Sunday SoulJourn: Love Trumps Hate

“I hate mosquitos.”

While that declaration is true for many of us, when stated from the mouth of my toddler-age niece it became a lesson on many levels.  “We don’t say ‘hate’,” was the adults’ response. “Say ‘don’t like’ instead.” I watched the loving, independent, inquisitive child play and clarity hit me like a building block.

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How often have we use the term “hate” on a daily basis about the smallest of things (I hate spiders. I hate cleaning the bathroom. I hate broccoli) so much so that little ears listen even when we would prefer they didn’t. We use the word as though we own it but in actuality I’ve come to realize that it owns us more than the other way around.

 

 HATE: A four-letter word that wields power, inflicting pain, grief, anger, and decay. The anger and fury provide a tangible outlet for our deepest fears and ignorance. I understand the desire to spew forth hatred in your words and actions – to lash out towards individuals or groups who you deem threaten your way of life. It breaks us down – not only those who are the targets, but those of us who weaponize it. 

 

 Since November 9th, 2016 I’ve used the term “hate” on at least a weekly, if not daily, basis:

  • I hate the results of our presidential election.

  • I hate that many of my fellow Americans cast their vote for a candidate whose inadequacies, flaws, prejudices, and bullish behavior surrounded him like a pulsating red light – an aura/siren warning us of impending danger.

  • I hate the Confederate flag – it makes my peach-colored skin crawl and my blood boil when I think of not only those who fought in opposition to slavery but those who still hold tight to the prejudices that kept the oppressed in chains.

  • I hate that climate change deniers put all of us at risk, especially the lives of the children and grandchildren. They strip away the truth because it’s not politically convenient, thus causing catastrophic and long-term devastation.

I feel powerless and unheard as our country rebuilds roadblocks that were once knocked down by passionate defenders of equal rights for women, minorities, and the religiously persecuted. As America’s president chooses words and actions that offend, divide, and separate Americans from one another and the world (Paris Climate Accord *cough, cough*) I must hold myself to a higher standard than that of our “leader”.

The America I believe in and love, she is in dire distress – physically, morally, and spiritually. I cannot change the minds and hearts of those who support and champion our current White House administration. I can only change my reaction to them.

 

I choose love instead of hate. I choose hope instead of despair. I choose to use my words to lift us up, not knock us down.  And when I’m inclined to let anger and disillusionment turn to hate, I pledge to move forward with hope, compassion, resolute determination, and love guiding my path.  May my words and actions be a positive example for my nieces and nephews and their descendants.

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Celebrating My Sister – One Year Later

I couldn’t let this week go by without acknowledging the fact that it’s now been a full year since my older sister, Jen, passed away. I expected to be a blubbering mess as the date approached but find that I’m doing okay. I dream about her most nights and think about her every day, but I’m moving forward – comforted by the belief that her spirit is off being busy somewhere.

She’s likely laughing with our grandparents, playing catch with our beloved family canines, and soaking in knowledge. I trust that Jen’s journey didn’t end with her death – it only curved. She’s alive in spirit – and she’s probably the reason I’ve found so many pennies in my path lately. She did love Lincoln!

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I think about all the what-ifs (I know reason says I shouldn’t, but I do) and all the hopes I had for her. I can’t go back, but I can reflect and move forward. My sister was a fierce, independent soul – championing environmental causes and women’s rights. We would frequently have in-depth discussions (aka disagreements) in the oddest of locations but I knew she challenged me because she cared. I have many regrets of words I never said. Did she know I loved her even if I didn’t say so every time I saw her? Did I ever tell her I was proud of her or admired her?

And here come the tears…I can’t live my life for HER – only for me – but I will absorb the memories and carry her with me as I continue on my life’s journey. She is in my heart and my soul (and sometimes she’s annoyingly in my mind) now and always.

I wrote the following piece and shared it during and Open Mic session at the 2017 Philadelphia Writers’ Conference this past week. I share it with you in honor of my sister and how our differences bound us together.

I almost didn’t register this year. Not out of a lack of interest or displeasure with the conference. Last year was my third time attending and I relished every moment. I networked, made new friends, and received a plethora of information about my craft. I went home inspired and ready to move forward. Then, two days later I discovered my older sister in her apartment, gravely ill. She passed away three days after the 2016 Philadelphia Writers’ Conference and my world changed in ways I hadn’t expected or anticipated.

My sister was the eldest of four girls – all of whom differed in personality. We had our disagreements as siblings do but we were protective of one another. I remember Jen telling me during my last visit to her college apartment (seniors in high school and college respectively) that if I ever dated a man who hurt me, he’d have to answer to my sisters.

Jen loved us but wasn’t the lovey-dovey type, that was me. Jen made her opinion known, whether you asked for it or agreed with it. She was fiercely independent and determined to live on her terms. I shall never forget her final hours, seeing her struggling for breath and wailing for relief.

I looked up to my big sister. I watched Family Ties and Star Trek: The Next Generation because Jen did. My love for Les Mis started because Jen listened to it. Most of my feminist views formed as a result of our intense conversations. She was an important influence on me and that didn’t cease I death.

