My Stained Life

"He wears that on a plane?" she asks in a thick New York accent.

Sitting in the lobby of the vacation rental in Key West, I'm staring out of the window not paying attention and assume she's talking to Sarah.

"He dresses like that all of the time," I hear my wife explain.

Looking down,  I'm wearing a stained, white, "Full Moon Party" tee shirt from "Latitude 32", black running shorts and flip flops.

"And they let him on the plane?"

She has dyed flaming red hair, an orange and black Safari outfit and lots of jewelry that rattles when she talks.

Sarah nods, admitting her disbelief and says, "They do."

Shaking her head, the woman shifts her focus to the clerk explaining they'll need assistance unpacking all of the things packed for her dog.

Having my sense of fashion accosted doesn't phase me.

Men wearing bathing suits that fall past their knees are obviously projecting they've overcome other ... deficiencies.

Women wearing outlandish designs or tons of gaudy jewelry are too.

I'm okay projecting stains.

It's not like my life hasn't had them so I may as well wear them well.

Divorce ... getting mad in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person ... occasional lies that always make things worse ... failing to do what I'd said I would ...

Yeah, I got stains.

But ... my "Full Moon Party Latitude 32 tee shirt" remains mostly white.

Like me.

I do far more good than bad ... have pretty good timing saying the right things ... am almost always honest ... and carry through on whatever I say I'm going to do.

I've got to live with it all so I may as well wear my life with as much dignity and pride as possible.

It's better than pretending everything's perfect, great or awesome when the next person has as many stains as I do.

"Even the righteous of God," wrote the crusty old Saint, they got stains too, "for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God."

We may as well be honest about it with each other.

Then we get another shot at the glory of God. 

Why do good people do bad things?

"It isn't my fault," she pleads.

Standing in the rental house from which she's being evicted, she cries and mascara runs down a pasty white face.

It's not her rental house ... she was just staying there with her boyfriend who'd signed the lease but they didn't get along so he left ... and she stayed.

In frustration, anger and tunnel vision focus only on herself ... she trashed the place.

There's no way she's going to be out by the deadline ... forcing the owner whose already losing money with every second she remains in the house to make an ethical/moral/religious decision on the spot.

Call the Police and confiscate her belongings (all scattered on the floor ... including the pictures of her two small children) or ... give her one more day?

And it's raining.

The owner has done nothing wrong yet feels God's punishing her for past sins.

Most blame belongs to the boyfriend who signed the lease, realized he's in a shitty relationship and ... rather than deal with it ... flees. (I don't know why the story of the Prodigal Son flashes through my head at this point.)

Wearing running shorts that don't cover her ass, dirty hair piled on top of her head, standing over the photographs of her children on the floor ... she cries explaining the boyfriend said he'd paid the rent and she has time to figure out what to do ... and where to go.

"It isn't my fault," she sobs ... using the only weapon she has left ... manipulation.

"This is my kids stuff."

The air is sucked out of the room.

Sitting on the banister of the staircase, bare feet dangling in the air, Styrofoam cup in hand, staring at the trashed house ... I watch and listen ... and think.

Why do good people do bad things?

I don't know how good they are ... most are better than others ... some seem Angelic ... but whatever amount of good is in this mother of two ... and her relocated boyfriend ... has crashed on the shoulders of the owner of the house like a heavy cross ... with Roman shoulders slashing with whips ... in front of a snarling crowd.

It just ain't right," as Grandma Carver used to say.

Why do people ... regardless of how much good they have in them ... do bad things?

Why do tornadoes swoop down blowing up homes and killing people? ... How do tsunamis roll out the sea flooding homes and drowning families? ...  Lighting strikes from nowhere killing a father watching the sun set as his family plays in the sand ...

Can it be that bad things are simply part of the way life is?

Let's be honest ... we all got bad in our lives ... some more than others ... and bad always arrives at the worst possible time.

But ... it is what it is ... as my Mother says.

