I Named My Ship 'The Wisdom'

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

You've heard it before. This little ditty has been the theme song for AA for nearly half a century and various other 12-step programs for decades. But addict or not, everyone should have this one memorized or at least a copy of it in pocket or purse.

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Whenever I hear the Serenity Prayer, my attention is always captured by the last line; "And the wisdom to know the difference." Wisdom. How do we acquire wisdom? Courage and acceptance can be learned, but wisdom requires experience and time.

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In the headlines is Abby Sunderland, the 16 year old Cali girl who has decided to sail around the world alone. After encountering real trouble out in the Indian Ocean she had to be rescued. She's lucky to be alive. Very lucky. An article referred to Abby as a "Lifelong Sailor." Lifelong sailor? Don't get me wrong, Abby has been sailing for years. She has had enormous amounts of training and certifications giving proof of her knowledge of sailing. What Abby lacks is wisdom, and all the books, lessons, and sailing trips with her parents will not bring wisdom to a teenager. Abby will only gain wisdom through the passage of time and a wide variety of sailing experiences.

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Now I think about marrying young. About getting married without having had much experience and time under one's belt. Many, okay, most, okay... ALL of the people I've known throughout my life who have married before the age of 25 have bore the scars of a lack of wisdom. Marriage is hard even in the best of circumstances, and all the premarital classes, counseling, and handbooks cannot take the place of experience needed to keep a marriage afloat and functional. And by experience, I mean dating. Dating is how we acquire relationship wisdom. Without the experiences of relationships with others, those who marry young enter into the commitment of marriage without perspective, insight, patience, and confidence. Instead they bring with them the emotional chaos of a teenager; insecurity, angst, confusion, and fear.

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I met my husband when I was 21. If I had stayed with him and married him then, we would not be together today. We would have made each other miserable and the victims of our immaturity. I needed to date and love and lose a handful of others in order to make me a good partner for the long haul. I remember who I was at 21. I was a basketcase, and even my most 'mature' and 'together' friends, were, at bottom, emotional trainwrecks themselves. Neither I, nor they had begun to sift through the damage wrought in our childhoods.

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Without the experiences of dating, loving, and losing, people who marry young often end up emotionally stunted. Ten years into marriage they argue and bicker about things successfully married couples wouldn't even dream about. Jealousy, misplaced anger, resentment, and fear abound. Dating is the opportunity to get torn down and rebuilt. It gives us targets to bounce our craziness off of, and then the freedom to move on to healthier pastures. We learn to set boundaries and the consequences that arise when we overstep the boundaries of others. In dating we discover what can bend and break us, how to treat others, and how to handle crisis and manage our pain.

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The greatest gift perhaps of dating is the chance to learn when to stay and when to walk away. And walk away relatively easy, without divorce lawyers and child support payments. When we are young we have an energy and hopefulness that is sometimes easily misplaced. We allow our exuberance and belief in the resilience of love to convince us to invest in people and situations that those with real wisdom would know quickly were not worth the time or effort. We acquire the wisdom to know the difference.

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So Dear Abby, and the rest of you youngsters, before embarking on the journey of a lifetime, get a little life under your belt. Navigate the waters a bit at a time. Sail to nearby islands but stay within sight of shore. Eat the fruit, lay on the beaches, and break in your own boat. Take the time to assess the strength of your own sails, find their weaknesses and make repairs. Ascertain the stability of your own ship before charting a course into more serious and consequential waters. And seek adventures that don't require the potential sacrifice of your future.

Wake Up Dorothy, The Wizard Can't Get You Back To Kansas

With two young children at home with me every day, TV watching time is at a premium. Every now and then around 4pm, the nap gods smile on me, and I have the chance to tune into the boob tube for 30 minutes or so. Occasionally, I land on Judge Judy. I know, I know, you hate her, you love her, you hate to love her. Usually, I think she's spot on.

Within the many years she's been dolling out legal judgements and dispensing tough and cutting advise, there has been an all-too-common scenario in her courtroom. The plaintiff, a young and pretty woman (stage right) is suing the defendant, her ex-boyfriend, a weaselly looking guy (stage left) for loans she made to him for a motorcycle, unpaid rent, and bail money she paid to get him out of jail. She's really suing for emotional damages. It is so common an occurrence that even the Honorable Judy has stopped to take notice. Often, the young woman leaves with little more than a firm scolding for her foolishness in having ignored the warning signs, and the suggestion that she count herself lucky to be out of the relationship and learn from her mistakes.

