The American Dream

Life is crazy, crazy hectic for most of the American population.  I can’t speak for other countries because I don’t live there; but here in America, we over-extend and over-achieve in almost every area of our lives.  The upside is we get a lot done.  The downside is, we run ourselves into the ground and reap the long-term consequences physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually and relationally.

Full-time employment no longer means 9 to 5, Monday thru Friday.  For many people it is a 24/7 gig that involves traveling around the globe, no weekends off and conference calls at the wee hours of morning to accommodate time differences.  Sleep gets sacrificed.

 

Full-time parenting now involves extra-curricular activities that take up every waking hour.  The demand for athletic children to start young and practice every day has become mainstream in our American culture; to the point that many children burn out before they even reach high school.  Between school, homework, practices, games and tournaments, there is no down time.  Not to mention doctor’s and dentist and orthodontist appointments.  Play time gets sacrificed.

With such demanding work and extra-curricular commitments, there is no regularly scheduled dinner time.  Families divide and conquer, grabbing a Subway sandwich or a burger on their way to the next scheduled event on their To-Do list.  Family time gets sacrificed.

At the end of every day, “I love you’s” are Skyped, texted or uttered through a phone line and a certain sense of intimacy is lost.  Marriages are sacrificed.

Fast food has replaced a home cook meal and schedules don’t always allow for a regular work-out routine.  Health gets sacrificed.

Weekends are now packed with games and tournaments, even on Sunday mornings.  Church gets sacrificed.

 

The United States has the highest rate of cardiac arrest. Go figure.  Sure, there is a percentage of this statistic that is caused by a pre-determined genetic disposition; but the others are caused by lifestyle.  Constant stress, little sleep, fast food, loneliness, etc.….wear us down over time.  Can we put a price tag on our health?  On our relationships?  On our emotional well-being?  If so, what is that price?

We have justified our sacrifices and our faltering economy has rationalized our justifications. We have no other choice than to work hard to support our families and to provide for them every opportunity toward success in life.  Our intentions are good and honorable…but are they destroying us?

“I’m providing for my family.”  -  A family that doesn’t even know you because you’re gone so much.

“If there’s any hope of getting a college scholarship, we’ve got to be on the best team now!”  -  But the child is only five years old and never has time to play with his friends.

“My salary bought us this beautiful dining room table.”  -  When there is no time for family dinners the table just becomes an empty piece of furniture.

“I’m too tired.”  -  And intimacy slips thru the cracks.

“We should be thankful we have the technology to communicate every day.”  -  Yes, but nothing can replace the bonding of human touch.

“We don’t have a choice.”  -  We’re living the American dream…or are we?  Somehow I don’t think this was what our forefathers envisioned.

There’s no easy solution.  We can’t quit our jobs and if we pull our children out of extra-curricular things, we stifle their chances of fulfilling their dreams.  We’re caught in the current and must continue to paddle against it to try and make the little things as special and as meaningful as we can.  We must squeeze in family time and family dinners, we must plan months in advance so that we don’t let relationships and friendships fall by the wayside.  We must consciously choose to put our phones down and make eye contact.  We must find time to take care of our bodies, minds and spirits while still meeting the demands of our jobs and daily lives.

Most of all, we must cut each other some slack…because we’re all over-extended and over-achieving…paddling upstream toward the American dream.  ~  

 

 

 

 

 

Running...AWAY!

I’m in my early forties and I’ve noticed that there seems to be a trend among the people of my age group…they’ve all become runners.

Before I begin my rant, let me say this:  Deep down I think the fact that so many have laced up their sneakers and taken to pounding the pavement is great.  I applaud their effort.  Running is good and there is a part of me that is envious of those who have the drive and determination to do it.

But…

I fail to see the satisfaction.  Years ago I ran the Bolder Boulder, which is a 10K in Boulder, Colorado.  It wasn’t fun, but, despite the fact that I thought I might die, I made it to the finish line.  Last year I ran Warrior Dash in Copper Mountain, Colorado, which is a 5K run/obstacle course at 8,000+ feet above sea level.  The obstacles were fun, but the running part was not.   

 

 

 

The point is, I find it unfulfilling, unrewarding and downright painful…so unless there’s some incentive awaiting me at the finish line, like, oh, I don’t know, a clean-shaven George Clooney holding a giant margarita and an enormous plate of nachos…my heart just isn’t in it.