What do you do when it comes?

That's the real question.

What do you do?

A Question of Faith

You know those stories of someone who finally retires only to die?

They finally hit the magic money number, feeling they can afford to "live" without work, but the shock is too much for their system so they shut down ...  way before they planned.

It's the ultimate irony.

Work hard to finally get what you want to not have it when you want it.

It's like Moses leading the people to the Promised Land only to die before he got there.

Honestly it all works out for many and while that doesn't seem fair you can't begrudge it when they have the happiest of lives.

The crazy thing is our body shuts down and wears out just as we hit the "golden years," so instead of traveling the world we hire home health to ensure we remain home or move into assisted care facilities.

And all the things we always meant to do ... remain things we always meant to do.

Life is a gift all of us share yet none of us asked for ... and it's not always fair.

I don't know why God made it this way but ... it is what it is.

I've known lots of people who had bad luck hit them way before their time ... cancer in their prime ... their child dies ... a parent needs constant caregiving ... jobs are lost ... the money runs out while friends run away.

What do you do?

The song "Living on a prayer" keeps running through my mind and I think the answer's along that train of thought.

Ultimately life is a big question of faith.

I believe things work out the way they're supposed to.

Even when cancer hits someone in their prime it forces life to appreciated like never before ... when a child dies we understand the incredible gift of a child ... caring for a parent no longer capable of tending for themselves enables us to pay them back ... lost jobs mean new opportunities ... no money in the bank leaves you with nothing but God to rely on ... lost friends leave you with an appreciation of who remains with you.

It's not always fair but it is always life.

"What to do? What to do?"

That's the only question.

And the only answer is ... enjoy this or not?

Believe it's supposed to happen this way or not.

Make the most of whatever it is you got or wish for a life that you don't have.

Because it is what it is.

Is your life Heaven or Hell?

I think everything mostly works out the way it should.

That's not to say there's not crazy surprises, unexpected turns, scary moments and horrible falls along the way. But there's unanticipated delights, miraculous discoveries, wonderful things and exhilarating heights too.

At least that's my life so far.

It's probably yours too.

When the bad things happen ... deaths or divorce, friends who prove they're really not, car wrecks, broken promises and nightmares of the night ... we're naturally shocked.

Then it turns into anger because we rail against the injustice of life not being perfect!

Because we want perfect lives.

Yet none of us have one.

Though lots of people pretend to.

When good things happen ... love, marriage, friends who are consistently so,  disasters that are near misses, kept promises and dreams that come true ...we are ecstatic!

Then we downplay it.

We minimize the good and exaggerate the bad.

Why are we wired that way?

The other day Johnny O and I are sitting at The Breakfast Club having coffee and he says, "We've got six-and-a-half marriages between us."

I wince because, though it's true, it's not something I care to think about.

I'm the happiest I've ever been though Sarah would often shoot me if she didn't love me so much. Johnny O's the happiest he's been since I've known him, which is a very long time.

"We should start a business together," he continues. "Anybody thinking about getting married should call us first. We'll guide them through it all. I mean ... we've already experienced everything so others should benefit from our experience.  A small fee will save lifetimes of heartache or pave the highway to happy lives like ours!"

I can't think of anything to say.

"One call ... that's all," he says with a beaming smile.

It's hard to not love Johnny O.

"Hope for the best and plan for the worst" is something I used to say.

Now I try to simply take life as it comes. I try to help others do that too.

Taken all at once life can kill you and believe me, I've watched it kill lots of people I cared about.

Life's good and bad. It's not perfect. Concentrating on the bad leaves you dead even if you're still living.

Holding onto the good makes it more enjoyable and I believe life's to be relished because, either way, it doesn't last forever.

Even the worst times have silver linings of good and the best of times always boarder on disaster.

There's Heaven and Hell.

