars would make anyone happy for the moment, but the money will eventually run out.  Time.  Love.  Quality relationships that build us up and inspire us.  These things are the true treasures.  These things should be sacrificed for, these things should be a focal point for our attention.   Repair what’s broken instead of throwing it away and if it’s beyond fixing, lose no sleep in throwing it away.  Don’t trouble over hurt when their is so much to love.  Don’t focus on tears when there is so much to laugh about.  When you hear a good song, dance no matter where you are and who is around.  Give hugs.  Help a stranger.  Reach out to someone you’ve hurt.  Play with your kids.

My wake up call was very loud yesterday and thankfully I allowed myself to hear it, loud and clear.  I have a lot of answering to do, a lot of wrongs to right and a lot of garbage to dispose of.  This life is full of choices and even the bad ones will direct our future.  Choose wisely. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The do’s and DO NOT EVER’s of public restroom etiquette, 101

It is used by many, cleaned by less and loathed by all (dum dah dum) . . . .the public restroom. We all have a sickening story or five about what we’ve seen, or heard, upon entering into one of these facilities and I think it’s safe to say that no matter how old or young you may be, there are a set of unspoken rules one must follow to make this already hideous experience managable.

I am a member of what society deems “the fairer sex”. Most of us women types are bred from a very wee age to be clean, whether we are doing so for ourselves or others, to be polite, to use manners in everything we do, and above all else, to be a LADY. We put our pinkies up when we drink, we cross our legs in a skirt . . .well . . .most of us do . . .and we personify grace with every move we make. These teachings, apparently, were left out of Charmaines school of potty ethics and so if you will, please take a moment for a lesson of the top 10 behaviors a lady should exude while tending to nature:

10) Your momma/husband/maid doesn’t work here, and we, your coworkers, will not substitute in their absence. I don’t get paid enough to do my own job, let alone clean up after your laziness too. If you get water all over the sink, wipe it up. If you miss the garbage can with your paper towels or, um, “napkins”, pick them up and try try again. Practice makes perfect.

9) Pee belongs IN the bowl. Not around it, not on it, not on the floor surrounding it, INSIDE THE ACTUAL BOWL, where the water sits, in there. If you miss -and I don’t even want to begin imagining how this happens- there is free toilet paper at your disposal to take care of the problem. And yes, ladies, pee all over the seat for a woman who was anatomically DESIGNED to sit her bum down and have all the room in the world to make the target, IS A PROBLEM.

8) Sound affects are AWESOME in stereo surround sitting in the movie theatre, or snuggled up next to your significant other, but they are anything but awesome in the john. I don’t need to hear you grunting like you are benching your weight at the gym, I don’t want to hear you breathing heavy, I don’t want to hear you at all to be honest, I want to pretend you are not even there, so get in, get out, like a stealth spy, and we are golden.

7) If you use the last of the TP, do everyone a favor. It’s okay in this instance to NOT be a tree hugger, the more paper the better, in fact. Share. Either find someone to replace the roll, grab some paper towel and place it on the dowel where the old TP used to live, or grab some TP from the next stall and set it up so the person waiting behind you does not have to “drip dry”. That’s just not nice.

6) Wash. Your. Hands. Please. With soap. Do this. Even if you feel your germs are superior to other’s, even if you swear you are germ free after this event, that no “waste” came anywhere near your paw. While that truly may be the case, that point is irrelevant. There were germs hanging out already when you sat, and then on the paper you touched, and when you touched the door and then when you flushed the toilet, probably up to 20 others shared germs too. And now you, in your delusional “germ free zone” are going to spread your germs AND those 25 others all over the office that I have to breathe in for 7 hours each day. Soap is free, towel is free, PLUS it gets you at least 2 other minutes out of the hum drum bore of the office. Win win all the way around!

5) Do not talk to me while I’m in the stall. You can catch me before, you can hit me up after, but not in the middle. That is my safe place. When that door shuts, so should all outside distractions and conversations. I have one job to do, one that isn’t interesting, a dirty one, and I don’t want to be talking about your love life, my children, and everything in between while I do it. This isn’t like walking in the park, or cooking dinner while on the cell, there are private things going on in there and I do not want you in my head while I’m doing them.

