b.e.i.n.g. m.e.

For a long time I have wanted to write a book about my life story. It probably wouldn't be the most interesting story, but it would be mine. I'm not the best writer. In fact I always hated English classes in school. I find all the rules about the language really frustrating. I like to say what I want and if the punctuation isn't correct... so what. I used to average C's in English, but got mostly A's and B's in everything else. By writing my own story, I could write what I want, how I want, and with whatever punctuation and grammatical errors I desire. I don't always know how to explain what I want to say. Or the best words to use to say it. But it's from MY mind and MY heart. This posting isn't about my entire life story, but it's a start.

I find it difficult being me at times. I'm sure others would find it difficult to be me too. I've been through a lot in my short years on earth. Some of it I am willing to share with others. Some of it I am not. I strongly believe that what we go through as a child, and even as a young adult, makes a big part of who we are as adults. As a child, if what we went through was "bad", as an adult even if we are "bad", a willingness to change can be all we need to be successful in life.

I'm your best friend. I'm your worst enemy. I'm particular. I'm clean. I like to organize. I'm honest. I'm kind. I'm loveable. I'm sincere. I don't intentionally try to hurt people. I'm forgiving. I enjoy photography. I can crochet. I love the outdoors. I need to spend more time outdoors. I've been wakeboarding. I love the wind in my face. I'm scared to no end to fly. I love the "stomach drop" feeling on a rollercoaster. I like to stop and smell flowers on a walk. I'm talkative. I love people. I enjoy musicals. I'm me.

I remember being 9. I had a friend named Heather. I told her that our house was a 2-story house and the way to get to the second story was to go through the floor in the closet of my bedroom. The closet of my childhood bedroom had an access door in the ceiling (to get to the attic. There was also an access door in the garage, but one inside the house as well. It stayed accessible until my brother was about 1 or 2 years old and my parents house was robbed. The robbers went in the access door in the garage and came into the house through the ceiling in the bedroom. It's covered up now and hasn't been used since.). The other access door was in the floor. This was to allow my dad, or anyone that needed to do work under the house, to be able to get underneath as the house was on subflooring (except the den, that's on a cement foundation). Heather used to ask when we could go downstairs and I always just told her my parents wouldn't allow us to go down there. One day, months and months afterwards, she opened it up and found out that there was no second story. Funny what kids will believe. I don't remember what happened after that. I'm sure I felt embarrassed. We were kids. We got over it. I don't even think she remembers it anymore.

Or maybe she does. I can't remember exactly, but I think the last time she was at my parents place was when we were in junior high. She may not remember about the second story, but years after we graduated high school... she still remembered the code to my parents garage door.

I'm sure my kids will tell lies. They may not always be happy with what they have. I was happy with what I had as a child, but like any child, if some other kid has something you think you have to have it too. All I wanted was a 2-story house :) I hope to not keep my kids from fabricating things like that, but to be happy with what they have. Be happy with themselves. I don't want them to feel like they ever have to "prove" themselves to anyone else. Just be who they are.

When I was 11 the TV show Rescue 911 had just come out and was really popular. It was an informational reality-based show about people's stories on having to call 911. It was an indirect teaching tool and people loved the show. I remember watching one show about a woman who was taking a shower and her 3 year old opened the door to a stranger. No one else was home except the mom and her son. The intruder went upstairs, saw the woman in the shower, and raped her. She was in the middle of rinsing shampoo off and when she opened her eyes the guy was opening the door to take her out of the shower. That episode has always stuck out in my mind. To this day I am still nervous when I shower and Jake isn't home. When I turned 18 and had graduated college I would tell you that I knew it all. My parents would probably argue it was years before that... and they are probably right. But I thought I knew everything. Any decision I made was correct and no one could tell me it was wrong. I knew what it took to live on my own. Work. Go to college. Be successful. I wanted to get married and have 11 kids. I wanted everything. Don't we all???

I started at Chabot Community College in January of 1997 to get my AA degree. The summer before I graduated I took 2 summer classes; English and Philosophy. Hard ones. One of the instructors also taught at UC Berkeley. I felt lucky to be taught by such a high level instructor, but scared out of my mind on how I was going to pull it off. One class was 5 weeks, the other was 6 weeks, and they overlapped by 3 weeks. I think those were the hardest 3 weeks of my life! Even harder than having a newborn for the first time. It was HARD. Paper after paper I had to write, several books to read, deciphering Thoreau, Socrates, and Aristotle, just to name a few tasks. I was also working part time. I basically went from school to work and when I wasn't doing either of those I was sitting in my room typing papers, reading books, and trying to learn. I had to read books so fast I had no clue what I was reading. My mom would read a little bit and I'd read a little bit and she'd help me figure out what I was reading. I never really saw myself as the "philosophical" type. Still don't. I'm happy to report that I was able to pull off an A in English and a B in Philosophy!

In my Philosophy class that summer we read a lot of Henry David Thoreau. I didn't get it at all. Clueless. Sooo lost. Struggled. Yet now his quotes seem so obvious to me:

"Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are?

We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything.

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."

- Henry David Thoreau

My dad was born in 1939 in a small town in Italy called Praturlone. His family didn't have a lot of money, but they always did the best they could. At the age of 5 he was old enough to remember the German occupation of Italy. THey grew they own food and milked their own cows. His parents moved to California with his brother, leaving behind 2 married daughters, for the chance at a better life. He succeeded at obtaining his Master's degree and worked for BART for almost 25 years.

My mom was born in 1945 and grew up in Visalia, California. Visalia used to be a small town, but is growing rapidly as the years go by. She was a pretty shy kid growing up. As an adult she was a 4th grade teacher. After having kids, she quit working to be a stay at home mom. Props to her. It's takes a lot in many areas to be able to do that. She's taught me basic life skills like cooking, laundry, cleaning, how to use my talents, and how to put on makeup, just to name a few.

Currently, I have a husband, 2 kids, 2 dogs, a house, a car and truck, we own our own business... why should I ever be unhappy? I look around the house sometimes and think about how much we have. Not just my family, but "we" as in Americans. There are so many people in other countries who've never seen a dishwasher, don't know what a TV is, have no indoor plumbing or fresh running water. We truly live in a blessed country.

I have learned that we are own worst critics. If you spend time judging your life or your situations, you miss opportunities for growth and gratitude. So, things don’t always go perfectly. That’s ok! There is a reason, and one day it might be revealed. Or maybe it won't. But we should always trust that there is something to be thankful for in every event, and learn from it!

I am who I am. Accept me for me, or leave me alone.