So what is this all about? Despite the huge strides made by womankind over the last several decades, many young women still find themselves the victims of slimy, dishonest, and selfish men. The men haven't changed either, nor have their age-old manipulative tactics. When will these young women wise up? More importantly perhaps is the question, "Why do they get into these kind of situations to begin with?"

In the last week I've learned the stories of two young women. Both young, smart, and beautiful. Both deliberately heading down paths to heartache and strife. The facts are there. The writing on the wall is in bold and brilliant red. "DO NOT TRESPASS", it says. But there they go, like Dorothy down the yellow brick road, believing that the Great OZ will deliver them safely home to love and happiness. But Dorothy had little reason to doubt the Wizard's abilities; she didn't know he was a fraud until pulling back the curtain. But these women, they know, and they ignore what their own common sense tells them.

Unlike Dorothy, these women try desperately to transform OZ into the Wizard he could be. They're certain they can love him enough to make him the deliverer of their dreams. Even the unbelievably naive Dorothy didn't think that. Why do they?

The only conclusion I can come to is that they are trying to fill a void. A hole inside of them created by various circumstances and misfortunes in their childhood. A disconnected or absent father (or mother), abuse, neglect, lack of encouragement, etc. Whatever the cause the consequence is the same. They feel incomplete, unlovable, unworthy... empty. They believe that love is the answer, and the more difficult and painful the acquisition of that love, the better. They are saving themselves by saving someone else. And it never, ever works. Don't get me wrong, I do believe that people can change. I just don't believe that people can be changed by other people. It must come from within. So not only can these women not change the men they're with, even if (in some alternate universe) they could change them, it would never fill the hole they have. Again, that change must come from within. Here's where it goes even more awry. These women with holes in their hearts and lives, try to fill them with a vacuum. A living, breathing, unemployed, credit-wrecking, pot-smoking, law-breaking, vacuum. When all is said and done and these women have spent years of their life trying to press doo doo into diamonds, what they're left with is an even bigger hole than what they started with and usually an empty wallet too.

I hope these two lovely young women remember that in the end, Dorothy made it home by her own doing. The Great OZ didn't even have a car, or a real job, or any other trick in his booth that would bring Dorothy closer to her dreams. Dorothy just needed to click her heels and wake up.

Parents Raising Pitbulls

I just read a news article about 15 year old, Phoebe Prince. Phoebe and her family moved here from Ireland last September and began attending South Hadley High School in Massachusetts. For some inexplicable reason, some of her fellow students decided to welcome Phoebe by launching a campaign of threats, violence, abuse, and stalking against her. How nice. On January 14th, after 3 months of this torture, Phoebe hung herself with a belt from a stairwell in her apartment complex. As I try to imagine this girl's long and lonely walk home from school on that day I am consumed by sadness for her. Wishing I had known her. Wishing I could have walked home with her that day and convinced her that those vile and hate-filled students, who relentlessly antagonized her, were insignificant idiots not worth one of her tears, let alone her life.

Every time I hear one of these stories about bullying, I am thrust back into my own childhood when I was bullied. It is incredible how the memories of that time have stuck with me for more than 25 years. Now as a mother of two young children, I don't know if it would be worse to be the mother of a victim, like Phoebe, or of the perpetrators. I say clearly that I have no idea what Phoebe's parents must be experiencing; the unimaginable pain, heartbreak, and grief, but I am equally at a loss to imagine the shame and pain that the parents of these kids who abused Phoebe must be feeling. Should be feeling. I try to imagine having given birth to a child and then raised them in such a way that when filled with their own insecurities and self-doubt brought on by the presence of someone new and different, their response is to attack. To seek out the vulnerable spots, the weaknesses, the jugulars, and attack without mercy. Congratulations parents, you raised a Pitbull.

Now that nine of these students have been charged in connection with Phoebe's death, some are wondering what the fate of the parents should be. To this I want to point out, that within the law, it is commonly understood that parents are held responsible for the actions of their minor children. Your kid throws a baseball and breaks a window, Mom and Dad pay for it. Your kid steals a car and crashes it, Mom and Dad pay for it. Likewise, the law finds that owners of vicious dogs who attack and kill, are held responsible for the acts of their dogs. I don't want to quibble over the idea that as parents we don't own our children like we own our pets. The point is, if we sign up to have children or own dogs, we, by default, accept the responsibility of raising them.

