Introduction: “The Willow Tree” is a heartfelt, yet apoplectic, follow-up to “The Road Less Traveled.”  The important conversation relating to the topic of bullying rages on.  Bullying:  the diabolical and relentless attempt by an insecure person (or persons) to willfully humiliate, hurt, and dehumanize another person (or persons) in order to feel a sense of empowerment.  A gaping and infected wound in our society that has metastasized due to the inaction, and intrinsic participation, of those who have voluntarily signed up and are charged with preventing its spread.  We are going in deep to explore why this pernicious issue is purportedly beyond anyone’s control, specifically in schools, and why it continues to worsen rather than improve even with all that is allegedly being done to mitigate both its short-and-long-term damage.  I have a few unpopular, yet compellingly irrefutable, ideas.      As a general self-imposed rule and disclaimer, I try to not curse in my writing. In my daily life, I am unabashedly fluent in the use of some of the more scurrilous and indelicate wordcraft; but you would never know that because in my writing I consciously resist the strong urge to throw down mud-slinging trash talk to make a point.  (And, by the way, with my high level of fluency, that restraint and self-control is not as easy to do as you might think.)  However, the issue of bullying absolutely incenses me, and I find it nearly impossible to not drop a few unseemly words here or there. Either way, if a simple, yet offputtingly thuggish, word offends you, try to imagine for a moment how recipients of bullying feel as they are verbally, emotionally, and physically assaulted.  Lastly, I am not, nor have I ever professed to be, an expert in behavioral science or social psychology.   Truth and provable facts, common sense, basic humanity, and an overall expected societal code of conduct are non-negotiables for me. Whether you choose to embrace them or not is entirely up to you.  With that being said, consider this a friendly reminder of the fundamental Golden Rule that we – adults and children alike – should all know by now: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “……or, we can disentangle ourselves from the fray and break free.”  Those were the last words of “The Road Less Traveled.”  An essay written from a mother’s perspective – my perspective – about bullying in schools which, as was the case with my family, resulted in having to transfer my daughter in her 7th grade year from the only school she ever knew into a different, much bigger, local school where we had hoped that she would get a fresh start.  A clean slate, so to speak.  An opportunity for her to break away and become free from the children who bullied, mocked, and ostracized her.  Children who openly and persistently made every effort to humiliate and diminish her without consequence.  Children who, even though she had been removed from the school and their daily view, in no uncertain terms, let her know that they were still thinking about her and that they were not done with her just yet.  So, they poisoned the proverbial well, all but ensuring that the experience at her new school would be a continuation and replication of the exclusion and maltreatment that she had, by force and through no fault of her own, grown accustomed to. She became acutely aware, because it was made abundantly clear, that she would have no friends at the new school either.  This was no aberration or misunderstanding of any kind.  This was a premeditated, calculated, and coordinated act of pure cruelty that included groups of simpleminded tween girls from not one, but two schools who, unpredictably, knew each other from extracurricular activities outside of school.  Ill-natured and insolent young girls who were decidedly and collectively hellbent on making my daughter feel outcasted and unwelcome. Common words like “children,” “school,” and “consequence” are going to be used a lot here because apparently, they need to be underscored and highlighted to garner attention.  Children inside, and outside, schools who bully others for one reason and one reason only – because they can.   Their behaviors are elusive to school officials, evidently, which is why there are no consequences thereby compounding and worsening the impact of bullying over time.  School officials who spend an inordinate amount of time ‘gaslighting’ children, along with parents, in their ongoing efforts to remain off their state education department’s radar.  Time that would undoubtedly be much better spent regulating and curbing bullying rather than making excuses for it.  Even still, when the focus becomes exclusively about the recipients of bullying and excusing the devious and cunning misdeeds of the now emboldened children who lean into their role as a bully, it would appear that the adults who allow it to happen are afforded a pass.   An unspoken and favorable adjudication that allows them to continue to hide in the ‘gray area’ seemingly protected by irreproachability, ambiguity, and substandard policies.  