It's just a question of which are you going to hold on to.
___________________________________________________
Already overwhelmed by the Holidays? We can help if you register for "Doing what's Right for You" a wonderful journey where you celebrate you! Just Click www.meellc.com/onlineclasses

Baggage

Waiting for the luggage, Sarah and the girls are excited to be home. Talking at once ... well except for Maddie who is texting, utterly oblivious they've landed, walked half-a-mile and is now standing among a crowd of people... they're exclaiming the things they did in New York City.

The carousal spits out bags one at a time as travelers jostle into a mini-mob waiting to snatch a giant suitcase or golf bag the instant it rolls down the belt.

We're standing with the more patient people as Laurel and Cassidy argue over who's rolling the bag to the car.

Arms intertwined, Sarah and I are happy to be together again in the "suddenly compact universe of skin and breath and hair."

Cass grabs my UGA tee-shirt pleading because she just turned 7 she's perfectly capable of rolling the big bag by herself.

In the same instant, Laurel machine guns words, immediately overloading me with information which mostly seems aimed at Cassidy's inability to roll luggage without supervision.

Glancing up over her little blond head I spy Fran, staring stoically with folded arms, waiting on bags, standing beside us.

For the first time, I realize I've had two Fran's in my life.

I loved one of them.

She's dead.

"Hello Fran," I say to the other with the confidence of a Congressman telling another lie, "remember Sarah?"

Pauses really can be pregnant and this one was going to be volcanic when it blew!

"Micheal," she says without a smile, arms folded, a morticians face ... and then, "Of course, Sarah," with breath from Antarctica.

Sometimes history occurs in a second.

Sarah holds me tighter, grinning beatifically, and confidently says, "Of course. Fran!" with the slightest hint of "I don't give a shit!"

Fran had been a board member of the organization where we'd both worked. After 30 years in the business I begged for a sabbatical and the board said "No" so the weight of homelessness, AIDS, poverty, despair, really bad Government and hunger did me in.

Such graveyards are full of emotions.

Two large purple and white stripped bags roll passed on the belt and Fran jerks to grab them, as though a Zombie scratching the dirt off a grave and then she's instantly gone.

Cass tackles me ... "See! I can do this!"

And she does.

Well, it tips over four times before we get to the car, but dammit, she did it.

Unlike others I've known and choose to forget.
_____________________________________________

Made you plans to get through the Holidays yet? Let us help! Register for "Doing what's Right for You" beginning in December. It  will be a wonderful journey where you celebrate you! The most special gift of all. Just Click www.meellc.com/onlineclasses

Life outside of the box

Is the money I make worth the price that I pay? asked Graham Nash.

I vividly remember sitting in the floor in front of the television when The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan with my Dad complaining, "They'll never be Elvis.

"And in the end ..." they were more than Elvis.

Of course there would be no Beatles without Elvis.

He came first.

The only people to come close to them since are Michael Jackson and Bob Marley.

Each were incredible trailblazers leaving massive imprints on the world. Each doing what they wanted, achieving unimagined success, becoming imprisoned by it and killing four of the six before their time.

Their music remains and annually they outsell the newest stars making today's best sounds.

It makes me wonder.

All of them stepped outside of the box, forfeiting societal norms and the expectations of others to do their own thing.

And they did their own things magnificently!

So I wonder why the rest of us aren't doing our own thing?

We spend our days and nights doing other peoples things.

Going to work, taking care of parents, fulfilling the demands of religion, living in a certain place because the schools are better for the kids, working the allotted number of years before retirement ... we become indentured servants waiting on our happiness and freedom to arrive later.

When do happiness and freedom arrive?  We can all tell stories of those who do all the right things, meet each demand, fulfill every obligation, make the sacrifices to retire ... only to die soon afterwards.

I've done my time, gave others everything, met the demands, raised the kids, fulfilled expectations and ... jumped ship.

Sarah jumped too.

We washed up on a beach, tattered, torn, hurting and alone so we did what creatively, desperate people do ... shared sandy kisses. We had Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts!

