Back in the Saddle

I started a new job last week and another new job yesterday. It’s funny to see that I am back in the newspaper world again. I thought I would never go back.

I minored in journalism as an undergrad and I worked at our school newspaper. I loved the rush of going out to get a story and the panic of trying to pump out the right words before deadline.

After college, I worked as a copy editor and reporter while we lived in Fairbanks, Alaska. We moved to another state in 1999. I was pregnant with Veronica, so I left the newspaper biz and never looked back.

Reporting and copy editing can be very stressful. Sitting at a desk and scrolling through story after story about murder, deadly accidents, natural disasters and contagious diseases can wear you down after a while.

By the time I quit the paper, I was done with that lifestyle and ready to move on to something else. When I went back to school a few years ago, I purposely stayed away from the newspaper world. I thought my future would be better served in public relations or magazine writing.

What I discovered was that I enjoy reporting and that I don’t have to get bogged down in the serious side of news to work in news. When I was in my 20s, I felt smug around the older ladies at the paper who focused on feature writing and entertainment stories, but now I am one of those older ladies.

Perhaps it’s because I have children now or maybe I’m just too tired to be bothered with hard news? It doesn’t really matter because in the end, I came back to what I was meant to do.

The universe is complicated. I don’t try to understand it any more. The more I try to fight destiny, the harder life becomes. I am old enough to know this fact, but yet I keep forgetting.

I’m glad I was drawn back to a life that makes me feel comfortable with who I am and what I am. I still panic when I am up against a deadline, but I don’t feel emotionally washed out when I turn off my computer for the day.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again—life is weird. Just when you think you have it figured out it turns around and proves you wrong.

I’ve given up trying to figure out what I was meant to be. I choose to just try to find a way to be happy with what I am given and to try to get better as time moves along.

Who knows what next month will be like or what next year will bring? I am almost afraid to ask the question out loud, but I know it doesn’t matter. Whatever is meant to happen will happen and I need to just enjoy the ride and stop fighting the universe.

Grateful for Life

The explosions at the Boston Marathon yesterday reminded me that life can change in an instant. An eight year old boy was among the three killed. Being the mom of an eight year old boy, this tragedy really struck me hard.

It’s hard for me to not put myself in the position of that child’s mother. I can’t even imagine how I would feel if I lost my child.

I never will understand fully why such horrible things have to happen in this world. Why do we have to have deadly school shootings? Why do children suffer from painful cancer treatments only to succumb to the deadly disease and pass on?

I get so caught up in daily stresses and uncomfortable moments that I forget how important it is to be truly grateful for every day I have with my children, my husband, my friends, my loved ones…

It’s hard to be grateful every day. I hate the fact that a deadly explosion has to remind me to look my children in the eye and tell them how much I truly love them before they leave for school in the morning.

But the reality is I lose focus on the big picture. As hard as I try to be reflective and aware of the world around me, I find myself focused on aspects of my life that are very trivial compared to the big picture of life and death.

While I know I cannot protect my children from everything, I can change my perspective and be grateful for every second I have them in this world with me.

My Dad always says, “You’re either working on your problems or your problems are working on you.” I desperately need to change my perspective. The problems I have are working on me and making me lose sight of the big picture.

It’s sad it takes death to remind me the stresses and problems I have are temporary. Life is temporary. I need to live it right.

We are Damaged but It's Okay

During my hiatus from the blog, I experienced one of the coolest moments in my professional life and one of the most life changing moments in my personal life and now I get the chance to share it with you all.

Over the past year, I’ve had the honor to do quite a bit of freelance work with Savannah Magazine. They have been very good to me as a writer. With the help of one of the editors, Amy, I decided to pitch a story about The Lady Chablis.

If you don’t know who she is, let me explain. She is a real-life character from John Berendt’s book “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.” She plays herself in Clint Eastwood’s movie version of the book and she headlines at the infamous Club One here in Savannah.

I’ve been fascinated by her since I read the book and watched the movie when I moved here over 10 years ago. I remember seeing her face plastered on the brick wall on Jefferson Street near the entrance of Club One and I thought, “Holy moly, she’s real.”