4) So there is this handle looking thing toward the top/back of the toilet, see, and if you push it down, the water and all that’s in the water, will go down this hole to this faraway place that noone needs or wants to know about. It’s magical, really, so be a part of that magic and please . . . .when you are done . . .PUSH THAT LEVER. Also, hang out a minute to make sure it did, in fact, go down that hole. I have this really bad habit of holding things in me until the last minute, with most things in life, including this subject, so when I am ready to go, and that stall opens up, I am IN, and I don’t have time to unbutton my jeans most days, let alone to be grossed out by the art project the last person left behind.

3) Most women have an “aunt flo”, or a “special friend”, or a “time” that comes to visit them every month. None of us particularly enjoy this aunt/friend/time, yet it happens all the same, and we are obligated to do our due diligence in making sure she has the most cleanest of stays imaginable. Regardless of what your grandma said, you CAN flush your tampons down that magical hole I was talking about above. And if you choose to opt for a “padded” option, PLEASE wrap it up before you pitch it. And when you do pitch it, make sure it goes all the way to the bottom of the handy singled out trash bag that each stall is blessed with, so that the next user does not have to get your aunt’s remains on her hands. Yes, ladies, GROSS. It’s bad enough we have our own, we don’t need to deal with your’s too.

2) While commonly a woman is taught that “number two” should be avoided publicly at all times, I will be the first to admit, sometimes it is 100% unavoidable. A lady should have no fear, however, as she should always be prepared and in saying that I mean, they make travel sized perfume and body sprays for a reason. They are fairly cheap, some free. Sneak this sweet stuff in your pocket or your purse, and do not be afraid to bear arms. I personally do not want to come back from lunch and smell someone else’s from the hour before . . .yea, sorry I guess that was a bit much . . . .I’d much rather smell the 2.00 baby soft we used as teens. Help a sister out:)

1) NUMERO UNO, we have reached the end and so we exit with a bang . . . .or rather, a bomb, or rather, DO NOT BOMB. Bombs over baghdad was an awful song, and one I certainly do not want to hear it in the bathroom, live action, from a coworker, that I have to sit with and look at for the rest of the afternoon with a new found air of disgust circling her figure. If you know you are on the verge of a number two situation (as in see above #2 situation), and we all KNOW, ladies, when this time is upon us . . . .if your space is currently occupied with other lingering shoes under the doors, as you feel the fireworks getting ready to pop, three words . . .PREEMPTIVE COURTESY FLUSH. Kills two birds with one stone as follows: Noone else has to hear your turmoil and face embarassment, both for you as the injured and for them being a witness AND the smell will be significantly less if it isn’t lingering around for minutes. You may use this flush as much as possible, I’d much rather hear 10-20 water swirls than, well, the other.

I have omitted rules for the male genre because I am not of this species and something tells me that a good portion of the above is actually done on purpose for reactions sake as guys tend to have a different set of “rules” in this department. I will leave them that as I am never affected by it, but should the day ever come where I am, be ready boys, I will be waiting.

All of these scenarios I have personally faced in inspiration of this list, about three of them just this afternoon, which has prompted my immediate call to action. What would your mother’s say, ladies, your grandmothers? While I am a firm believer in doing your own thing and living for you, I also know we all choose to habitate in a home vs a pig pen. 90% of the time we love our human nature, and therefore, let’s be human, in all areas of our life, and release. What you wouldn’t do for you, don’t force upon someone else.

“Just be clean, girls. That is all.” – Longnote

All original content copyright, Sara Elzerman, 2013.

NO MAKEUP FOR BEAUTY Challenge DAY 5: Now what?

The challenge is at a close, and I am left with a bittersweet taste in my heart. I will miss being on a confidence kick from rocking “my naked face”, for it has made me bolder, and believe it or not, allowed me to feel prettier at times, more content than ever to just be me. But while I have had a bit of fun realizing the hard truths about myself and the world in which I live, I am not able to say I will never again wear makeup or that this “study” has turned me off from liking to wear make up. Much to my dismay, that would be an outright lie. I still it: I love my powder and the fact that my foundation can take years off my eye area, how my gloss can make my lips look two sizes bigger. The difference is, now, I have ALSO learned to love my face WITHOUT the the war paint, the zits, the blotches, the crows feet, all the icky mixed in with the good. And lo and behold, I will admit as I truly have learned, there is much good!

