Equal rights VS shady economic policy

Song for a Daughter (I am touched . . .)

Thought I would share this today. It affected me deeply as I listened to it on "The Writer's Almanac" this morning . . .

Song for a Daughter

by Ursula Le Guin

Mother of my granddaughter,
listen to my song:
A mother can't do right,
a daughter can't be wrong.

I have no claim whatever
on amnesty from you;
nor will she forgive you
for anything you do.

So are we knit together
by force of opposites,
the daughter that unravels
the skein the mother knits.

One must be divided
so that one be whole,
and this is the duplicity
alleged of woman's soul.

To be that heavy mother
who weighs in every thing
is to be the daughter
whose footstep is the Spring.

Granddaughter of my mother,
listen to my song:
Nothing you do will ever be right,
nothing you do is wrong.

"Song for a Daughter" by Ursula K. Le Guin, from Finding My Elegy: New and Selected Poems 1960-2010. © Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012. (buy now)

The Impermanence of Technology (and other things . . .)

I will always remember when my mom gave me my Kindle. It was a few days before Christmas and I had just finished graduate school.  We had spent the day and night moving all of my belongings from my Brooklyn apartment back to my mom's house in Maryland and I was overly tired. Right before I climbed into bed, my mom came into my room and presented me with my Kindle. It seemed fitting especially since I was graduating with a Master of Library and Information Science degree.

I love(d) my Kindle. In fact, sometimes I would forget my cell phone when I went to work, but I’d always remember my Kindle. I remember my mother laughing about that.

My beloved Kindle, Dec. 2010 - Aug. 2012

So, over a year and a half after my mom surprised me with the Kindle, my Kindle screen has gone schizo on me. On the phone with an Amazon representative, I calmly explain the issue and am told that there is nothing they can do to save the Kindle. I must get another one. I decide to ask if there is anything I can do to keep my Kindle, or at least get the same model. He says “no” and I explain the situation:

“This was a graduation gift from my mom. She passed away last year so there is a little sentimentality attached to it . . .”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says. “Ordinarily, we need the original Kindle shipped back, but we’ll make an exception for you. I’ll make a special note to let you keep yours.”

I wish I got to “keep” my old cell phone.

Last October, my Android phone was stolen at the public library. I couldn't care less about the phone itself, but I was upset that the last texts that were sent by my mom were stolen. Verizon told me that they could not give me a copy of the texts between my mother and me without a subpoena. I still remember my mom’s last text to me, which was full of misspellings due to her being on Superwoman-strength pain medication that made her drowsy. The text said:

“I love you moure . . .”

She sent it late at night on July 16, 2011, a few days before she went into cardiac arrest. I remember the date and the text because after she died I would look at our last texts sent to each other while smiling, laughing and crying . . .sometimes smiling, laughing and crying all at the same time.

I ordinarily try to practice non-attachment to physical things, especially technology. Computers incur damage, become outdated and are stolen. My mom raised us not to become attached to any material thing, including our bodies. Since I was a child, my mom would explain that our body is just flesh and is temporary, but our soul exists long after we are gone. In fact, she always said that it didn’t matter what happened to her body after she died because it’s just a shell.

I admire the Buddhist notion of completely shunning off all material attachment to realize complete unity with the Universe in order to become One with All. I’m not there yet and I don’t know if I ever will be (while I am alive), but sometimes life teaches you lessons in other ways. Maybe losing my cell phone and my Kindle breaking are mini-lessons for me in non-attachment to the material, especially technology. I saw my Kindle and the texts as a connection to my mother, but they are merely a symbol of our connection because our connection transcends the physical.

Or maybe this is all just a reminder that books are still golden because books don’t all of a sudden “stop working” on you. I never have to worry about a book “not opening” for me to read it. 

Ugh. 

Coping Mechanisms

It all sneaks up on me sometimes . . .

I am finally finishing up Steve Job’s biography (fascinating read, by the way) and am now reading about his last months. Coincidently, he shared some of the same last months as my mother. 

It's been a (very) little over a year since my mother passed away.

I’ve been thinking about what my mom had to go through towards the end of her life. I imagine what she must have been thinking about as she looked back on her time on Earth and the decisions that she made. I remember her making comments about her past. I remember her just staring at us all. I wonder what she must have thought about while she watched her loved ones. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to say goodbye to us all - especially her children, her mother and her father. I am amazed at her bravery and I am in awe of her strength. 