The parents of those kids who assaulted, abused, and attacked Phoebe Prince, did more than just fail as parents. Their irresponsible child-rearing unleashed into our society, individuals who acted in such a way as to directly contribute to the suffering, torture, and death of another human being. That said, of the nine kids charged in Phoebe's death, only three of them are minors (under 18). Those parent's of the minor children should be charged and held liable along with their children. The law considers children over 18 to be independent of their parents and thereby legally exempts their parents from facing legal consequences. Those "kids" should be held accountable as adults. Their parents can only live with the knowledge that their lack of decent parenting has led their children to their fate, whatever that may be.

As a parent, I suggest that these parents humbly and shamefully step forward to accept responsibility and the consequences of what happened to Phoebe. It might be their last chance to set an example of responsibility and decency to their children. No matter how embarrassing, shameful, or inconvenient it might be to do so, they can, at least, be comforted by the knowledge that their children can have a second chance. Phoebe and her parents will not.

To any kid who is finding themselves the victim of the same kind of situation as Phoebe, I would like to share with you something that got me through the dark days of my youth. After months of harassment and cruelty, I too had considered suicide. I felt terribly alone, without a friend to care about me. I dreaded going to school, and faked illnesses to get out of going every day to a place where I was tripped, pushed, humiliated, and insulted both during and between classes. I fantasized about hurting them. I contemplated ending my own life to escape it. I thought about the letter I would write; calling out all of my attackers by name, and listing their offenses against me. Then one day someone said "The best revenge is a life well lived." I cannot recall who or where I heard it. But it settled on me in such a way that it changed the course of my life during that time. It didn't make the torment any easier to take, but it gave me hope and it gave me a purpose. Now some 25 years later, I've had my revenge. I have a wonderful and amazing life full of love and joy. Please don't give up. Never give up! They aren't worth you're life or your future. If you give them those things, they win. Don't let them win. This horrible time will pass and you will have an amazing life. Please, PLEASE believe me.

In a recent communication with my bully (thanks to MySpace) I've learned that she has not been so fortunate. In fact I discovered that during that time in our lives, her world was full of pain, abuse, and neglect at the hands of her parents. In the end, my bully, the Pitbull that mauled me 5 days a week, apologized. What I'd never considered then was that her parents were the one's who let go of her leash. Maybe I can find them on Facebook.

The Wisdom of Strangers

I sat on the lightrail train yesterday with may 1 year old daughter on my lap, headed to a local arts festival. A few seats down sat three women representing three generations. The eldest, perhaps in her mid to late 50's, sat across from her traveling companion who was all of about 18. I wasn't privy to much of their conversation but at one point the older woman chuckled and said "Oh, I really enjoyed my 20's!" The 18 year old said something I couldn't hear and then the woman said, "I think the key is to enjoy being a human being at every age."
Hmmm. A bit of wisdom from a stranger on a train?

Earlier in the week I met a friend at the library and told her about How To End Up A Butterfly. Without hesitation and full of exasperated regret, she began recalling to me how she had given up a full volleyball scholarship to a major university to chase boys and get high.

Back to the woman on the train. How did she spend her twenties, and what did she really mean when she said she 'enjoyed' them? Did she 'enjoy' her twenties in the same ways that had caused my friend regret? In the end I guess it comes down to what you believe your 20's are worth. Do you value that time as a platform to do great things or see it as a chance to let loose and live without care? I think it depends on where you're coming from.

There is undoubtedly, an impulse to run wild when we are freed from the constraints of our parents. We live in a strange purgatory between where we no longer feel accountable to our parents, but not yet accountable to ourselves. The amount of time spent in this euphoric state depends on how quickly a person learns to be accountable; i.e. understands that actions have consequences, and that some of the things we do can never be undone. Some of us arrive at this understanding faster than others if we enter into it with an appreciation of the satisfaction derived from hard work and a sense of consequence.

So it would stand to reason that those young people who have been afforded every comfort and luxury without sacrifice or challenge represent those who would see their 20's as expendable. But it could also be argued that those who's childhood has been full of terrible uncertainty and imbalance are equally as likely to continue this pattern into their adulthood. At some point though there must come a turning point. The opportunity to live your fullest life comes for everyone. Many wait until years later in their life to take the higher path, while others never take it.

I may be speaking in sweeping generalizations here, but I think that young people subscribe to one of two camps. Those who see personal achievement as a pain in the ass and a waste of time, and those who see the the potential for joy in setting goals and working towards them. To the former I suggest that real joy in life comes from living in the moment rather than for the moment. They should remember that although having and achieving goals may seem impossible and pointless, the journey that you'll take towards those goals will be full of excitement, fun, and joy that you'll never experience otherwise. Here's the kicker. In a few years you will turn 30, and you can do so with or without having had these kind of valuable and rewarding experiences. In simpler terms, ditch the boyfriend and the late night drunken parties and start living the best years of your life. Experiences like those amount to nothing more than wasted time.