Negative to no makeup: Not a one today, not a one.
Perk of no makeup: Not having to wipe off the day old eyeliner that I forgot to take off the night before. Owie, right?
AND, for extra fun, the glow of a perfectly clean face has begun to feel like home and, without being too arrogant, in the words of one of my favorite work buds, “it’s working for me”.

Social test: Work, grocery store, dance AND the mall. No fears to report, no nervous strides embarked in my hot pink Nike’s, all and all I have become accustomed to this new “attitude” and wear it well. If I were being honest, and I do my best to do that often, I’ve actually noticed more women NOT wearing makeup in public than ever before. Did I not care before to look, being so blinded by my every day personal struggle with vanity? Am I late to the party here, has this trend been going on all along and I’m just now jumping on the bandwagon?

Revelation: MY LAST ONE:( Going out with a bang here, but with great leaps come great things. The biggest, hardest pillto swallow in this entire challenge is as follows: Make up, regardless of the context it is used in, is a mask. We put it on to hide our flaws, to perk up our assets, and put on a persona of something we want to be instead of what and who we really are. Whether you put it on for fun, pleasure, or because the thought of someone seeing your naked face makes you uneasy, you are putting it on. In life, each of us is a co-conspirator, and not just with makeup. Clothing, material possessions, friendships we keep, jobs we take, social issues we fight for – how many different masks do we keep and why? Are you the same person at home that you are with family? At the office? At the bar after work with friends? Do you fight for a certain right in public the same as you do with a select few of “learned” individuals?
Enter another great film “Runaway Bride”. The character played by the beautifully funny Julia Roberts has had a slew of failed relationships in her past. In researching her life’s backstory for an article, Richard Gere finds out that with every different man she loved, she liked her eggs a different way. With one overeasy, another poached, and so on. She didn’t feel comfortable with herself, she had lost herself along the way, her persona entangled into everyone else’s viewpoints, opinions and needs that with every relationship she morphed into what she felt she had to be.
Tough stuff, that. How do you like your eggs?

Heart says: I like mine over-easy, or “dippy eggs” as I used to tell my mom in the morning. If I can’t dip my toast into it, forget about it. Thankfully, my egg preference has always been the same, BUT, in more important places of myself, not so much. I’ve changed much and more of my ideals, my wants, needs, goals because I felt someone else wanted me to, or I’d fit in better with the crowd I wanted to be “in” with if I pretended to like things this way. My makeup is only the surface of this issue. Where else in life do I “put on a mask”, what made me do it, how long have I been doing it, and more importantly, what can I start doing to get it off?
Being yourself, while sounding so generic, is actually one of the most amazing points to a great personality because it’s one of the hardest things to do in life, no matter who you are or where you came from. At first, you must truly know yourself, love your flaws and your assets and realize that there is no such thing as ultimate perfection. No, let me rephrase, ACCEPT there is no such thing. Don’t let someone’s opinion of you become your reality. Make your own reality. KNOW what you want and what it will take to get it. KNOW what you dislike and don’t try to justify reasons to stay away from it, just let it go. Habits aren’t formed overnight and they don’t go away that quickly either, but if you strive to work on something one moment, one day at a time, with dilligence, with perserverance, the mask will fade away and you will be staring at your beautiful, naked heart in the mirror.
If you are anything like me, a control freak of sorts who has to have everything in its own little box because it makes sense there, who takes everyone else’s view of your life more seriously than you do your own side of the story, this next part will be a struggle for you. Lay down . . .trust me . . .I have my feet up just typing it. In most things, there are no absolute shades of black and white. I know. I know. Take a breather, it will all be okay. There are several shades of grey in this little life we live and that is okay. That is okay. That is OKAY. What side of the grey do you want to be on? What shade of grey makes you, YOU? Wipe away the superficial, other’s expectations of you, guilt of failures past or embarassment at foolish dreams. Only YOU can answer this.