Of all the ways to go, a terminal illness is one that looms. My mom’s illness only loomed for a short time before it took her, but those last days, weeks and months were long in my mind, as an observer. The pain I watched her go through. The deterioration. It’s amazing that although her body was being devoured by cancer, her spirit remained strong, stubborn and lovely.

She had to say goodbye to her children forever. The thought of it makes me hurt in ways that I struggle to explain: the head throbbing cry I have when I allow myself "to go there"; the constant ache in my soul; the pit in my stomach when I think about how much I miss her. The umbilical cord is cut. She had to let us go. We had to let her go.

All of this before I’ve even said “hello” to motherhood. I’ve already experienced the heartbreaking story of love and loss between mother and child. I’ve yet to experience the depths from the other side (being the mother) and, like I brave all changes in my life, I will welcome the journey with open arms . . .and prayers/books/therapy/yoga/good friends very near. 

I’m coping. I know you knew I would, Mom.

7.20.2011 (Not today.)

A year ago today, at around 8am in the morning, my mother’s heart stopped for the first time. It took five minutes to resuscitate her.

I was not in the room, but my aunt and oldest brother were. (By that time, we elected to have at least one family member in the hospital room with my mother at all times.)

The screaming phone call I received from my aunt that morning is not something I can ever forget. My aunt’s screaming, the beeping, the chaos. I did not know what was going on. She said nothing but: “Adrienne! Come! Come! Come!”

The panicked feeling and the thoughts, “No, Mom, not yet! Please don’t go! You can’t go! No, no, no, no!”

My boyfriend and I rushing to the hospital. Me screaming when he stopped at a red light when there were no cars around. “Go, go, gooooo! Don’t stop! Who fucking cares?!?!? I have to get to the hospital!”

We get there and we are greeted by my older brother who has just arrived. My younger brother arrives at the same time. My older brother does not tell us what is going on exactly. He just hugs us both.

We go up to a different floor than the one I remember my mother being on the night before when I said goodbye. 

We walk down the long hospital hallway. At the end, I see a woman who is not a nurse, she is the hospital minister. She says “hello” and shakes my hand. We are escorted to a room where there is no hospital bed and there is no Mom, just ugly hospital “sofas” and “chairs.”

“No!!!!!” I shake my head and collapse inward. I do not know who supports me from falling completely out. I think it is one of my brothers, but I am not sure. I close my eyes and I say, “Nononononono!”

My aunt is inconsolable. Everyone is supporting or screaming.

Then, I am seated on an ugly chair and I am calm. My eyes are closed and I say, “It’s okay. She’s okay. It’s okay.” I felt my mother. She was telling me that she was okay and to calm down. It’s all right. I consoled my aunt. I don’t remember what anyone else said, but once we were all together, we went upstairs and into the Cardiac Care Unit where my beautiful mother was hooked up to life support. Tubes everywhere, machines everywhere. Soothing music. I touched her hands. I kissed her. I prayed. I loved.

Later that day, my oldest brother and his fiancé said their vows in the room with her. My grandmother performed the ceremony. My mother's eyes, seemingly unable to track, did look up at my brother and his wife as they kissed. The wedding was scheduled for July 30^th, 2011, 10 days later. I hoped my mom would make it.

9 days later, her heart stopped forever.

Summer and the "Unemployable" (?) Girl

These last few months have been filled with some life changes and lots of traveling. I love going to new places. Right now, while I have the time, I will pretty much go wherever someone suggests. “Why not?” is what I ask myself and if I have no legit reason to decline, I will probably accept the offer. (Probably, not definitely.)

At this moment in my life, I have no kids, no boyfriend, no 9-5 job . . .I can do whatever I want and since this may not be the case in a couple of years, I’m taking advantage of it. I am getting the feeling that I don’t want this summer to end. I love warm weather and the sunshine warms my soul. I need the sun. This past fall, winter and early spring was full of a lot of depression and sadness. I felt alone and isolated. I was grieving and I was lost. I felt cold and exposed. I want summer to be my state of mind all the time.

There is one thing that is lingering in my mind this summer: the fear that I am unemployable.