Some of those underdeveloped and short-sighted policies, coincidentally, relate to “HIB” (which stands for Harassment, Intimidation, and Bullying) and have turned out to be nothing more than vague wordsmithing, written by a team of lawyers, intentionally designed to create more confusion rather than conflict resolution. Note:  Yes, I am fully aware that a large percentage of bullying happens outside of school.  With an easy to use, always accessible, and dynamic electronic extension of their hand, the present-day weapon of choice, commonly referred to as a ‘cellphone’ or ‘smartphone,’ has easily become the most expedient and effective form of verbal (and non-verbal) discord vis-à-vis cyberbullying.  Wielding atrocities and uncurbed cruelty, bullies hide behind a small, protective glass screen as they freely communicate in strings of thoughtless words that are exchanged via text, instant and direct messaging, or any other nefarious means availed to them on unsupervised social media platforms.  Unencumbered by appropriate rules of engagement and apparently …

I did something I never thought I would ever do.  In the spirit of transparency, I have to admit that I judged others for doing it which must make me an unreliable hypocrite whose word cannot be trusted.  And that strange and unexpected plot twist would be very possible without the benefit of evidentiary and justifiable reasoning. It is not lost on me that from the outside it probably just looks like quitting.  Or running away.  However, on the inside, and coming from someone who admittedly seems to be hellbent on learning things the hard way, it can only be described as a desperate act of resignation with a heavy dose of anger thrown in for good measure.  Maybe there is some truth to the whole “desperate times call for desperate measures” decree that is liberally dropped in and out of circulation more often than previously thought.  Even with the understanding that acting out of desperation is oftentimes a provisional sideshow, an otherwise manufactured distraction, that we call upon when we need time to reflect on our situation from a safe distance while concurrently taking a much-needed breath.  Or in my case, maybe that wasn’t it at all.  Maybe the universe just got bored or tired of watching me flail around aimlessly with my hackles up, so it stepped in and forced the change upon me leaving no room to challenge its decision and in no uncertain terms.  Having said that, as someone who doesn’t normally resist change, it was no easy task for me to relinquish control to the universe and accept its forceful intervention.   The change that was, in all likelihood, inevitable flew directly in the face of my strong belief system that has been hardwired since, well, since I was born.  I was raised to believe that quitting, also known as starting something and then stopping before it has been sufficiently completed, broadly implies a lack of motivation from an unambitious poor sport with a lazy attitude.  Notwithstanding the fact that I am slightly OCD, have a nonsensical need for symmetry, and generally dislike loose ends, the idea of quitting and not finishing what I started just goes against my grain and natural instinct to cross the finish line.   Scathed or unscathed.  These types of arm-twisting changes, that are propelled by the universe, are often misinterpreted, usually by people who shouldn’t matter, as the cowardly acts of underachievers who allegedly take the easy way out, quit, run away and/or sulk when they are not getting their way or winning.  But the truth is, I am the antithesis of competitive which takes the idea of needing to ‘win’ completely out of the equation; not to mention the fact that I have never thought of myself as a coward or a sulker or an underachiever for that matter.    Rather, I am just someone who is playing a hardcore game against my will and better judgment.  It is a game where the rules appear to be undefined, although, I’m not entirely convinced that there are any rules at all, and to be clear, there are no winners.  An otherwise ruleless and unwinnable game that you cannot walk away from or quit when it becomes overwhelming and insufferable.  This is called the Parent Game so, like it or not, the choice to quit or stop playing is not really a viable option that any parent worth their salt, or at a minimum those who are committed to the long game, can live with.   So, given the unpredictable, combative, protective, and territorial nature of this game, we all put on our big girl and big boy underpants, roll up our sleeves, sharpen our tongues, strap ourselves in, and we play.   No matter how we choose to play, or not play, we are undoubtedly going to be the subject of someone else’s ire and judgment.  Whether that is right or fair is barely the point because it is an unconditional fact; and facts, much to everyone’s surprise, ordinarily do not care if they are believed nor do they require a consensus of approval.  