I have proven the stereotype that pretty girls are usually the most insecure. We have issues too, contrary to some’s belief, stemming from inside to out, and the work we put in isn’t any more easy than that of someone the world labels “not so pretty”. I have also proven I have issues, tons, buckets full, and this is only the icing on the cake in bringing those demons out of the catacombs. I started easy – the makeup was just the beginning and gave me the start of what now is turning to be a very inviting overhaul makeover of life, a process that will take years, a relationship that will be the longest one I’ve ever had, one that I can be proud of, one that I can leave as a legacy to my kids and their kids after them.

In closing, I challenge all of you to do something big. Something grandiose, whether it sounds easy, ridiculous, impossible. Our true character is seen when pushed outside of it’s comfort zone. Surprise yourself, surprise someone else.
Take it deeper. Quiet yourself, not everything that goes through your head is normal, nor does it need an audience. Don’t shy away from making someone else feel good about themselves. Watch your mouth, even the simplest things said can change a future. Love your “issues” just as much as you love your “strengths”, in ignoring them you are becoming your worst enemy. Be a light in a world of darkness, it’s okay to be different. BE YOURSELF.

Although I know it’s unfair I reveal myself one mask at a time.
Stephen Dunn

Until next time<3

All original content copyright Sara Elzerman, 2013.

NO MAKEUP FOR BEAUTY Day 4: Nearing the home stretch

Day 4: The end is near! It took me several attempts to snag this picture, or rather, a good smile. As I was on break in the lobby, I kept trying to snap one incognito so everyone around wouldn’t notice as they were scurrying to the vending machines or to and from the bathroom. I work in a 4 story office building in Troy. There are anywhere from 1 to 2 offices per floor and 50-100 people per office, I’d imagine, so lets do the math on how “congested” the traffic is around 11:30am, considering the primary food source is 20 strides away. The odds were not in my favor, however, I made it happen. Just call me Katniss:)

Negative to having no “war paint” today: I’ve found it to be very hard to make an outfit look good when I can’t accessorize my face.

Positive to naked face: I’m beginning to see a change in my skin, and for the better. It seems to have a glow about it, or is it me who is beginning to glow?

Social test: Today was my son Noah’s 3rd birthday. That meant dinner out, at a restaurant in one of the busiest business hotspots in the metropolitan area, family oriented, lots of lighting, at the busiest dinner time of the evening rush, which automatically equaled PACKED. It was then followed by a trip to Wal-Mart and I really don’t have to even explain that one. (Yes, I do shop here, please don’t judge me). In hindsight, however, Wal Mart is probably the SAFEST place to try out a challenge of this caliber. But from my shoes, nowhere on the “outside” of my own casa has been safe at first step. Amazingly enough, to date I can honestly say that I have yet to see a reaction of terror on anyone’s face as I stroll through the doors, have yet to make children cry, haven’t heard one scream or made anyone run off into the night….so far, so good.

Today’s revelation: As I stated above, I have not heard one negative comment about what I am doing or how I look in doing this challenge. I have, however, heard this common theme from amongst my friends and peers of the female persuasion: “If I looked like you without makeup, I would do it too”, or “If I didn’t have (insert negative comment about their facial “self” here) going on, I would go makeup free in a heartbeat”. This bothers me and here is why. By saying those things, even thinking them, the whole point of this challenge is being proven and it saddens me. By giving these imperfections words, they are givien life. They are true because we are making it so. How can we expect anyone else not to judge us by our looks when we first put so much weight on them ourselves? Whether it’s acne, dark circles, red blotches, two color eyes, who says that’s not pretty? And more importantly, why do we care? Why is so much weight placed on someone’s outward physical appearance, where people are literally painting and altering their faces to match someone else’s checklist of perfection?
The movie “Shallow Hal” rings a bell in all of this. Hal is brainwashed to see people for their true inner self, whether that be beautiful or ugly, and that self dictates what they exhude in their physical features. If they are gorgeous on the inside, then they take on a gorgeous shell, even if truly they are considered handicapped on the pretty front. If they are ugly on the inside, then they resemble a hideous beast of a human, even if on the outside, they resemble Miss USA. It’s a great movie, I definitely recommend, and also an amazing concept. Scary though, were this brainwashing a real life scenario, what would you resemble when you looked in the mirror?