Mmmm.... now THAT'S motivating!  But, I digress...

I look at the many people in my life who have become runners and I marvel at their passion for it.  I also wonder how many have a genuine love for it and how many just want to be able to say, “I ran that half-marathon.”  I totally understand the latter, as I have done many things in life simply to be able to say, “yes, I did that.”  (i.e. Skydiving)  I think we all have bucket list items like this.  The people that really intrigue me are the ones who are obsessed with running.  The ones who say things like, “I’ve got to carb up because I’m burning too many calories on my ten mile daily run.”

Really?

What’s that like? What is it like to look in the mirror and say, “Damn, I’m so skinny I better carb up.”  I can’t even imagine.

I understand someone taking up running in an effort to lose weight, i.e. jogging at the gym or around the neighborhood three times per week.  I will occasionally get on the treadmill and try to work off my bulges…but, honestly, I hate every second of it.  In fact, I loathe it and dread it and it makes me crabby just thinking about it.  Blah.  I’d rather scrub the toilets than get on the treadmill.  Admittedly, I feel great afterwards and my runner friends tell me that it’s because of the adrenaline surge and release of endorphins during the run.  I think it’s just psychologically rewarding because I actually got my fat ass onto the treadmill and worked out, wherein I can put a big orange checkmark of accomplishment on my calendar for that day.

I was pleased to learn that running outside is now being frowned upon in the medical community, documented for causing long-term knee problems.  I already have titanium screws in one knee from a ski jump years ago, so that bit of medical breakthrough allowed me to wipe my hands of the idea of ever running a half-marathon; not that the notion was ever seriously being considered.  Also, they are finding that runners are showing signs of aging earlier than non-runners.  This is due to sun/weather exposure for those that run daily outside.  Doctors are saying that avid runners have more facial wrinkles and drooping breasts than non-runners and they are attributing this to the constant pounding of the pavement that bounces more than just the lower half of the body.

That’s all I needed to hear.  Age and gravity are tough enough; I don’t feel the urge to add any extra fuel to the fire.  Suffice to say, me and my wrinkle creams and my underwire bra are going to find a different way to tone and shape and manage weight.  When it comes to the idea of running….I’m running AWAY!  ~

 

 

Mismatched Socks

I know how to match socks.  I’m not a moron.  Occasionally I might struggle telling the difference between a navy blue sock and a black one, but that’s only because I’m usually folding clothes in the evening in dim lighting and I’m hurried.  If I were to take the time to lay them all out in bright sunlight I could easily tell them apart.  That being said…

If you were to run into my daughter on any given day and ask to see her socks, you would most assuredly walk away from the encounter believing that I was completely color blind and prone to not be able to see patterns.  My daughter takes the socks that I have matched, unfolds them and pairs them with a different sock.  She UN-matches her socks on purpose!

And the phenomenon doesn’t stop at socks. She will purposefully wear patterns and colors that clash because evidentially, clashing is the new matching.  Gasp!  I don’t know how to process this.  It goes against everything I’ve been taught…it literally unravels my upbringing. 

We had rules: 

White was forbidden after the beginning of September.

It was a rule and you had to remember!

That meant no white shoes, no white shorts,

no white skirts, pants or skorts. 

Plaids and stripes were kept far apart

You could not wear polka-dots

If you were wearing hearts.

You never put navy next to black

It would surely give mother a heart attack!

Never ever, never on the same day

Might you wear brown and wear gray.

Your purse matched your shoes,

your gloves and your hat

If it didn’t there was something wrong about that!

We never mixed shades like light blue with dark

Our colors were blended like a work of art.

Socks that were argyle came up to our knee

And were worn with a solid kulat, you see.

Satin and Corduroy could never touch

because textures mattered and mattered much!

Clothing had rules with every season

and we obeyed them without reason. ~

 

Well… until the mid-80’s.  J

Now, I look at my daughter and the freedom she expresses with every mismatched sock and neon flavored outfit and I can’t help but smile.  See…even though we had rules, I remember the mid- 80’s when, for a time, all of those rules sort of flew out of the window.  I went through a phase of Madonna-like expression with leather and lace…but my socks always matched.  ~   

 

 

 

 

Heads in the Sand

I was talking with a couple of ladies the other day, discussing parenting and the challenges children face in the world today, etc.  In regards to sex, one of the women said, “We don’t discuss sex in our home because I think it plants a seed in their minds and increases the chance that the kids will want to engage in premarital sex; and that’s wrong.”