Okay, so technically since I’m a small business owner, I DO have a job. But, why can’t I confidently tell people that I have a job when they ask? Why am I so insecure? I hate this feeling. I feel like such a loser, but the truth is, people tell me how AWESOME it is that I have my own business. They tell me I should feel accomplished and I just don’t sometimes. I wonder what voice is in my head telling me that what I’m doing simply isn’t good enough? It’s the same voice that tells me I should be working for myself when I’m working for someone else. I need to stop listening to that voice because it is INSANE. I will never please that voice. It’s my inner gremlin and I want to stab it. (Side note: I may be schizophrenic.)

I know I am perfectly capable of running my own business and I love doing so, but the bottom line is that I am not making enough money to support myself. Being a creative entrepreneurial type is wonderful, but it would be DIVINE if I could make a good living doing what I love.

I’ve applied to jobs that I’m overqualified for and I’ve been rejected. I couldn’t even land a retail job because I don’t have enough retail experience. (?????) I have a MASTERS degree and I can’t work at Macy’s? I do not mean to brag or sound pretentious, but I’ve worked hard at my education. However, the sad truth is that my resume is just so all over the place. My background is in marketing, but I have no desire to work fulltime in marketing, especially for someone else. I enjoy marketing my own business, but it’s because I can follow my own vision. It’s because there’s an end to a means. In some small way, I’m helping others. I need what I do for 40 hours a week to have a point. I need to feel good about what I’m doing. 

So why go back to working for someone else?

I want to buy a house. I want to root myself. This is hard for me to do since I do not have a stable career. I know that the path of self-employment is riddled with the perils of not having a W-2 form to prove income and thus acquire a mortgage loan. I knew that this was the road ahead when I parted ways with my last horrid full-time day job. (For the record, I never QUIT that job, although I would be lying if I said I didn’t dream of it every second. I was “let go” because I could not look my boss in the eye and say that I wanted to be there when he asked me. My mother died a week before he asked me this question, so give me a break.)

Striking out on my own requires a ton of sacrifices and I am willing to make them. However, my desire for stability (a regular schedule, my own place, a dependable income) is speaking louder than anything else at this point. I will continue to work on BOOP and love every second of it, but until I can afford to pay all my monthly expenses, I am just going to have to put the job search at the top of my priorities again.

Now, if only I was employable . . .

Oy vey. 

My Yoga/Life Mantra

Today I am better than yesterday, but tomorrow I may be worse than today. Everyday is different, but I will always try my best.

On Mother's Day

This will be the first Mother’s Day without my mom. Last year was the last Mother’s Day I had with her and I think somehow I knew it would be. When your mother is very ill and battling an aggressive stage IV breast cancer, it is easy to know such things.

I am at the age now where a lot of my peers (Facebook friends?) are becoming mothers. Amongst my closest friends, however, motherhood is still something that we have yet to experience. Despite this, over the past couple of years I’ve begun to feel like I should be a mother. (Although, to be fair, being wished a “Happy Mother’s Day” by strangers at a restaurant and a grocery store might have precipitated that a bit.)

Last Mother’s Day, I remember feeling left out and kind of alienated.

It was much the same feeling that I had during my visits to see my mom in the hospital and going to the Oncology Ward, and later to the Cardiac Care Unit, instead of going to the Maternity Ward like most women my age.  I felt oddly out of place and not where I ever thought I’d be. I felt years ahead of everyone else (losing a mother prematurely will do that to you) and yet left behind. I’d see happy couples and their families enter the elevators with precious bundles, while I would stare blankly at the flashing lit floor numbers in the elevator or offer a sad smile without eye contact.

In the elevator, the thoughts of “where I should be” would race through my head very fast yet clear, but most of my energy was focused on my mother and her health. I did not have time to contemplate my own hypothetical motherhood.  There were bigger battles ahead and there were bigger and more real fish to fry.

Now there is silence because my mother is gone. Those thoughts of “where” are more persistent and gain more of my attention. However, the “where” isn’t motherhood necessarily and it’s not where I “should” be . . .now it’s more where do I want to be.

On Mother’s Day, I want to be with my family and I want to remember my mother. I do not know how I will feel and I may just want to be alone, but I know I will see things more clearly. I will not feel such pressure due to self-inflicted expectations because I will embrace that my journey is different and unique. My timeline will never be like everyone else’s. It never has been and it never should be.

