The Well Meaning Mean Nothing

Often, I wander to a local coffee shop to do my writing.  I have come to associate the scents and tastes of overly priced coffee with ease and creativity.  It helps that my particular brand of coffee is laden with chocolate and peppermint.  There is a particular store of a particular chain that I frequent the most due to its proximity to my home.  And the fact that they have this lovely little table in the corner, right next to the door, with an outlet.  I enjoy wedging myself in the corner, my back safely protected by the wall behind me, and my eyes on the door, ready for trouble should it arise.

Sidenote: My spouse says I’m paranoid.

Secondary sidenote: I am not paranoid.


I’m just very cautious.

After a very long day yesterday, a day spent hanging out with my spouse’s family– who are lovely– and walking around a mall, and just generally being surrounded by people and noise, I retreated, spouse in tow, to this very store.  I had coffee, I had my laptop.  And I had no concentration.

My focus was scattered, I was emotionally and physically exhausted, and I simply couldn’t muster the brain power to write anything.  It was a frustrating experience.  Atop all of that, this store was playing only country music.

I do not associate good things with country music.  In my misspent youth, the time I spent listening to it was also a time filled with drama, pain, and great emotional turmoil.  After the long, incredibly anxious day, after being surrounded by people constantly, after having my plans change time and time again, now there was the insult of country music and, specifically, a song strongly associated with an ex.

I wanted to run away.  I wanted to hide.  I wanted this with a deep, primal longing.  And, I didn’t give in.  My spouse helped by setting a time minimum for us to remain.  That gave me time to tolerate my distress and, eventually, pass through it into a calmer state.

The human mind is an amazing thing, and the spirit is quite resilient.

Safe journey today, dear travellers.  Difficult strides are proof of your growth.


I am one of the likely seven million or more who suffers from anxiety and depression.  I don’t have any idea how to even locate an accurate statistic for that, so let’s hope that a quick google search will not lie.

As of late, my anxiety has been especially strong in my personal matters and surprisingly less in my work.  Of course, a large part of that now is likely that I finished the final edit and sent it in before my deadline.  When I spoke with my therapist about a particular, well, breakdown, I suppose it was, he really hit me on a few points that cropped up during my explanation.

First of all, I hate guilt and I hate feeling guilty and I hate doing things that will somehow come back so I have to feel guilty.  Which, really, makes it sound like I’m required to be a serial killer.  Nay, dear travellers, never that.

I was recently blessed to have two of my close friends come to visit.  It was a fantastic visit and I adored having them here and getting to see them and do girly facial masks and drink a ridiculous amount of coffee.  As they were here, however, I was getting more and more anxious.  This wasn’t their fault; it was all me.  I felt as though I had to fix the tension between them, fix my child being a spoiled brat, fix every event and activity so that everyone could have fun and be happy.  I want to fix things so badly.  And that– I’m sure you’ve guessed it– is how I broke myself.  Again.

One of my homework assignments currently is to tolerate guilt.  In my case, at least, guilt is proof that I am growing.  I will be uncomfortable and likely incredibly unhappy, but I will be practicing a tool that will help me in the long run.

And perhaps if I keep reminding myself of that, it really will help me grow.

As the Journey Continues, So Shall You

I’ve been having a rough time as of late.  As many creative individuals seem to do, I am often stricken by anxiety and depression.  Some days it seems impossible to get anything done.  Some days it seems stupid to get anything done.

I am incredibly blessed with my family and friends who gently encourage me to keep going and keep trying, even when I desperately don’t want to.  They are the stars in the night sky of my mind.

My therapist has suggested that I find a way to put up reminders of the things that help me when I’m down.  I’ve begun writing on my mirrors and windows little sayings and simple drawings.  These remind me to do some deep breathing, or encourage me to keep going.

Currently, my mirror is a gust of wind reminding me to breathe, and a reminder that every little thing helps because addition is a real thing.  Our back door is the more poetic

Every mountain is made of pebbles.

Giant problems are made up of small puzzles and issues that can be addressed to reduce the size of the mountain of doom.

The need to reach a goal is a series of small decisions and projects that gradually culminate together to become the mountain of achievement.

Each step you take today, no matter how small, is another step along the journey of who you are.

Safe travels, my dear friends.  May your steps ever be sound.

Eventually Darkness Falls

Today I have spent a great deal of time and effort thinking about BA people, mainly soldiers of one type or another.  It is absolutely incredible what a single human being can do when in the grasp of great courage, unknowingly or not.

Tale after tale of someone facing down the odds.  So many of them stating that it was no big thing.  It was a job that needed to be done, and so they did it.  They certainly weren’t doing things for the accolades; many, in fact, tried to eschew such things entirely.

Each of our lives are also filled with insurmountable odds and circumstances.  While they may not involve blowing up tanks– if they do, then more power to you– but they are still situations that requires courage and finesse.  Not just any, but yours.  They need your courage.  Your honour.  Your dignity.

You, dear traveller, are a person of infinite worth and possibilities.  Explore them to their fullest, for they belong to you and you alone.

May your trail be bright.

Where the Stars Meet Your Eyes

Recently my spouse did the math of how many female Power Rangers came in the different sets.  This is all involved with our son receiving two different Power Ranger toys that require these strange “keys” which are made with the figures themselves?  It is incredibly clever, but also very disturbing.  But I digress.

I can’t recall the numbers now, but for all that there were upwards of 30 figures on the back of the box, very, very few of them were female.  And, as my spouse noted,

“That’s messed up.”

It set my mind off a trundling.  Often after we hear that sort of numerical breakdown is that girls need role models, too, and there need to be more female heroes.  But I think it’s something more than that.

We don’t need a ton of heroes.  We don’t need to be validated in every single branch of every single genre.  What we really need is for woman to be normalized in all roles.

I don’t see it as a failing that there aren’t as many female superheroes.  I see it as a failing that society– or at least big businesses– view them as such a strange and mystical thing that they are not included regularly in different play sets, in different shows, etc.

We’ve created an environment that even though we set-up certain women as these wonderful heroes, overall women are not accepted as a normal part of groups such as superheroes.

Perhaps if we began including them as an expected part of such unassuming things as toys, it would lead to women being accepted in other, larger roles.

After all, what sort of society raves about a movie with a female protagonist, yet purchases toys with only male figurines?  Rey, we stand with you.