I didn’t join the debate at the time, but it got me thinking…

I’m an idealist but I’m also a realist.  I believe in miracles and I also believe in statistical probability.  When it comes to premarital sex, I take a very realistic approach.  Teenagers have raging hormones and they’re entering a stage of life where they often find first love.  When you put those two things together, it usually results in sex. 

There are rare cases, like Tim Tebow, where people have chosen to wait until they are married.  I think this choice is commendable and I support it; however, it isn’t the statistical norm. 

When it comes to parenting and sex, I’m preparing my kids for everything.  The first lesson conveys the hope that they would abstain from having premarital sex.  The second lesson is to teach them that sex is not a tool or a weapon to be thrown around casually; that it is an expression of the love two people share.  The third lesson is to protect themselves through the use of contraceptives. 

In an ideal world, I’d tell them that sex can only be had after marriage…but we don’t live in an ideal world.  By the time they reach sixth grade they already know how it all works.  There is no stork.  Mommy and Daddy have body parts that fit together and make a baby.  Teenagers get pregnant.  Hell, there’s a reality television show about teen moms, none of which are married.  And politicians argue over something called ‘abortion.’  Whether or not we, as parents, discuss it in the home, the seed has already been planted and their minds are filled with questions…questions others will answer if we don’t. 

Regardless of the topic, as parents we have two choices:  either stick our heads in the sand and ignore the real world or teach our children everything we know and pray like hell we’ve taught them enough to empower them to make wise choices.  Smoking causes lung cancer.  Drugs can kill you.  Never drink and drive because you could kill yourself or accidentally murder someone else.  If you’re going to have sex, only do it with someone you truly love and always, always use protection.  These aren’t fun topics, but I think it is our responsibility to engage in these conversations with our kids.

Even then, just as we did and our parents before us and their parents before them, our children will make mistakes.  I guess my hope is that those mistakes are made out of momentary foolishness and not out of genuine ignorance.  Until the ideal becomes the real, I don't think we have the liberty of sticking our heads in the sand. ~ 

Putting a BANG in Research

Every time I head to the shooting range it is with the next Just Call Me Angel book in mind.  It's fun to go shooting and definitely puts a BANG in my research.   When I go to the range, and for the sake of research, I handle just about every gun in the case.  I size up the .44, the .33 and the .22, compare their weight differences, feel each unique nuance and ask questions.  It’s important that I understand why people choose a particular gun so that when I am casting my characters for the next novel, I can intelligently assign them the best weapon.  It would look silly for me to take a six foot, four inch man with the nickname “T-Rex” and give him a .22 pistol.  Likewise, it would be challenging for a petite woman with small hands to lug around a .44.  I’m not saying she couldn’t do it… just that it might not be the best fit for her.

 

Guns are sort of like gloves…you have to find the one that fits your hand, the one that feels comfortable in your grip and one you believe you can handle with confidence.

In the third book of the Just Call Me Angel series (Russian Uprising), Angel finds herself in a position to grab a handheld Uzi and defend her life.  Up until this point she has never handled a gun with this kind of power.  She fires and is thrown backwards onto the pavement, missing her mark and almost losing her life. 

Guns demand respect.  If you do not respect what a gun can do, you have no business putting one in your hand. 

After trying several guns at the range, I found my favorite:  The 357 Magnum.  This particular gun has made an appearance into my novels now and again, but look for it to play an even bigger role in the next Just Call Me Angel novel.  ~

Clutching My Balls

Have you ever felt like a big, fat doofus?  I have…more than I’d like to admit actually.  As I look back with hindsight being 20/20, I realize that many of my “doofussy” moments were caused because I was trying to please everyone or make everything work; and sometimes in life that’s just not possible.

Adhering to schedules can be a harrowing task and then, when something unexpected happens, it can throw a wrench in the best laid plans and send everything spiraling out of control.  Sometimes it feels like I’m a juggler and just when I have my balls spinning nicely, someone throws in an extra ball or tries to jump in and help me juggle the balls.  Either way, my rhythm gets broken and the balls begin to fall.  At this moment, I do what any good juggler does and dive to save as many of them as I can…but that isn’t always the smart choice.  Sometimes you just have to dive out of the way and let the balls fall where they will. 