“Truth is by nature self-evident. As soon as you remove the cobwebs of ignorance that surround it, it shines clear. “ - Ghandi

Grammar Shrammar

In my free time, I teach English to an adult from Ghana. She is in her 40s and speaks very little English. Actually, she knows more English than she thinks she does, but she lacks the confidence to fully understand that her English is AWESOME. Who can blame her, right? English is confusing as hell.

As such, I have learned that it is best not to explain grammar to her. The minute I attempt to justify "why" we do certain things in the English language, her eyes glaze over. Things aren't much better for me because I usually don't know how to explain rules in the first place. I usually end up saying, "I know it doesn't make sense. I don't even understand it. Saying _________ instead of ________ just sounds better."

I am a native English speaker. I have an undergraduate degree in English Language and Literature. I have a graduate degree in Library and Information Studies. I am an avid reader. And I am still confused as hell when it comes to grammar. I don't even remember learning grammar in elementary, middle or high school.

I took a course on grammar and linguistics while pursuing my undergraduate degree and it confused me even more. Our professor made fun of the "fallacy of the institution of English grammar." There are two types of English: standard and non-standard. That's it. That's to say, if it isn't standard, globally accepted "correct" grammar, it's not "incorrect" grammar, it's just non-standard English. Ebonics, slang, hillbilly . . . those are dialects, not "incorrect" English. Do not play the better or worse, smarter or dumber game when it comes to standard vs non-standard English. You will lose. These are constructs. I wouldn't go as far as to say they are meaningless, but I believe they mean a lot less than what some people think.

I am a believer that if you can understand what someone is saying or writing, it's fair game. Know your audience. If you're writing in a professional or educational setting, you may have to tidy it up a bit. There isn't ONE book of grammar. As someone who has studied this stuff, I have a liberal attitude towards it. Many in academia cannot agree on certain rules (I have had papers graded by some of these people), so why should I beat myself up over this stuff?

Aside from the obvious grammatical mistakes and oversights such as "it's vs its", "there vs their", etc., I propose the following: WHO CARES?

My student from Ghana would much rather learn how to write a letter to her child's teacher, or learn how to take and pass the U.S. citizenship exam, than worry about WHY we have certain made up grammatical rules.

For your reading/viewing pleasure, I offer you more on this topic:

Grammar Girl: Top Ten Grammar Myths
Redefining The Dictionary

Remembrance

There are days when I am sure that I've dreamt of my mother the night before.

Sometimes I can't remember those dreams, but I know that I wake up feeling different . . .

Closer to the Source, closer to my Mother, closer to Myself.

Strong, positive, female.

As I make important choices and decisions,

As the Outside makes their wishes and desires of me known,

I remember that the only timeline that I must adhere to is my own and God's - which is essentially the same thing.

Everything is connected within and throughout.

There is no right or wrong.

There are lessons and there is Love.

I remember so that I don’t forget.

Thanking an Iraqi Vet

When someone tells me that they serve/d our country, I find myself saying “thank you.” I don’t know what else to say.

A man in my accounting class mentioned that he served in Iraq for about a year. I thanked him.

Seeming uncomfortable, he shrugged it off. “Don’t thank me,” he responded.  

“Why not?” I asked him, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“It was really a waste of time. Your tax dollars are paying for the war and now my education, but I didn’t do anything. We didn't do anything. We weren’t there because of terrorists. We went to war for something else.”

“For what?” I questioned, but I already knew the answer.

He didn’t respond.

“For oil,” I said quietly.

He nodded and said, “Yes.” 

Ghosts of Jobs Past: Graduate School Employment

Back in 2007, during my time as a creative marketing associate at the health publishing company, I interviewed for two librarian assistant positions. The first interview went very well, but the position went to someone with more experience. The second library assistant interview was a disaster. I was an hour late due to traffic (I-495), which caused me to be so nervous during the interview that I completely bombed. My confidence was shaken.

Perhaps I should have had a little more experience before I decided to go to library school. I also should have seriously considered if that was what I wanted to do. I did consider other graduate programs before I chose librarianship. I went to an informational session for a Master of Arts in Writing at Johns Hopkins University, but turned it down because I thought it didn’t guarantee a specific career path. I was sick of floating around. I wanted something concrete. I wanted a specialization.