It took some time and counseling to see myself as separate from her – to understand that it wasn’t up to me to save her. She made her decisions, just as I make mine. I’ve chosen to celebrate my life and embrace all that defines me. I am the nurturer, the dreamer, the romantic, and the idealist. And I believe that Jen loved me as I am.

 

My Birthday Wish: Making 40 Count

“What do you want for your birthday?” – This question stumps me every year even though books, CDs, DVDs, and writing supplies are staple responses. However, as I turn 40 this May I know exactly what I want: I need your help supporting causes that matter to me on a personal level.

Who am I?

I am a congenital heart survivor who’s battled depression and won, a child of an environmental engineer who has spent his entire adult life fighting to protect Mother Earth, and an artistic spirit who finds healing through music; film; television; theatre; and creative writing. I speak/write openly about my struggle with mental health issues, the open heart surgery scars that remain physically; mentally; and spiritually; and how the arts saved my life on more than one occasion.

I’m appreciative for every morning I wake – grateful for the opportunity to keep moving forward. As I celebrate the completion of four decades, I look ahead towards forty more.

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So, as my 40th birthday nears all I want is to celebrate how much I’ve overcome and champion those whose dedicated work help others like myself. This year I am putting my money where my mouth/pen is by donating or volunteering my time to charitable organizations that seek to help Mother Earth and her inhabitants thrive in mind, body, and spirit.

Birthday Request

Will you join me on this birthday milestone by donating your time or money to one of the charitable organizations listed below?

NAMI – National Alliance for Mental Illness

NRDC – Natural Resources Defense Council

ACHA – Adult Congenital Heart Association

 

Read more about the work of the above organizations by visiting their websites – learn how to get involved or contribute a donation.

I can do without a new book, CD, or DVD if that means it helps a child born with a heart defect, a veteran suffering from PTSD, or a community pleading for clean drinking water.

Thank you in advance for any help you can offer and for celebrating with me this year!

 

With a heart full of gratitude and joy,

Kelly

Mr. President-Elect: Your Words Matter

I’ve lived in fear and anxiety for over a year at the thought of a Trump presidency. “It can’t happen,” I’d tell myself. “The American people would never support someone so unqualified and prone to hateful rhetoric.”

Those fears came true in the early morning hours of November the 9th. America, my beloved country, had just elected a president who time and time again used his words to insult, belittle, bully, and demean women, minorities, and religious groups.

I stared at my milk-soaked cereal this past Wednesday morning, waves of disbelief stinging my spirit. “No. This can’t be. How? Why?” I dressed for work like any other normal day, but it was far from normal. The Trumpocalypse I so feared had arrived and I understood  in that moment that I had two choices:

  1. Succumb to the dread and misery he so easily spews in his rhetoric
  2. Hold my head high and move forward, a pen in my hand and a voice that calls to be heard

Our country is fractured – there’s no denying that but what I find most plaguing is the level of apathy and anger infesting our perspectives. We’re hurting. We’re frustrated. We’ve been so for some time. Then here comes a presidential candidate who uses our suffering and anger to his advantage. He uses words like “crooked” and “rigged” –  amplifying the position that government doesn’t understand us and chooses to ignore us.

He claims to love America yet insults the very government that has defined us for the past 240 years. A man who refuses to apologize for poor judgement or acknowledge any shortcomings. Through the words he chooses he is judge, jury, and executioner towards those who dare challenge him. And despite all the red flags, enough of my fellow Americans thought him qualified and fit to hold the most powerful title in our country.

Those of us vocalizing dissent and frustration over Trump’s election aren’t whining or sore losers. We’re baffled, confused, stunned, and scared. Scared at the likely prospect of rights stripped from women, the LBGT community, minorities, and our Muslim brothers and sisters. We’re terrified that all the positive strides we’ve made toward protecting our precious environment will be reversed. We’re concerned that the decisions made by the now President-Elect will cause dangerous ramifications not only on a local, state, and federal level but a global one.

I cast my vote for a candidate whose ideas and words lifted us up instead of knocking us down. An intelligent, poised, presidential woman whose words and ideas showed a belief that we were stronger when united and that our differences were not tools for division.

I am stronger than any of his negative rhetoric and misogynist views. I love the country in which I was born and raised, and I won’t abandon Her in Her time of need. I’ll stand up for the rights of Her citizens and for the health of Her people and Her land.

I can’t sit idly by and let the words and ideas of a Trump administration endanger the world and destroy the very foundation of our country’s moral fabric. And that is why I choose to share these words with you. I am a writer – one who believes that words matter. We must move forward and do so together. However, we must also acknowledge that hate, violence, and bigotry do exist – and CHOOSE to lift up not knock down. We must once again become the UNITED States of America.

 

Motivational Monday Poem: Genealogical Authors

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ANCESTORS

I carry with me the genetic links to my ancestors

But the path I walk is mine alone to traverse

I honor their past, the struggles and triumphs

Yet I journey on towards an unwritten future

 

Their stories overflow with potential

Yet mine remain at the mercy of the eraser

I yearn to know more about the spirits long passed

While I refrain from letting ones still here from getting too close

 

What will generations to come tell of my story

I can’t suppose to know, nor should I

I can only write my way forward

While I add a chapter to the stories of genealogical authors.