We've made a life outside of the box since then.

We're making a career outside of the box too.

And we're doing it all wrong.

We're too young.

We're investing in us now instead of later.

We're having fun.

Elvis died too young. So did John and George. The King of Pop too. Certainly Bob Marley did.

Who knows how much time we have left?

I just know I not giving mine away anymore except to the things most important to me! Not to anyone else!

Life's better outside of the box.
___________________________________________

Only a few days left to sign up for my writing workshop! You know you want to write your book! Here's your change with personal coaching from me. Give yourself a present and register now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/

Summer's gone

The Government has shut down because the idiots we've elected are self serving ideologues.

It says as much about us as it does them.

Having said that ... the skies an incredible deep blue. A brilliant yellow sun blazes on a glassy ocean reflecting white light in every direction. My toes dig in the cool sand and a crisp breeze blows from the north which I don't care for yet it's a pleasant morning. Seagulls squawk Hymns of praise, sand crabs dart into holes and a pod of Dolphins smile as they glide by me. I smile back.

Summer's gone ...

I've read somewhere that your favorite season is when you were born.

It's true for me.

My birthday is July and I love summer with everything in me!

September is a mixed bag full of college football and airplanes crashing into buildings. October is a cozy fire in the Chiminea and ghosts wandering the streets. Thanksgiving bleeds into Christmas, Chanukah or Ramadan throwing us into the New Year which is cold and dark. In the dead of winter we go searching for our hearts again.

My dear friend Mitch Wesley is a Celtic at heart and believes things take root in the cold hard ground. Growth begins in the dark times. Light burst out of emptiness, stones are rolled away and new lives are embraced. It starts when we embrace the darkness and you go from there.

I like the idea but hate the experience.

Give me miles and miles of clear blue skies, rum on ice, lazy days in a Paradise of white sand, aqua water and laundry neatly folded and put away. Days linger into warm nights with blazing stars and a moon dancing across the sky. Fireflies, Dragonflies and Butterflies are Angels spreading happiness and hope.

The Government has initiated the beginning of the dark period ... again. The Church will follow suit. Those who haven't taken sides yet will. Wars and the rumor of wars will increase. Hell will come on earth as it is in ... Hell. Heaven's just a wish for a warm heart on Valentine's Day when the world is cold and bitter.

 But ... today the sun shines down on me, the house is full of love as I work on things I love in bare feet. Dark things are happening but I refuse to be part of them. I love the Sun dancing on green leaves and casting white diamonds on the Sea. I love Home, the cicada songs, squirrels playing in Palm Trees and Pelicans diving into the ocean.

These are the things I will dwell on today.

The Government, the Church and the Powers that be can dwell on other things because I'm not going to be part of that world.

I'm staying where it's always summer.

Defining Monday

In the decades I worked in corporate homelessness, I attacked Mondays with a vengeance. I hated the bastard. I took weekends to formulate my plans and hit the ground running as soon as Sunday ended and the sun came up. I kicked Monday's ass!

Then I ran out of gas.

Monday started winning and it paid me back in full.

I've got scars to prove it.

I started to hate Monday as soon as Friday rolled around. A time for celebration turned into the beginning of three days of dread. Sunday evenings dripped sadness and when the sun rose, I was bone weary, drug myself out of bed and sleep walked through the day.

So for a few years, Monday totally dominated, sucking the joy out of me, making me fake happiness, professionalism and enthusiasm.

I didn't recognize it at the time but I was really telling myself that I should be doing something else.

I was too stubborn ... too stupid ... to listen to me so I kept at it and things just got worse.

Depending on how I look at it, either I crashed and burned ... or ... God intervened.

It really does depend on how we choose to look at things.

I left that world and then I didn't know what to do with Monday. Suddenly, it was like every other day ... time to enjoy and make something out of ... something to endure.

It was up to me.