Robby’s former-roommate and dear friend Dan was kind enough to get the Grand Empress’s email address for me. I emailed her about the story idea and never heard back. My editor told me to try again. The whole idea began to seem silly to me. Why in the world would someone like The Lady Chablis want to talk to me?

I emailed again and got a response and her cell number. My stomach did a flip flop and I thought, “I guess I’m gonna pick up my phone and call Lady Chablis now.” More stomach rumblings followed.

I sat at my table for hours writing down questions and avoiding the inevitable dialing of the phone. I finally called her and got her voicemail. The pre-recorded voice told me that the mailbox was full and I couldn’t leave a message for “Superbad!” I froze when I heard her voice yell, “Superbad!”

After more emails and missed calls, I finally spoke to her. All I could say was “I’m sorry to bother you…”
She told me to meet her at Club One for a performance and we would chat there. I had no idea what I would ask and more importantly I no idea what to wear.

I knew she was a diva and that I might only get a few minutes alone with her. I narrowed down my questions to a few, but looking back I can see how stupid those questions would sound to her—what’s your favorite kind of makeup? Yeah, I wrote that down….

I had no idea who she was and it never occurred to me that she was anyone besides the loud-mouthed diva I had heard so much about. I never saw her as a person—only a celebrity who was too good for me.

Me hanging out backstage.
Photo taken by Beau Kester.

The owners of Club One were excited for me to visit. I had to admit to them that I had never been to the club before. Tickets to shows are out of my price range and hanging out in a gay bar was too overwhelming for me—I knew I had nothing to wear. Still not sure why I thought gay men cared so much about what I wore?

I met the photographer at the club and we walked around to check everything out. We were told we would do the interview in the dressing room. I was excited. I imagined a glamorous den full of movie posters signed by John Cusack and big mirrors surrounded by glamour and glitz and lots of champagne. Perhaps cool swag to take home? Yes, please.

The owner let me kill time backstage with the ladies from the cabaret show (notice I don’t use air quotes for ladies.) I got to watch them go from regular guys to flawless-skinned beauties. Gorgeous doesn’t begin to describe these performers.

I walked around the dressing room looking at the dresses and the wigs and I noticed the rack of sparkling stilettos. I asked how they found heels in their size.

“You can find anything you need on the internet, honey,” they said in unison.

Everyone laughed and took a sip of their drinks.

“Where are you from,” someone asked me.

“I’m originally from Texas,” I answered. “But I moved here with my ex-husband about 10 years ago.”
Their faces got sad and someone asked, “Was he military?”

I nod my head.

“Honey, my ex-husband was in the military, too,” she said. “He cheated on me and left me all alone.”

Hanging backstage after the interview

The surreal nature of the moment struck me hard. Here I was talking to a group of drag queens/gay men/beautiful ladies/trannys/whatever and we were bonding over shared experiences.

I realized that my story was not special. My pain was not special. Lots of people share my story—even people that don’t look anything like me.

We continued to talk about everything from divorce, how to find sexy stripper shoes, and cooking up chitlins.

I began to relax a little but my suit was too hot for backstage. I chose to look professional with the one pant suit I own, but I tried to sex it up a little with a low-cut navy tank. I couldn’t take notes and carry my jacket at the same time, so I opted to sweat it out.

I went to the meet and greet at the bar to wait for Lady Chablis’ arrival. Sonny Seiler, also a real-life character from the book, arrived in his trademark black suit and red shirt (Georgia colors). My stomach rumbled and I realized I’m not good around celebrities.

The owner offered me a drink again, and I finally took him up on his offer. Lady Chablis walked in and grabbed her fresh vodka cranberry off the bar. I ordered the same thing and guzzled it down as I struggled to find the courage to approach her.

My suit had become a sauna and I could feel a steady stream of sweat dripping down my back and rolling through the waistband of my slacks. The champagne fountain was calling my name but I had to focus.

I approached Lady Chablis and introduced myself as her stalker. Her stern look faded and she laughed out loud. “You have been stalking me, haven’t you?”