Mourning My Sister Through Writing

I’ve stated many times that the words I choose matter. I believe that I write because my spirit craves to do so. Sometimes the words flow effortlessly and other times it’s not just the pen that runs dry. I know firsthand that writing can work as a healthy outlet during times of emotional or spiritual crisis. Such was the case after my sister’s sudden death.

In the weeks since my older sister in our Little Women-esque family passed away, I wrote sporadically having little interest in my blog, novels, play, or TV pilot drafts. I sought the comfort of my journal instead, the flow of pen to paper acting as a security blanket.

When our family met with the funeral director hours after my sister’s passing, my tasks became clear: I am the writer in the group, so I will write her obituary. I then volunteered to give/write the eulogy, a suggestion the rest of the family agreed to immediately. I never imagined that I would be tasked with such important responsibilities for at least another few decades. Yet I felt compelled, called even, to write.

I read through other obituaries in the paper to get a sense of what to include in Jen’s. There’s a formula, or template, that I followed and then modified the words and phrases to create a tone that reflected Jennifer’s interests. I sought family member feedback for final approval and sent it for publication.

In comparison, writing the eulogy was one of the most challenging and important pieces I knew I’d ever pen. I sat at the computer and made a list of terms that epitomized Jen: travel, history, and animals. But having never written a eulogy or spoke at a memorial service before, I didn’t know what was expected. Do I write an elongated obit, listing Jen’s favorite travel sites, TV shows, and charitable causes? Do I write it as though I’m addressing her directly? Do I keep the content general or specific to my memories? I pondered it all until the emotion overwhelmed me. I sobbed at the dining room table as my mother, brother-in-law, and sister comforted me.  “My big sister,” I wailed. “She’s gone.” I felt my heart break into shards of memories. It had been a full week, and the reality finally hit.

After the tears ceased and my body stopped shaking, I returned to my journal. The words flowed now like a gentle river, splashing against the banks with bursts of inspiration. Once the river of inspiration flowed into its main source I knew I’d created a fitting tribute to my big sister.

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Colorado

I believe that we are more than our achievements or our perceived flaws. We are a smorgasbord of moments blended together to keep us in a perpetual state of spiritual movement. Jen’s spirit parted ways with her body, and is now having adventures in places unknown. I know that I must keep moving forward, and writing guides my way.

 

Motivational Monday Poem: Rainbows of Love

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My heart aches

For my spiritual brothers and sisters

Whose souls moved on without warning

And for the loved ones

Wounded in grief and pain

 

Far too often we cling

To that which makes us different

Instead of embracing the love that unites

 

I cannot change the past

Nor the minds clouded by ignorance

But I will use my words

To inspire hope, love, and acceptance

 

Whether we differ in age, skin color, or romantic preference

May we move forward together, letting unyielding love unite us all.

Motivational Monday Poem: Clouded Movement

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Fear surrounds and envelopes

Clouding senses into a dream state

Movement sporadic and clumsy

Sputtering and grasping for aid

 

Help surrounds and envelopes

Clouded by doubt and fright

Movement with outstretched hands

Reaching towards a shared possibility

 

Hope surrounds and envelopes

Breaking through the cloud-covered haze

Movement forward and sturdy

Shedding fear one step at a time.

Self-Reminder: You are a Writer!

Embroiled in the inner conflict between what I want and what I need, writing can fall to the wayside. At times I force myself to ignore the desire to write out of necessity to focus my attention on more practical and wage-earning tasks. For as much as I love to write, it does not pay my bills even though I may wish it did.

The issue is a self-inflicted one because of the following questions:

  • Could anyone love my books(s), play, or script ideas as much as I do?
  • Are readers engaged with what I post?
  • Do I spark discussion, contemplation, and introspection through my writings?
  • Who would pay me to write short stories, poetry, novels, and other creative work?

It’s the constant battle over the ever-changing answers to the above questions which halts my progress towards changing writer from a self-professed title to a professional one. As a result, I doubt not my talent but its desirability in the employment marketplace.

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West to East road trip 2016

I am a writer who crosses genres (YA, New Adult, Motivational Non-Fiction) and enjoys drafting a stage play as much as a novel. I am a writer because there are stories (fictional and non) deep within that annoy me to no end if I don’t write them down. I am a writer who wants and needs to write regardless of whether I receive financial compensation for my craft, though I’d much prefer the compensation.

*Have you struggled with similar questions? How do you maintain your passion for writing in the midst of everyday responsibilities?*

All the best,
Kelly

Motivational Monday Poem: Fairy Tales

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A place in which the artistic spirit soars

On the wings of imagination and grace

Encouraged, inspired, and motivated

To embrace the beauty within

 

Tales of fairy and folk

Passed down through generations

Infusing magic and creativity

Through a storyteller’s art

 

Compassion, hope, and faith

Add beauty to that which exists

Inspiring children and adults alike

To believe in themselves and those around them.