 

Inevitably, while trying to save the falling balls feelings get hurt and people get offended.  “How dare she not catch my ball?”  “How dare she think this could work?”  “The nerve!”  "She's ruined the surprise!"  "Mom, you KNOW how important this is!" 

And there I sit, the doofus, clutching my balls and spewing apologies all around. ~

Eye Contact...not iContact

It’s hard to believe it’s already March 1, 2013.  Where did January and February go?  I feel like I blinked and they were gone, but isn’t that how it is for most of the American population?  With our fast paced lives and overly packed schedules, time simply escapes us.  We are a culture based on minutes and seconds, not leisurely hours.  We set alarms, eat breakfast in the car so we’re not late to our first meeting, scarf down lunch while catching up on emails, hurry to the next meeting, slam down some coffee, soda or an energy drink about three o’clock to get us through to the end of the day, snarf a Subway sandwich or fast food burger on the way home so that we can rush in the door, change clothes and head back out to our kid’s practice or game, wherein our Bluetooth never separates from our ear because Lord forbid we should miss a call.  By 9:00pm we are exhausted and realize we haven’t sat down and taken a breath all day.  Then, we sleep, wake, shower, get dressed and do it all over again.  

We’re living the American Dream… or is it a nightmare?

In the olden days a person went to work from 9:00am to 5:00pm, Monday thru Friday.  At 5:30pm they were home and seated at the supper table with their family for a meal that wasn’t handed through a drive-thru window and didn’t come in a little paper sack.  Practices weren’t scheduled until after dinner time because everyone knew the importance of family.  Weekends consisted of both Saturday and Sunday, not just Sundays, and they were spent playing outside and having fun.  Retail establishments weren’t open on Sundays, because it was still valued as a day for church and a day of rest.   

When did we become an over-stressed, over-achieving, workaholic nation?  How can we question why our marriages and families are falling apart when we don’t have the time to hold them together?  

Do we not have the time or do we not take the time?

I used to believe it was that we didn’t take the time….that if we could prioritize a little better, things would be different.  Now, I see that in our culture it is virtually impossible to even find the time and still remain competitive and successful in the corporate world. 

It’s hard.  It’s no wonder why the divorce rate is so high.  Parents have to divide and conquer in order to get their kids to every activity and weekends have become all about games, practices, rehearsals or performances and not about quality family time.  Parents get run ragged and find themselves with little energy to devote to their marriage.  It’s so easy to see how the grass can start to look greener elsewhere… but we all know it isn’t.  Our over-tired vision creates a mirage that rest and peace lies in the arms of someone else…but it doesn’t. 

We have to re-focus, re-prioritize and re-new our outlook on what is important.  Unfortunately, I don’t think our fast-paced culture is going to slow down…but that doesn’t mean that we have to be constantly caught up in the current to the point that everything meaningful in our life gets drowned.  We have to find a way to embrace quality family time…and it doesn’t have to be elaborate.  In fact, it’s better if it’s simple.  A game of catch.  A picnic.  A bike ride.  A hike up in the mountains.  A board game.  Ping Pong.  Anything that doesn’t involve a television screen, a computer, an iPad, an iPhone, an iTouch, an Xbox, a Wii or any other gaming system. 

We need eye contact, not iContact.

We need to slow down so that we don’t miss the wonderful moments that make life beautiful.  A smile, a hug, laughter, a kiss, dancing, music, the sunrise, the full moon, the falling snow, the smell of freshly baked cookies, the sound of geese flying overhead or thunder rumbling across the night sky…. all of the physical manifestations of love and life around us that get lost in our hurried culture.  I’d rather miss a phone call or a meeting than miss these. 

In all we have gained through technology and advancement, what have we lost?  Eye contact.  Take the Bluetooth headset off during dinner and don't check your text or email when someone is talking to you.  Pay attention and show that you care.  That phone call or email or text message can wait. 

 

The eyes are the window to the soul…but if we never stop to gaze into them, how then can we expect to know our children or be connected with our spouse?

 

Time won’t stand still, but we must still find the time. ~