Oh, I almost forgot, I also applied to NYU for a Masters in Publishing since I had experience in the field, but I was rejected. What an effing relief. I would have added at least $100,000 to my student loan debt!

I still wanted to be in NYC, so I applied to a graduate program in Library and Information Science at Queens College and got in. In the fall of 2009, I packed up my car and tried NYC once again. It ended up being a wonderful experience, but not for the reasons I imagined . . .

Adrienne as Administrative/Production Assistant

The first few weeks of graduate school were hard. I didn’t have an apartment when I started classes, so I drove back and forth from NYC to Maryland for one week. I ended up finding a wonderful subletting situation for two weeks until I got a more permanent apartment share in Queens, thanks to a connection through one of my good friends. Eventually I’d move to a cute apartment in Brooklyn and would live there for a year.

As soon as I moved to NYC, I searched and searched for a job. During my search, I was constantly more excited by non-library jobs. I knew that this was a sign that librarianship might not work out, but I didn’t want to give up. I couldn’t imagine dropping out of school, admitting that I didn’t want to be a librarian and going back to Maryland. No way. Not an option.

After a month with no job in sight, a classmate recommended a work/study position at our school. I went to the financial aid office and found a position in the Creative Services department. I never looked back.

I met my wonderful supervisor and mentor, Stephanie, who is the deputy director of Creative Services and has a flawless reputation amongst the staff and faculty on campus. She taught me so much about professionalism and running a busy department. She’s also just a really great person and someone I look up to immensely. She gives the best advice and continues to support me to this day.

On my first day, Stephanie introduced me to all the designers, editors and the department administrative specialist ("secretary"), Dottie, who was only two months from retiring and who was the glue that kept the department running. Everyone was sooooo New Yahwk (accents and attitudes) and so kind.

I assisted Dottie and Stephanie with administrative tasks, managing projects through the production process and running jobs to reprographics (the school’s printing press). It was easy work and I interacted with awesome people . . . couldn’t ask for more as a graduate student.

By winter break, I was promoted to a part-time staff member. That meant a 50% pay raise and benefits! I was excited. I would be filling in for Dottie for a few months, which was not an easy task. She was an expertly trained secretary who had been with the college for over 30 years. In fact, quite a few people who worked in Creative Services had been working there for the majority of their adult lives. Low turnover is a telltale sign of a good place to work.

I ended up working in Creative Services for my entire time in graduate school. I interviewed for a library internship during this time and then withdrew from it . . . another sign that I wasn’t serious about librarianship. I was balancing a part-time job that I absolutely needed, a long-distance relationship and a full course load. I just couldn’t imagine throwing in an internship that I wasn’t passionate about.

During this time, I also decided that I wanted to move back to Maryland to be with my boyfriend, family and friends after graduation. Home is where your heart is. I graduated a semester early and thank God that I did. Everything happens for a reason. I didn't know it at the time, but graduating early enabled me to be with my Mom for the last few months of her life. I will always be thankful for that.

Next Up: The “Dream” Job from Hell and Nothing Really Matters

Freedom of Expression

I am aware that some people may not like the things that I write about. 


Even videos/links that I share on Facebook seem to cause controversy. I find myself censoring myself even though this is MY blog. 


What in the hell is that about?


Life is hard. I've had a shitty year. I am re-learning life in a lot of ways. I'm re-evaluating things. I may make you feel uncomfortable, awkward and upset. Please know that those reactions are not my intention. 


You see, I am inherently a pretty sensitive and aware person. Sure, I am strong-willed, but I am respectful. I am always trying to make people feel comfortable and secure. I could write about my childhood and perform a psychoanalysis on the reasonings behind the way I am, but that isn't important here and now. 


It's all about honesty and expression. I don't think people listen to me sometimes. I feel like I cannot express how I feel without being talked over, misinterpreted or without some people bizarrely making it about them. (For those interested, read about active listening. It's pretty amazing.)


By blogging about my feelings, I hope to shed some light, encourage thought and express myself.


When I started this blog, I wanted to write about writing. It has evolved to posts about a lot of different things (jobs, life, grieving) and I am okay with that.  


I cannot promise that I will not write about my anger and frustrations. I cannot promise that I will not offend. I cannot promise that everything will be picture perfect. Hell, I cannot even promise perfect grammar. 