My heart says: At first in hearing this I got upset. I have facial flaws by the truckload, how could people not see them? I have dark circles under my eyes, I have bags, I have acne, I look “rough” or “weathered”, my smile is cartoonishly large, and most importantly, FOR YEARS I have hated my nose. HATED my nose. To me it’s too long, and it just kind of juts out, and when I turn a certain way I could probably pass for a twin of the Evil Witch….minus the green thing. I can’t even tell you when it started, I don’t remember if it birthed as a self induced despise or was contributed by someone else making a comment (or several) growing up. When I was in college, I fooled around a bit with the prospect of professional modeling and as I was up in front of a panel on an interview, being gawked at from angles I never knew existed, do you know what they said to me, these 4 people entrusted with the job of judging perfection every minute of every day? They told me the most amazing, beautiful feature about me was the thing I had learned to hate the most, my beak. True story, and my point in this little short story is this . . .Everyone’s version of beauty is different. Life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% how you perceive it. You may think a cheek full of acne is disgusting or deplorable to look at, but your neighbor might be so enamored with the sparkle of happiness and life in your eyes that they don’t even notice it. The dark circles you own might be comparable to Rocky’s shiners when you look at them, but your husband might see the love you have for your children, the unending love that causes many sleepless nights and sometimes lack of care for your physical self, and to him you are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t be your worst enemy. Find your inner beauty and appreciate it. Why do you love yourself? What is it that makes you, you? What does pretty look like to you? If you were to pass on tomorrow, what legacy would you want to leave behind, what would you want people to say about who you are? Something tells me “a pretty face” isn’t even in the top 3.

Goal: May sound a bit hoaky, but trust me, it’s a tried and true recipe for building your self worth TO YOURSELF. My best friend actually shared this with me years back and though I initially quit after day 1, now more than ever I find I need to incorporate this every day and so I share with you. Strength in numbers, right?
When I wake in the morning, after I get out of the shower for days I go makeup free, or just before I’m doing my makeup for days that I don’t – KEY WORD BEFORE – I will look in the mirror, look myself dead in the eyes and tell myself OUT LOUD, in all of my 100% naturalness, that I am beautiful. I will pick out a feature or a flaw on my face each day, alternating between the two, and tell myself why that feature makes me pretty. Yes ladies, even zits can make you pretty . . . .example (this is SO good): “This zit is gorgeous. It came from the delicious loaded ice cream sundae I ate late last night and that sundae made me happy because it allowed me some selfishness in an otherwise completely selfless existence”. I will point out an internal quality, a great character trait that I possess, and I will tell myself why it makes me awesome. I will be my biggest fan and start supporting my legacy, both for myself and the future of my children. After all, if I don’t recognize my beauty, and for the right reasons, I can’t expect anyone else to either. If something is said enough times, eventually it is believed. Why not begin using this process for the good instead of the bad?

Beauty in things exists in the mind which contemplates them.
David Hume

All original content copyright Sara Elzerman, 2013.

NO MAKEUP FOR BEAUTY Day 2: Hitting home . . . . .

And here I go, Day 2, Monday. Mondays in and of themselves are just rotten so I didn’t go in expecting much. The 100lb bags under my eyes are my favorite, and if I were a cartoon, I’m sure they’d image dollar signs on them for good measure. My husband needs to take some of the blame for these diamonds,or should I blame MC Hammer? You see, as I was up awaiting his return from “dance practice” . . . .long story . . . .I instead get a text that he is being seen in the emergency room for a possible broken ankle. I am the definition of worry wart – seriously – you will see my picture in the nearest Websters if you look, and so any hope for sleep was then sucked out of my being and replaced by a short story of what if scenarios, aka fear and anxiety. By the time he ended up safe and sound and in bed, I was well into “nurse” mode and the rest is plainly seen on my non makeup face the following morning:)

Hardest part about ditching the paint: See above . . .bagalicious.

