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Dealing with Ambixiety

Have you ever heard of The Lominger Competencies? Many of the best companies use these attributes as a reference to one’s own success. Competencies can range from anything like time management to composure. Or presentation and written communication skills to problem solving. From peer relationships to, well, you should look them up. They’re extremely useful.

But I’m not here to talk about all 67 Lominger competencies. I’m here to talk about just one–Dealing with Ambiguity.

I feel as though ambiguity comes easily to the masses. That “go with the flow” mentality and willingness to open your mind in the moment of most situations is a true gift; a fact I wish I had. But I don’t. And it’s not that I don’t want to deal with ambiguity. Sometimes I do actually. And it usually works out. But right now in my life, I can’t control the ambiguity being thrown at me.

That’s because I deal with anxiety.

At this time last year, if I were to write a post about anxiety, I would have brushed it off because “everyone has it.” And I’m right. (I usually am.). It’s true! I believe anxiety is as large a scale as bisexuality–we all have the nature to love anyone and everyone, but we usually can’t control who we fall in love with. In regards to anxiety, some of us can handle more stress and pressure laid on our shoulders at any given time. But then there’s those of us who can’t.

I can’t.

  (And now for a preview of my upcoming novel, “On Mondays We Play Bridge!”)

 Think of anxiety like baggage. Everyone has baggage.

Some of us travel light. Not because they know how, but because they can. Some people can fit everything that bothers them in a small carryon, and not even have an extra purse or backpack to put under the seat in front of them. They can go away for a few weeks or simply a long weekend, but they still only need one piece of baggage. It’s not fair that some of us can travel so easily, but it is what it is.

The rest of us need at least a suitcase for our baggage. That extra weight from our childhood requires us to wear extra layers from time to time, even when it’s gorgeous outside. Most of us can’t fit our past in an overhead bin nor tucked away neatly under our seats without the back straps tripping someone else as they walk by. I always say that extra baggage happens to the best of us, so if that’s you then congrats—you’re one of the best of us.

The best of us take advantage of our one large suitcase when we travel through this airport called LIF International. The airlines, of course, have begun to charge us extra if our baggage is too big or too heavy. And we’re forced to remove any liquids more than 3 ounces, and God forbid we bring food on the plane not purchased within the airport itself. Oh, and don’t forget to take your shoes off! And all your tech has to be taken out of your carryons and checked for porn and you want to put it in your suitcase but you know it’s just gonna be stolen so you make it work.

Like I said, that extra suitcase helps.

And then there’s those of us who never pick up our baggage from the carousel at all. We got off the plane. We know what baggage claim area our luggage will arrive. We’ve even waited the what-feels-like-longer-than-the-flight-itself amount of time until there are any signs of suitcases to begin with.

Other passengers begin to pick up their own baggage. The cute guy who was sitting next to me already has his. It’s a big red one. Someone clearly has daddy issues.

Finally! Our baggage comes out. We recognize it easily. There’s a Star Wars luggage tag on the handle. But get this: we never pick it up. We just let it roll on by.

Because what if that wasn’t our baggage? What if I accidentally pick up someone else’s suitcase? I would feel so embarrassed! Then I’d have to have an awkward conversation with the passenger who’s baggage it really is, and we know it’s not the cute guy’s because, well, he already picked up his own shit.

So now I’m stuck talking with Mr. Smith about his wife and kids and how they just want to get home because little Timmy is getting cranky. So we open up our suitcase together to see who’s stuff is crumpled up inside and sure enough, this baggage is definitely not ours.

That’s why we didn’t pick up our baggage yet; those of us decided to wait just in case simply to see if someone else would take our baggage for us. Because—you know—then we won’t have to deal with it. Right!? But deep down inside, we know damn well that even when no one does take our luggage, and that bright pink suitcase goes by for a second time, we still leave it on the carousel.

You see, maybe if it stays there I can file a report with airport security and get reimbursed for what “they” lost. I can get a whole new wardrobe! Maybe even a new computer if I’m lucky. I can claim that all my tech was in my suitcase; the expensive shit because work forced me to take my $2000 MacBook with me on my personal vacation so that I could catch up on “writing documents.” If I can get my money back for all that, that’ll show those workers at LIF!