She began to explain to me that I couldn’t come to her dressing room. She wanted to meet for lunch. I envisioned us sipping vodka cranberries and chatting at her hotel.

Reality set in and I realized that the chances of getting to interview her were slim at this point. Maybe that would be my story—the interview that never was…

I started to walk off and she grabbed my arm and whispered, “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to talk to all these people.” I noticed the line of people waiting to talk to her and then I looked at her eyes.

I realized I knew nothing about this person. It had never dawned on me that she was a real person with real feelings. Perhaps she had insecurities like me? Maybe she hated the outfit she picked for the night, too? Doubtful. She looked amazing.

All I knew was that she and I had a connection and I had to figure out what it was.

The next part of the story is here.

After the story was published on March 1st, I sat and waited to hear something from The Lady Chablis. I felt a true connection to her and I worried I made it up in my head.

I thought the publication of this piece would be the turning point for my writing career in Savannah, but it wasn’t. My phone never rang and no new jobs came my way. I felt like a loser. I had no job. No money.
And no one wanted to hire me.

Then out of the blue, I got an email from Lady Chablis. She loved the piece. She wrote that I saw the “real” her.

It was the validation I needed. I realized I hadn’t made up the whole story in my head.

I could see the “real” her because she and I are the same on so many levels.

Meeting again for hugs at Club One

We are both so full of love and we desperately want to share our love with people, but we tend to keep it to ourselves. Most people never get close to us or get to know the “real” us because we are afraid they will reject us—and we both know rejection hurts so badly.

But for some reason, when we are together, something clicks. I can tell her I love her and she says it back and it’s not weird or forced or watered-down. It’s real.

She’s real. I’m real. She’s damaged. I’m damaged. She says, “Two tears in a bucket, mother fuck it.” And I say, “Amen, sister.”

I confessed to Lady Chablis that I was scared to talk to her at first.

She looked at me and said, “I knew from the moment I heard your voice on the phone and you said you were so sorry to bother me that you didn’t believe in yourself.”

I shook my head and felt embarrassed.

“Keep your head high, baby,” she said. “Don’t let nothing stand in your way.”

Maybe most of us are damaged. Maybe somebody did something so horrible to us that we may never feel good enough again. Maybe? Who cares? It’s time to let it all go. Everyone has a story. The trick is to make yourself believe you have conquered your story.

I have to remind myself that I will conquer my story and leave it far behind. I have to keep moving forward and I have to quit listening to that voice in my head that tells me I'm stupid.

My head will be held high and I will walk this catwalk of life like I’m a diva in a sequin dress in four inch stiletto heels and a vodka and cranberry in my hand.

Getting off the roller coaster

It’s hard to think back that far, but there was actually a time in my life when I wanted to get pregnant. I wanted to be a mommy so badly.

We tried for several years, but I finally gave up and decided to focus on my career as a writer. My ex-husband was busy with his blossoming career, and it just made sense to put my energy into something else.

Trying to get pregnant is exhausting to your marriage and your state of mind. But people always tell you, “as soon as you stop trying, you will get pregnant.”

Yes, it’s true. As soon as I stopped worrying about getting pregnant, I found out I was carrying my daughter. It was such a relief to know that I was able to get pregnant, but the emotional roller coaster I had to go through to get to that point was hell.

I feel like that now as I look for a job. I finally reached a point last week where I decided to quit looking at want ads and LinkedIn and all those job sites. I decided to find my own job and make it what I want it to be.

I sat down and started emailing friends and professionals in town. I did the “just checking in” thing and then went straight for the “I have no job so if you need anyone or you know of anyone, please let me know.”

It was humiliating to admit that no one wanted to hire me, but as an adult you have to put your pride aside and take care of your family.

I sat and cried by myself in my kitchen when I was finished. But I got myself together and decided to never look back. The path I was on wasn’t working. I was once again stuck on an emotional roller coaster, and I needed to change my focus.

Things have slowly started clicking along and now I have several people in line to hire me for my writing services. I still have two more meetings in place to pick up new work. I pray this is the right path and that it leads to those bigger and better things everyone keeps telling me about.