Perk about having a naked face: I got to enjoy an impromptu conversation with a friend outside after the kids went to school. When does that EVER happen anymore?

Social test: Today’s jump into the lions den was fairly mild. I volunteered in both of the kids classrooms at school in the morning, kids are always the best audience, they always see straight to the heart, so I earn points there. Later in the evening, I had to drop my daughter off at dance. In and out, mostly friends, mostly rushing moms such as myself, non painful. No-one gave a second glance, no-one shot me the death ray through their pupils. The day went on as normal, even though I wasn’t caked in coverup and eyeliner. I SURVIVED. I also got smacked in the face, by my own daughter at that.

Revelation: As much as I feel “silenced” in alot of areas in my life, today more than ever, I learned I need to “shut up”. In getting ready for dance, Bella, my daughter, mentioned to me how I looked “different”. I asked her why she thought that and she said she didn’t know, I just didn’t look like my “normal” self. I told her how I’ve decided not to wear makeup for a while. She asked why, and I told her because it’s important to know you are pretty without it. Her exact response was “but you always say how ugly you look without it mom”. Insert silence. What could I say to that simple, brutally honest response? At first, nothing. Not a word, more out of guilt and shame than anything. I followed the eerie quiet by kneeling down beneath her level, placing my hands on her shoulders (which as of late don’t come too far under my own), and from the heart, uttered “I’m sorry”. And I am. I have become the enemy, the very thing I try so hard to speak against. A piece of garbage that I spurted out, something so far from reality, my daughter placed in her memory as truth. And that little piece of garbage would be with her for the rest of her life. She watches me, she looks to me in everything and I failed her in a big way.

Heart check: Even as a girl I struggled with “my mouth”, very quick to speak at times and slow to think, able to cut someone to shreds with just one snarky sentence. I think I even earned that nickname from an ex boyfriend once and it got me pushed out of a canoe into a raging river. But that’s another story:) The fact that now I still find myself strugging with it is a bigger problem and something I need to not only get to the bottom of but try to find a cure for, and fast. Words can break just as easily as they can build and usually quicker. I do not want to be at fault for someone else’s insecurity or lack of confidence. I have become just that not only to myself, but now to my daughter, my children. I want to be an inspiration, an encourager, someone people look to for love and support. How awful for my daughter to look back in 20 years and compare me to the sheep of society. For her to not see me stick out as a light amongst the darkness? I shudder at the thought. I need to watch my mouth, I need to guard my words, and more importantly, I need to tap into my heart. My mind is the one doing all of the talking, my emotions. My heart knows better and it’s my heart I need to listen to.

Goal: For every negative thing I catch myself saying, whether it be about a person or a situation, I need to counteract it with something positive about that very same subject.
IE: “OMG BECKY, Look at her butt. It’s just so round and so out there, i mean, uh, gross. . . .REDO: Wow Becky, Those are the cutest pants, aren’t they? I wish I knew where she got them. Maybe I’ll ask her!
Maybe a bit cheesy sounding at first, but imagine, what kind of impact striving to do this in every day life could have on you and those around you. This for me will be a HUGE project, but one that definitely pays for itself. I encourage you to search your words and jump on the Sara train:)

And as always, a quote:
False words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil.
Socrates

All original content copyright Sara Elzerman, 2013.

Letters unsent

Hello stranger-

I heard this today and thought of you, of us, of everything, or rather, of nothing.

“There  are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory.”  Josh  Billings

Isn’t it amazing that this Josh guy could potentially save millions of people millions of dollars in therapy with solely one sentence?   Potential millionaire status.  Power of words.  Power of truth.

It got me thinking about the past few weeks.  Months.  Years.  All the time wasted glorifying something painful and diseased into butterflies and romance.  Why?  Why make something out to be something it’s not, only to live haunted by a ghost that never truly died because it never truly was?

Kind of like childbirth.  Once you are finished with the pain, the blood, the tears, you only need look at the little smile, hear the sweet coo of this new life that you helped create, that you’re body brought into the world, and all the rest disappears.  The memory of the torment fades away into a sheer mist and the aftermath is consuming happiness, love, unselfish adoration.