But here’s the thing…

If I can get away with lying about my “lost luggage” even once, I’m just going to file another report every time I travel. But eventually the airline will catch on. My baggage will turn up days later because there’s always some janitor at the airport who can see my suitcase still riding alone on the carousel. It is bright pink after all.

So now I’m just the boy who cried lies in the eyes of LIF Security, and I’m not only stuck with multiple suitcases on my doorstep, but if I don’t pay back the airline for my false claim, I could face time in jail. And by “jail” I mean sitting home alone while eating a tub of ice cream and laughing at Modern Family by myself even though I’ve see this episode hundreds of times. Ok, maybe just seven. And I’m not watching Modern Family. I’m watching Real Housewives of who-the-fuck-cares-they-make-me-feel-better-about-myself-because-their-lives-are-so-shitty-yet-they-still-make-more-money-than-me-because-they-have-their-own-television-show.

We all realize I’m not talking about actual baggage, right? I’m talking about our demons. The skeletons in our closets. Our trauma! Do you know what‘s in your suitcase? “What’s in your wallet?” Well, my wallet is stuffed with anxiety, and it’s about time I learn how to deal with it!

* * *

So that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m taking some time off from work to try and get a handle on my anxieties. I don’t know how long I’ll be out of work (I’ll leave it to my therapist to tell me when she thinks I’m ready to go back), but I don’t just want to spend a few weeks peeling away some layers of my past and present simply to throw myself right back into an already-anxious work environment. You try working in a terminal for almost 8 years where about 1 million people pass through every day, yet only 99% of them think they’re the center of the universe because “they have a train to catch.” Good God, get a grip, girl! There’s almost always another train in 20 minutes or less!

But I have some goals I want to accomplish during my time off, one of which is to finish my Bridge Book. I also want to lose some weight, learn better eating habits, but most importantly, I want to understand anxiety. I need time to understand different anxiety medications as well as the side effects of each.

Writing is extremely therapeutic for me, so if you’re one of the few who’s made it this far, then you’re in luck! Because I’m about to blog the shit outta this beast!

This blog post is brought to you by Anxiety. Anxiety–Deal with it!

  from Dealing with Ambixiety

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24

There are 24 hours in a day.

There are 24 hours in a day, and yet, I haven’t blogged in months.  #SorryNotSorry

in all honesty, life has gotten the best of me lately.  I have a new best friend who goes by the name, “Anxiety,” and after realizing that my most recent post was about my late grandmother, family issues and career failures have really got me feeling down.

I have been writing more lately, just not on here. Traveling to and from Boston for my Memere’s funeral inspired me to write more children’s books on the train. In my more recent down time, however, I even started working on my bridge novel.  I’m trying to write on my lunch breaks, and so far, I’m keeping pretty close to my goals.  I’m even thinking of taking a trip by my lonesome (sorry, Bobby!) to go somewhere secluded and just write.

So yes—there are 24 hours in a day, but this bitch is so busy that I can’t find time for myself…

Which reminds me of one of my favorite past TV shows, 24.  Remember that one with Keifer Sutherland?  Each season was divided into 24 episodes, with each episode taking up an hour’s time in real time.  So technically, each season was the course of an entire day with some tragic event happening or being prevented by secret agent, Jack Bauer.

But here’s the thing…

I feel like every season could have been resolved in 1 hour or less as supposed to an entire fucking day in which Keifer’s character never apparently went to the bathroom.  Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, but my point is that most of the reason why Jack Bauer was sent from person to person was because people would withhold information.  If both victims and enemies alike would have just shared what they knew from the start—everything they knew from the start—an entire season could have been over in less than an episode.

So my question is: why do we withhold information from ourselves?  Does anyone else feel like they do so much for other people that the 24 hours we have in a day leaves no time for what WE want to do; no time spent doing what makes US happy?

I‘ve been hearing a lot lately that we need to spend time on ourselves. From my friends. From my family. From my therapist. Spending time on ME is not selfish—it’s as important as breathing!

So today I make a vow:  From now on, I vow to spend 24 hours a week on myself.

There are 168 hours in a week. I’m supposed to sleep an average of 8 hours a day, but let’s round that down to about 50 hours per week. Now I’m down to 118 hours. I work 40 hours a week. That leaves me with 78 hours.