I am the daughter of two parents who have somehow made a living under the title “self-employed.” I know that I can do this if I just put my mind to it and hustle like a maniac.

It’s either that or give up, and quitting is just not an option I can live with. I know I will learn something from this experience, and I know that one day I may even look back and laugh at this time of my life.

But right now it sucks. I feel like a failure. But if total humiliation is what it takes to get me to where I need to be in life, then I am okay with that.

One thing I do know is that nothing in life that is worth a damn comes easily. I also remind myself that the last time I took a break from the roller coaster I ended up with a beautiful baby girl. Who knows what I will get this time?

Mama, Mama….Mama?

Working from home is a gift in many ways. I don’t have to change out of my jammies to write an article or to make phone calls. I can take my children to and from school every day and get them to their activities.  I can get dinner started while I’m making my final edits for the day.

But there are some downsides. The money is great, but I never know when I’ll have work so it’s not as secure as a steady paycheck. And my biggest complaint is having to work when my children are home.
It never fails that as soon as I am on a roll and those perfectly paired words are flowing from my fingertips, I hear the words, “Mama?” And just like that, everything zaps from my brain and I forget what I was writing.

I’ve tried to teach the children that “when you see Mommy typing on the keyboard, don’t interrupt unless it’s an emergency.”

I quickly learned that my children don’t understand what a true emergency entails. In the past few weeks, I’ve had to inform the children that locating honey mustard, telling me the remote needs new batteries, and asking me if Harry Potter is a real person are not emergencies.

Not to mention that over the past years, I’ve seen the kids do really amazing stuff--lots of times. So, it isn’t necessary that I look at you to see that part of the Kleenex stuck to your nostril when you blew your nose, or that your hair looks crazy when you are only half-way done blow drying it for school, or that the dog looks like he’s smiling when you pull on his cheeks in front of the fan. It’s all great stuff, but trust me when I say I can live another 38 years without seeing all of those amazing feats.

After several outbursts of “Mama?” I find myself angrily announcing, “If you’re not bleeding, on fire, or have bones sticking out, don’t bother me!”

The announcement is usually met with a surprised, “Geez, okay!”

Apparently, I’m the one with the problem.

Then I start to feel guilty. It must be a product of my early Catholic upbringing.

I try to remind myself that there was a time when I longed to me a mother. I longed to hear the words, “mama” and know that I was the object of a young child’s affection.

I’m not sure if I will ever work in an office away from my children. If I do, I’m sure I will miss those sweet little voices calling from the next room, “Mama, I spilled my milk on the couch and the dog is peeing on it!”

What’s funny is that while I type this blog, I can see the reflection of small green lights reflecting on the computer screen. I realize my son is standing behind me with his spy goggles on—he’s giggling. I finally hear,


“Hey, Mom, look! I found my spy goggles!”

Yes, it’s all wonderful. It’s great. Thank God for the bad times in my life or I would totally take all of this for granted.

Whenever I feel like slamming my fists on the computer and screaming, “Can’t you see Mommy is freaking working!!!” I just remind myself of the day that my ex-husband stood in the doorway of our bedroom and told me that he would take the children away from me and that they would never live with me again. He had the job and the money and I believed that no judge would let a single, jobless mother keep her children.

I’ve been wrong about so many things in my life. I’m so glad I was wrong about that. I pray I never forget how lucky I am to hear “Mama?” whenever I start to write what could have possibly been the next Pulitzer Prize winning story.

I may never be a famous writer, but I know I will always be the most popular person in this house.

Nothing is perfect

Well, the search for the perfect job is finally over. No, I didn’t get a job. I can’t even get an email back from people to let me know they chose not to hire me. I’ve just decided to quit looking for it.

As the last few dollars in my bank account pad my slowly dying ego, I have come to the realization that my idea of the perfect job doesn't exist. Life is what you make of it and you either make the best of it or you suffer through it.

When I first started my quest for employment this time last year, I was picky. After 5 months and no response from potential employers, I decided that being picky was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I began to spread my search and I finally got some responses.