The dissolve of a relationship is the same, but instead of being left with a warm, sweet gift when all is said and done, you are left with a wide open hole.  A hole you fill with whatever pieces you can rip out of the past to make yourself justify the end, to make yourself feel that it was worth it, to trick yourself out of sorrow . . . .

I remember one date out of 10 that actually made me believe in the Cinderella fairytale, one kiss out of 5 that made me weak in the knees, hearing those three little words for the first time and actually believing that they really were true, once.  One urge out of 1000 that made me want to stay like that, in your arms, next to your side, until eternity’s grand finale.

Now that you are gone, I never think about the 9 times I left screaming, crying so hard I could barely breathe.  I forgot the 4 kisses I wanted to throw up after, wondering who else those lips had touched not an hour before.  I disregard all the four, five and ten little words that amounted to you doing everything but meaning those first three.  I am dumb to the 999 times I wanted nothing more than to gain courage to walk away and never look back, never see you again.  I fleetingly dismiss the 100 calls that went unanswered, the 50 times I held the pillow alone, the 35 worries, the million tears.  The bulk of together was spent in complete and utter misery, and yet, I yearn for those isolated moments of sparkle, of content, of hope.

Did they even exist, or is Mr. Billings a genius?  Did I take a version of something “not so bad” and materialize it into heaven on earth?  I don’t know.  And to be honest, I feel too wasted by the experience to waste any more time divulging into it.  I’ve grown up enough to know not to beat a dead horse and with that I will begin, again, to take my leave.

But then, I hear a song.  I see a movie, I read a book, I smell your cologne.  I am tricked into believing it was real, if even for a moment,  and it re-ups the cycle, the dreams start flooding and I’m once again lost in the struggle between fiction and fantasy.  Is it the writers curse, always searching, praying, creating for that happy ending?  Will it ever end?

In hindsight I guess I was wrong about Mr. Billings.   I do stick by the fact he would save people much and more from their pocketbooks would they simply have the courage to read his statement and stand in front of their mirror and see this epidemic within them happens more often than not.  The truly rich man, however,  will be he who invents a shut off switch, some trigger in the brain that can take a blurb such as this in midflight and dissolve it into thousands of particles.  He, or rather SHE, will be the greatest millionaire of all time.

At the end of the day it doesn’t matter, you are gone, as am I, I’ve been gone a very long time.  My best friend has become a pen, several pieces of paper that I will never find the courage to send, and time . . . . .

“Time moves in one direction, memory in another.“
William Gibson

I have arrived

Words.  Some say they mean nothing without action.  Some say they are more dangerous than a loaded gun.  Which is it?  I believe words are powerful.  Words have the ability to inspire the soul, to kill the heart, to change a mood, to change a life.    Look at the kid in school who can’t hold his head high in the halls because his peers refer to him as “the freak” for wearing the wrong clothes and daring to show any individuality.  Look at the mother who tells her child every day that she loves them.  Look at the doctor who just delivered the news to family that their loved one has passed on.  Look at the friends who after years of silent feelings toward one another finally speak them out loud.  Tell these people words mean nothing. Tell these people words have no affect on the future of their footprints.    Words are never just words, sometimes the simple action of speaking them is more combustive than an atomic bomb.  And so, I write, to own a little bit of that power and consume it’s beauty.  Up until today i have only written to feel, to vent, to remember, to breathe.  I’ve been afraid of my own power to the point of self suffocation.  I start a book, and I quit when it gets too emotionally intense to push through, or I’ll start editing mid through to second guess myself and what once was inspiring is now covered in x’s and red marks, and so today, I write for bravery.  I write to share, I write to open, I write to get my butt off the lazy chair, or in my case, my huge comfy queen sized bed, and publish a novel.  And that is today’s life lesson according to Longnote, followed by inspiration in the form of a quote :

Words  are also actions, and actions are a kind of words.
Ralph  Waldo Emerson
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/words_6.html#fj0pXskwr7gpo9uY.99