Now, I’m sure between my daily commute and lunch breaks, shitting, showering, and, of course, bridge time on Monday evenings, I’m probably left with about 60 hours per week to myself.  So even if I take 24 of those hours for my own time, that leaves me with 36 hours for time spent with my husband, friends, and more. And if I’m smart and use my lunch time and pooping on the pot to my advantage, that gives me more time with others still.

I‘m ok with this.  24 is a lot of time for myself.  That’s only 3 hours a day.  I can play video games.  I can hunt for Pokémon.  I can go shopping.  I can write.  And if I don’t give myself enough time in a week, I can choose to give myself more time in the next. I’m just disappointed I haven’t thought about this before!

So what do you all think?  Will you join me in my new 24 hour investment in myself?

#24HoursOfMe

from 24

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The end begins when Star Wars Rebels returns for its final episodes Monday, February 19 at 9pm EDT on Disney XD. Check out the mid-season 4 trailer HERE.

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At the big VGJunk site today: learn the ways of the Force, bullseye some womprats and slaughter the Jawas in Super Star Wars for the SNES! All your favourite space heroes gather together to run, jump and blast their way to adventure and fight non-canonical monstrosities, and you can read all about it here!

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Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, and Mark Hamill recreating the Star Wars poster in 1977.

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The legendary Leia Organa, by Yuki Shibaura.

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My Memere

It is with deep sadness that I write this post about my late Memere.  Marie Roy Desjardins passed away last Friday, October 20th, and it’s been a tough week to say the very least.

I’ve waited some time to write this post because I didn’t know what to say at first. My Memere was my last living grandparent, and she while made it to 91, I’d also say that had a good run.  Her funeral isn’t until this coming week (almost two weeks after her passing), so I feel like the grieving process has lingered on for a little too long.  And yet, I also don’t feel like I’ve grieved her actual loss because we haven’t laid her to rest.  Thank God for my husband because it’s been an emotional few weeks, that’s for sure.

I loved my Memere.  Many people don’t even get to know their grandparents, or others don’t tend to like their grandparents due to major cultural or political differences.  Even though my Memere and I could have a great argument about politics, I still loved her.  I tried to call her once a week just to hear her voice, and even this past week I’ve gone to dial her number a few times before realizing that she wouldn’t be there to pick up the phone.

Growing up, I was always warned about “mean old Memere.”  She had six kids including my Dad, his three brothers and two sisters, and they all grew up together under the same small roof.  She worked in the mills at one point in her life, dealt with my Pepere being shipped off to war, and was just plain ‘stubborn.” There were some years that she didn’t attend my birthday parties as a kid because my parents “served alcohol.” And I still can’t recall if she ever attend a high school performance of mine because my Pepere was always in attendance instead, so she figured “why bother.”

And yet, my Memere was also a major part of my childhood.  She and my grandfather were always there to babysit me, my brother, and my cousins during the summer when we were off from school and our parents still had to work.  She always stocked up on everyone’s favorite ice creams and drinks in the fridge, I don’t think she ever had anything that she preferred in supply. You could tell she made certain sacrifices in her life for her family, and this made it easy to brush over her stubbornness.

Hell, later in life she began to soften, often attending my brother’s high school theatre performances, or my cousin’s concerts.  She even traveled all the way to New York City for the first time in her life to attend my husband’s and my wedding reception this past March. That simple gesture meant more to me than I think she will ever know…or maybe now she does…

I’ll never forget how my Memere and Pepere would wave goodbye from their screen door after anyone would leave their tiny, but quaint home.  They felt like captains who were always the last to leave their ship, or cooks who makes sure to eat last; my grandparents were always the last to say goodbye…

If I could, I would show them the same gesture and wave goodbye to them from my own screen door, but for now, I have faith that I’ll see them both again some day, regardless of how long it takes…

Rest in peace, dear Memere and Pepere.  May you both be reunited and enjoy your time together until the rest of us are able to join you.  ❤️

from My Memere

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Luisa is here! 🙏🏻😁❤️ #foreverfriends (at New York, New York)

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This was basically my day. How was yours? #PoolDay #FunInTheSun 🐥🙏🏻😁🌈 (at Norwalk, Connecticut)

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The Zombie Apocalypse

Today was a sad day for America…

Unfortunately, I cannot call us the United States of America because united we are not ever since Donald Dump was “elected” President.