This is what I can promise:

• Truth
• Mistakes
• A showing of my proverbial warts
• Raw emotions
• Introspection
• Retrospection
• Mostly positivity 
• A little negativity
• Humor
• Sadness
• Growth
• Healing
• A business launch! (Whoo hoo!) 

So, please, stick with me! The best is yet to come . . . 

Oh, and for God's sake, start your own blog or YouTube channel if you want to express yourself and get your stuff out there. In today's day and age, it's really the best way to do it!

Gravitational Pull

Waning Gibbous Moon, July 16, 2011

“The moon will always be there,” I think as I am driving home from the hospital and gazing at the massive, waning moon. “An anchor for the world. The gravitational pull that keeps us together. How reassuring.”

Then it dawns on me that this isn’t true for eternity. One day this will not be because nothing is guaranteed and nothing is forever. Then I think of my mother in the hospital bed, fighting for her life.

My mother is now made of light.

The gravitational pull, the anchor for my world . . .

Ghosts of Jobs Past: 930 Club, Freelance Writing and Temporary/Part-time Work

Before I handed in my resignation letter at the health publishing company, I started working at 930 Club. I decided to work there because I still had vague aspirations of a career in the music industry, but mostly, I think I just wanted to experience life. The plan was to do freelance writing during the day and to work at 930 Club at night.  After experiencing the misery of my previous job, I wanted to be inspired . . .and to have fun, I guess. I simply wanted to feel alive. Little did I know, I’d be broke and the freelance writing gigs wouldn’t pan out as planned, but, all in all, I’d be insanely happier. I couldn’t imagine things going any other way.

Adrienne as Doorstapher, Box Office Assistant and Barista

I worked at 930 Club (also known as “the Club” or “930”), a popular music venue in Washington, DC, for a little over two years. I can describe what I loved about the place, but unless you’ve worked there, you really won’t get it. I can even try to paint this beautiful picture about how fulfilling and eye-opening this experience was, but you still won’t understand. I think the easiest approach is just telling you what I enjoyed most about my time there:

• I learned the meaning of hard work, long hours and feeling like what I did every night sort of mattered. 
• I worked with a group of people that I liked and respected. 
• I learned how to be tough. 
• I learned how to not really give a fuck about what other people think. I just did my job, just as as we all are just doing our job here on this earth. No one is better or more important than anyone else. 
• I met my boyfriend and learned how to experience true love. (I’m still learning about that every day.)

I started at 930 as security or, as it was called there, "doorstaph" (not a spelling mistake). Everyone has to start as a doorstapher, which adds to the familial feeling that exists there. I checked IDs, I cleaned, I took out the trash, I swept cigarettes off of the pavement and made sure patrons followed the rules. This position was okay for a little while, but I soon grew tired of late nights and babysitting drunken patrons. I wanted to try something new.

About 6 months after I started, I began working in the box office. About 6 months after that, I started working at the coffee bar. My favorite position at the Club was barista because it was the most autonomous and I could hear bands play every night. I also liked chatting with coworkers and patrons as I served them coffee. 

I worked with creative and talented people at 930. I figured out life there. I was exactly where I was supposed to be at 23. 

I said goodbye to this job when I moved to NYC for graduate school.

Adrienne as Freelance Writer

Freelance writing proved to be much harder than I anticipated. I wrote for a few online publications successfully. I sent queries to magazines, but I was never published. I suppose I could have tried harder to make a living as a freelance writer, but I did the best I could have done at the time. I'm proud of every cent that I've earned, but sadly, I could never even fill my gas tank once a month with the money I made writing. All of this leads me to the next section . . .

Adrienne as Temporary/Part-time Employee

From 2007 - 2009, I had the following part-time jobs:

• Office Assistant for Matthew Lesko (Yes, it’s true! I worked for the “Free Money” guy!)
• Gym instructor for children (Soooooo not the right fit for me!)
• Receptionist for an embroidering company (Mindless, but okay. Really loved the people that I worked with!)
• Temp for various companies via an employment company (Treated like an idiot, but a good way to make some fast cash to pay the bills.)
• Marketing/publishing intern for a small self-publisher (Not ideal.)

So, as you can see, I have had many professional experiences. Life with an English degree would have been easier if I had just decided to become a teacher, but I don’t prefer the easy way. Can you tell?