About the time I finished school in November, I began to spread out even more—I applied to entry level jobs that I thought I would enjoy. I finally started getting called in for interviews. I thought the tide was turning.

Today, I realized I may be spreading out a little too wide. I looked at a job description on Craigslist and read the words, “We work with Urine,hair and saliva...we do not work with blood.” And I thought, Hmm. Body fluids don’t really gross me out too much. How much does it pay and when does it start?

Yes, my search has grown very wide indeed. Who ever said the job market is picking up must live somewhere besides coastal Georgia.

To be honest, I really don’t care where I work at this point as long as I know it’s a place that won’t wear me down and turn me into someone who is a miserable person to be around.
I don’t want to be one of those people who can’t pay her bills any longer, but who refuses to roll up her sleeves and dive into the trenches to make ends meet.

If there is anything that I have learned these past few years, it’s that the rough times are temporary and sometimes you have to roll up your sleeves and take care of business.

I’m lucky I have a skill that allows me to pick up contract work and make some money here and there. It’s also a skill that gives me joy and satisfaction. I think eventually my professional writing will pick up enough that I can go a few days without checking Craigslist for possible jobs that may or may not include bodily fluids.

But until that day arrives, I’ll keep hammering away at life and praying that I continue to grow and learn from the experiences around me.

I'm Baaack!

Okay, so I got scared and I stopped writing the blog for a bit. It’s been hard to not write. Writing helps clear my head. It’s therapeutic. It’s what I do.

This past week has been filled with a lot of ups and downs, mostly downs, but the ups have inspired me to write again.

I got this amazing message from some sweet ladies in Chicago. They reminded me that I need to keep being honest and I need to keep writing. I needed to hear that message so badly. It got the wheels turning about going back to the blog, but I didn't put anything on paper.

New friend, new advice...

Yesterday, I received a very touching email from a new friend. She wrote, “Keep your head to the sky and when people, things, whatever gets in the way, take a deep breath and say from the deepest part of your soul ‘TWO TEARS IN A BUCKET—MOTHER F***IT!!!’ Trust me it works.”

I sat in my car on Friday with the sun shining in my face and cried a little as I re-read her email. I said those words, and it did work. I reminded myself that I didn’t go to hell and back so someone could scare me. I didn’t fight back for so many years so that I could sit in my car and feel sorry for myself.

I’ve written about this before, but I’m gonna repeat myself.  “You’re only as sick as your secrets.” If you have ever been through recovery, you are familiar with that phrase.

Keeping secrets can make you sick. Those secrets start to attack you and make you feel guilty. Secrets take away your power to be your true self and to believe in yourself.

I started this blog to unload the secrets that were making me sick. I didn’t do it to make anyone look bad or to vilify anyone. I did it because I learned that the more I kept secrets…the sicker I got. I mean physically ill. I had stomach ulcers and head aches and I was so moody and emotional…I have no idea how I survived or how anyone survived being around me?

But I’m not sick now. I’m just really sad and I hate being sad because I have so much to be happy about.

I’m sad for several reasons.

I’m sad because I have to go back to court and pay another lawyer a whole bunch of money (that I don’t have) again and dig up a past I want to forget about. I have to find the strength to fight again and I’m tired of fighting.

I’m sad because I have applied to over 50 jobs and I haven’t had one positive response. I don’t get it.

I’m sad because it’s embarrassing. I’m tired of talking about it. I’m tired of trying to find jokes to make it seem funny. I’m tired of having to find faith.

But I have to remind myself that I am here for a reason. I’m being tested for a reason. I don’t have to understand the reason, but I also don’t have to let it destroy me.

I didn’t come this far to quit or to run and hide. I came this far so I could show the world that anything is possible--that truth is powerful and love is real.

So, for those who want to see an end to this blog, I have a message for you. I’ll quit writing when I feel like it—and right now I don’t feel like it.

And for those of you who have reached out to me these past few months and told me that I need to keep moving forward, I have a message for you. Thank you for believing in me and pushing me back into the writer’s seat again. It feels great to be back.