To the woman on the train, whatever the real story, I imagine you in your twenties; meeting amazing people, travelling the world, chasing your dreams, and honoring your youth and your life. To my friend who spent her 20's in a haze, you honor your life by choosing differently for yourself now. To both of you I say that yours are the stories every young woman needs to hear.

Dances With Wolves

My husband aside, I can count on one hand how many men I've slept with in my life. I guess by some standards that might be too many and by other's too few. I did most of my naughty work during my early 20s, like most people I presume, and well, if I had it all to do over again, I admit that I would have done it much differently. Okay, maybe I wouldn't have done it any differently but they would have been different. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a longing for days-gone-by. I am happy and loved and in a much better place than I was in my 20s. But when I do look back at those days-gone-by, I don't look back on the number of lovers I had with as much regret as I do the partners I had. The one thing I never considered during my own little sexual revolution was quantity vs quality. I'm not suggesting that the actual sex should have better (although that might have been nice), but the partners themselves should have been better. Better people.

Just for arguments sake, here's what I mean.

1 - Village Idiot
2 - Bartender
3 - Spoiled Rotten Idiot
4 - Weirdo/Bum
5 - Alcoholic & Bum


So the count is Idiots - 2, Bums - 2, Bartenders - 1. Ick, Ick, Ick, Ick, and ICK!

I look back at pictures of myself during that time and empirically speaking, Wow! I was hot! And I had a lot more to offer besides being fit and beautiful. I'm not trying to toot my own horn, so-to-speak, but back then, I was hard working, independent, creative, fun, and kind (still am, I like to think).

If I had to go back, my list would be longer. Yes, longer. I would have slept with more people, but better people. I'd have liked to have slept with people of real depth and substance. Intelligence, self-respect, and experience would have been on my qualifications list. Lovers who could have taught me something about the world; who themselves were hard working, independent, creative, fun, and kind. Maybe someone from the PeaceCorp or a Professor or an Artist. Someone with something valuable to share aside from free drinks, and bad debt.

What should be noted here is that I knew the kind of people I'm talking about. During the same time that I was bedding complete morons, I was meeting and interacting with smart, kind, and exceptional people who I did not sleep with. I guess this was the price of being young and foolish and unable to see the good stuff as good instead of seeing the bad stuff as good. But I owe fate a debt of gratitude, for in the end, I married one of those extraordinary people.

What's that you say? You're dating this guy and he's a really good person, and oh yeah, he doesn't have a job, and oh yeah, he's got a couple kids, and oh yeah, he drinks too much, and oh yeah, he has a criminal record, and oh, you love him so much! Errrr, WHAT?

Are you insane? Wake the hell up! I beg of you. I can't take it anymore. I can't stand to bear witness to yet one more beautiful, young, smart (that's debatable if this scenario resembles you) young woman spend the best years of her life with her head securely stuck in her butt. I don't get it. It's 2010 and two years ago we nearly elected a woman president, yet there are still too many girls who avoid responsibility for their own lives and turn their backs on opportunities that didn't exist for their mothers and grandmothers. Opportunities that still don't exist for millions of women around the world.

There may be a hundred explanations for this phenomenon, but in the end they are only excuses. This life, this body, this YOU gets one spin around this marble, and the time you spend spinning between 18 and 30 will come and go in the blink of an eye.

We were all there once, exactly where you are now. I was too... (sigh). And in the end the mistakes we made cost us the one thing we can never recuperate. Time. Time wasted in bad relationships. Time wasted trying to fill the voids of our childhood with crap that would only rub us raw and deepen the hole. Then, when we finally wake up, we spend time trying to repair the damage we've done to ourselves by making stupid choices and mistakes. Sure, now that we're past all that and trying to reconcile all that wasted time, we say that we had to make all those mistakes to become who we are. Really? Did we? Why do so many women "find themselves" in their 40's and 50's rather than their 20's and 30's? Why do so many of us have to screw things up so badly for ourselves in our early adulthood we spend a decade or two trying to dig out? Why can't we be self-reflective and honest with ourselves earlier in our lives? We have the power. We are capable. Even if you're poor or uneducated you still have the ability to be honest with yourself and live your life accordingly. We know when we're doing something profoundly stupid and risky. We all possess the basic instinct to know when we're doing something that isn't good for us. So maybe it's time for these young women to start paying attention to their gut. To take two minutes and step back and reflect about why they're doing what they're doing.

Okay, my head's exploding. More anon.