Adrienne as Daughter of Devonia Miles

I cannot write about all of these jobs and different work experiences without acknowledging my mother. Throughout this time, she supported me and she believed in me. She allowed me to live with her while I struggled financially with student loans, car payments, and insurance. She never made me feel like I was doing the wrong thing and she never pressured me to be anyone else. While I am sure she had her own opinions of my aspirations and dreams, she never pushed those opinions on me. She gave me the comfort and support that I needed while I figured things out. I believe she did the right thing because she never broke my spirit. 

People have judged me for living at home during this time, being too dependent on my parents and for not understanding the “real world” by just “getting a job” so I could be on my own. Despite all of the noise, I don’t regret a thing and I consider myself lucky. My parents were/are always there for me . . .unconditionally. No, my mother didn’t force me out of the house or suggest that I grow up, but she didn’t pay for all of my expenses or let me be irresponsible either. I always had a job and I was always striving for something.

For all who have had their opinions and questions, know this: I am extremely independent and I was raised to always make my own decisions. To that, I am eternally thankful. All of this has made it possible for me to walk away from situations that weren’t good for me personally and professionally. 

Yes, I am spoiled. I am spoiled with love and positivity. There are far worse character "flaws" to acquire! In fact, I probably have one or two of 'em.

I’ll live my life how I want and I wish for you to do the same. Life is hard enough without added pressure. Devonia Miles always understood that. Thanks, Mom!

Next up: Queens College and My Last Big Mistake 

Dream Workspaces

Callan and I share our loft in our one-bedroom apartment as my office space and his music space, but it doesn't seem to be working for either of us. Writers and musicians need a calm and comfortable space to go to that special place of creation. Since I will likely be doing a lot of work from home for my business, our space needs to be organized and efficient, but who am I kidding? I also like nice spaces. I'm an extremely aesthetically sensitive person. Always have been and probably always will be. That being said, here are some of my dream workspaces:

Simple, clean and elegant!

A little piece of heaven.

Organized and bright.

This one is actually a little too busy for my tastes, but I like the idea of bringing nature inside.

Sigh. One day, right? These photos motivate me to keep working hard. 

A New Start

I’ve had an obviously difficult holiday season, but it has been okay thanks to my amazing family, boyfriend and friends. I am re-adjusting and trying to keep from going insane. A little insanity is okay, I suppose. I am just trying to keep it together somewhat.  I miss my mother deeply and cherish how lucky I was to know her. I continue to be inspired by her everyday. We were very close and although we had our ups and downs, I can say, without a doubt, that we will always stand by one another in love. Even death cannot undo that blessing.

For better or worse, no one can replace your mother. I can never expect anyone to know or love me as deeply and unconditionally as my mother did. She showed such genuine care and even if she didn’t always understand me, she always understood. She tried her best and always did what she believed was right for her children. I believe that she did so until the very end. She wasn’t perfect, but no one is and that is okay.

I struggle with trying to please others. Lord knows that I do not let anyone walk all over me, but I find myself trying to make those around me happy, even if it compromises my own needs. Although I’d like to believe that I truly don’t care what others think about me, I do sometimes. At my core, I just want to be understood and respected. Of course, I want some people to like me, but I’d be a fool if I expected everyone to like me. There are some people who will never like me and there are some people that I will never like. That’s okay. All I can do is be a good person and live my life in such a way that brings me happiness and peace. 

I look forward to this coming year. I am looking forward to finally starting my own successful business. I will go public with it very soon. I am following my dreams and passions. My eyes are opened and life is too short. Stay tuned.

In 2012, I hope to continue healing and growing. I hope to nurture relationships. I hope to say goodbye to anxiety, unhealthy habits and negative thoughts. I hope for prosperity. I hope for good health. I hope for clarity and acceptance. I hope to continue to love and be loved. I hope to write, write, write! 

Oh yeah, and I hope to lose 10 pounds, too. But not if I can’t eat everything that I want to eat. 

Editor’s Note: I know that the previous sentence is a sentence fragment. I don’t care. This is informal writing. When I write a research paper or business document, I write accordingly.

I also look forward to not taking myself too seriously. 

I wish you all warmth and all of the very best things that life has to offer in the New Year and always!

Namaste, indeed!