Now, Monday's are a quiet time. I start them slowly. We're like dancers, uncertain of how to begin, tentatively placing one hand in the other before slipping into a rhythm. The work is every bit as intense and demanding but I'm doing things I love again. And I'm doing them with the person I love.

It's what defines the Monday. It's what defines every day.

If you're doing what you love ... with those you love ... it's going to be a good day.

But if you're not, then Mondays are horrible.

Just like every other day.

It's up to you.
___________________________________________

October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Sign Up Now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

The Way we like our religion!

"Don't let me down," begged the Major Prophet John Lennon.

But of course they do.

Jesus put a positive spin on it when he said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

But we don't.

We've been burned too many times, giving openly and honestly to others only to have them not give back to us in kind. The result is we are taken advantage of, hurt and left to clean up other people's messes.

Every time it happens, we add another brick to the wall we build to protect ourselves from such things. The number of people we trust grows very small. We hoard our feelings for ourselves. Our community is tiny. The love we do give away is questioned, guarded and reserved for only a few. Most can count the true loves they have on one hand.

The "Golden Rule" is in every single one of the world's religions yet it remains the least practiced form of faith.

It ends up pissing everybody off so to hell with it. We take the rest of the world's religions except this part. It makes religion so much easier, leaving plenty of room for intolerance, bigotry, exclusion, hate and terrorism. Now that's how we like our religion!

If it weren't so then why is much of it in the world today.

Last night Sarah and I sat in the red room shell shocked for what others had done unto us that we hadn't done unto others.

After letting our anger out, continuing to say to one another "I'm not mad at you! I'm just mad and don't have anybody else to mad at right now!", we began to calm down. I grew contemplative as Sarah continued to process things that had been done leaving us with a great deal of unexpected things to do.

I had a hard time sleeping last night because of it all. Laying there staring at the ceiling fan, Goddess laid on my side of the bed licking my hand and John Lennon kept singing in my head.

"Don't let me down."

"Don't let me down."

It is a shame that we do let each other down as a daily practice of our faith.

It's more than a shame.

It's just another brick in the wall.

The Prodigal Father

"I love you like a son," he'd said in a quivering voice, moisture filling his eyes as he threw his arms around me.

That was several years ago and he's become the Prodigal Father, disappearing from my life, leaving me questioning why and wondering what I did to drive him away. Time passes and I've gotten used to it as best I could though when someone just leaves there's a gnawing, unresolved wonderment.

I marvel at those who can quickly end relationships, moving on, never looking back and not really caring about someone who was once significant. In fact, I've come to believe that this is most people.

But it's not me.

I think the moment you meet someone, you cannot be unchanged. Both the significant ones and the inconsequential leave something of themselves as part of who I am.

Once I was driving down Bay Street in downtown Savannah, Georgia on a beautiful spring day. The sky was blue, it was warm and pleasant and everything was in bloom. The windows were rolled down and I was taking my sweet time getting to wherever I was going determined to enjoy such an incredible day.

For no reason whatsoever I glanced over to the car heading in the opposite direction and saw her. Long brown hair hung forward as she slumped over the steering wheel, forehead resting on it. She held her head up and was sobbing, tearing gushing from her eyes and pouring down her freckled face. Her mouth was open and though I could not hear the crying, I could feel it. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds and then she was gone.

Though it happened twenty years ago, she is part of me now.

Sometimes when I'm sad, or empathetic to others going through hard times, she comes to me just as alive and hurting as she was then. I can still see her. I can still feel her.

So when I saw the Prodigal Father yesterday as he exited and I entered the Chick-fill-A on Victory Drive in Savannah, I was unprepared for the moment.

He was too.

"Micheal Elliott," he called me by name as if to remind him that I still exist. I called him by name in return and the most awkward of silences filled the moments that slowed to a crawl.

"Take care Herb," I finally said moving forward.

"Yeah. You too Micheal," he replied passing me by.

And our lives go on.

Though I know deep inside of me that the Prodigal Father will never come home again.