I’m angry!  No.  Scratch that.  I’m fucking pissed!  Fucking furious even!  And you should be too.

What happened today in Charlottesville, Virginia is not just awful, but it is cowardice.  Our forefathers must be hanging their heads in (as they say in Game of Thrones) “Shame! Shame! Shame!”

As a fan of The Walking Dead, I’ve been saying for a while now that the zombie apocalypse is upon us.  No, I don’t believe that people are going to start eating each other.  That is NOT what zombies are.

Zombies are stupid.  Zombies are racist.  Zombies are fucking assholes!

I am sad to say that our country is being swamped by zombies.

I refuse to call these “people” by what they wish to be called.  These people are NOT “white supremacists.”  These people are NOT “neo-nazis.”  They are NOT “the alt-right.”

These people are RACISTS!  They are COWARDS!  They are HOMOPHOBES!  And now, they are TERRORISTS!  Stupid. Zombie. Terrorists!

Well, I #RESIST in allowing zombies to take over my country.  OUR country.  Ignorance will NOT prevail.  It never does.  I believe that love will always win against a lack of knowledge.  It is up to us–ALL of us–to educate others in the values of love, tolerance, acceptance, and especially forgiveness.

Go out and educate someone today.  Debate with someone.  Argue in fact.  But don’t just be heard.  Listen as well.  For even Darth Vader came around and brought balance to the force…eventually… We have to at least HOPE that the Darth Vaders of the world who hide behind their cowardice masks of white will learn to love.

The thorns of the rose are clearly visible now.  Let them show themselves.  When these thorns are easily seen, they’re also easier to maintain.  Sure, the thorns may prick us every once in a while because after all, that’s exactly what thorns are; just little pricks.

But a prick does not make a rose.  A stem does.  Roots do.  Pedals form and a flower blossoms.  Be the stems of the world.  Be the roots.  Be the pedals.  Only then will we truly blossom…

(Plants vs. zombies.  Now I get it.)

from The Zombie Apocalypse

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Mama, a rainbow! 😁🌈🙏🏻 (at New York, New York)

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Ready for the fireworks! #NYCliving #Happy4th 🎆🎇 (at New York, New York)

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How Harry Potter Changed My Life

  I’m not a reader.

In high school, I was so slow at reading that I had to take courses to learn how to read faster. I used my fingers to keep my focus on the page, but even techniques like this didn’t work for me. I was soooooooo slow that I even had a note from reading specialists that told my teachers to give me more time when taking tests because I couldn’t read the questions as fast as everyone else. I’ve made a fool of myself before, but I think these were the most embarrassing moments of my life…

Then in college, the lovely a friend introduced me to Harry Potter. After seeing the first movie, I KNEW I had to find out more about #TheBoyWhoLived.

So… I started reading…

J.K. Rowling got me into reading. She INSPIRED me to read! Even more so, J.K. made me feel part of a COMMUNITY!

I can talk for HOURS with fellow Potter fans. I cry when I visit The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Even my husband and I are mutual Ravenclaw.

Now, I not only read children’s books (you should see my bookshelf compared to my husband’s!), I WRITE children’s books! I couldn’t be PROUDER of the work Michael Hetrick and I have put toward The Tale of Two Princes, and there’s still more to come!

Those of you who know me know that I’m a kid at heart. I personally think I’m the reincarnate of Peter Pan; I never want to grow up! Where’s the fun in adulting?

So, THANK YOU, J.K. THANK YOU, Mr. Potter. THANK YOU, books!

You are an inspiration to us all, and you make the world a better place.

#HarryPotter20 🤓 #HappyPotterversary

from How Harry Potter Changed My Life

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The fact that there's a rainbow today with no rain in site is HUGE middle finger to "Great Outdoors Month!" 🖕🏻🌈👏🏻 (at The High Line)

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Bobby got me the pride band! #JuneISPrideMonth! #HappyPride! 🌈❤️😁 (at New York, New York)

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Tonight's splendor! #NYCitySunset #manhattenhenge 🌇🌆 (at Sunnyside, Queens)

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Houston, we have a bed! 😁🙏🏻❤️ (at Sunnyside, Queens)