And as Eleanor Roosevelt put it, “Do what you feel in your heart to be right – for you’ll be criticized anyway.”  Oh, Mrs. Roosevelt, if you only knew the lengths that the current members of present-day society will go to prove you right.   By this point maybe you are wondering what I did that I never thought I would ever do that required a not-so-gentle nudge from the universe. As a result of relentless mistreatment, rejection, exclusion, and an overall reprehensible display of unkindness by her classmates and peers, along with their parents and even a teacher or two, I made the difficult decision to unceremoniously extract my 12-year-old daughter in her 7th grade year from the only school she has ever known.  Choosing instead to take the road less traveled, which for us, meant moving her to a new school where she could, fingers crossed, wipe her slate clean and get a fresh start on a larger-scale playing field of complete strangers. However, taking the high road, which by the way, is usually the one that is far less traveled, is not for the faint of heart.  Forging ahead on a new and unfamiliar path is isolating and lonely which invariably leads to self-conscious feelings of doubt as you ultimately question your ability to make sound decisions.  Let’s   start with getting the giant elephant that is sitting in the middle of the small room out of the way so that we can see each other more clearly.  I know what you’re thinking because once upon a time I thought it too.  And I was wrong.  You are probably thinking that I am just another helicopter parent who is raising a bunch of fragile snowflakes.  Maybe you are thinking that I am a weak and spineless quitter who is actively teaching my children that “when the going gets tough, the tough get going.”  Whatever that even means.  …

Maybe you have had days like this.  Days when you open your eyes after a long and involuntarily restless night and are immediately confused because you cannot seem to recall how or when you finally fell asleep.  When the earsplitting sound of your alarm rips you from whatever sleep you had managed to find.  You instinctively reach your arm out to make the startling noise of the persistent alarm stop only to realize that you cannot because your arm feels heavy and numb.  During your unpeaceful slumber you must have unwittingly slept on it, therefore, grabbing the phone to stop the unsettling noise proves to be a challenge unto itself.  When you finally shake off the pins and needles and are able to get a grip on your phone to register the time, the numbers are blurry and out of focus.  You bring the phone close to your face and squint your eyes because the time it is displaying must be a mistake.  In a state of denial and disbelief and as you lay your head back down onto the pillow, you begin to rationalize that, yes, it must be a mistake or a trick that is being played on you because how could it already be time to wake up when you are not entirely convinced that you slept?   And yet whether it is an unamusing trick, a sobering mistake or otherwise, like it or not it would seem that it is time to get up and seize the day.  At least your version of seizing a day after an emotionally-charged night that was consumed with anxiety and sleep deprivation.  Optimists would probably call every new day an opportunity. Those bewildering and unrelatable people who allegedly have a healthy relationship with the normal nightly ritual of sleeping.  The same people who claim to wake up with a power that is of their own free will and sans the relentless urging of a bossy alarm clock.  But you have never considered yourself to be an optimist.   On this particular day, that resembles many others, you are torn between a groggy acknowledgement of the time, in which case you must get up, or if you are up for a quick game of Chance.  The risky game that you often find yourself playing after you have been abruptly awakened, impulsively deactivate the phone’s pre-set ‘snooze’ feature, and with little-to-no concern for the self-imposed consequences that are sure to follow, you turn off the alarm clock entirely.  Then, to raise the stakes of this fate-tempting game even higher, you shut your eyes for just a few extra minutes to ‘rest’ only to frantically re-open them to the predictable outcome of this game which is that you have been ‘resting’ for at least another hour.  Game over.  However, while you are still horizontal and drifting somewhere between foggy slumber and lucidity, you realize that it is at this exact moment when the day starts to unravel.  It is never a good sign that before your feet have even been given the opportunity to touch the floor, you have already started these onerous and time-thieving negotiations that are designed explicitly for the purpose of delaying the inevitable.   You are bothered that you do not know exactly how or when you finally found sleep, assuming you slept at all.  While that might seem exceptionally trivial to the restful sleepers among us, for those who struggle with nighttime sleeplessness that can often be accompanied by a debilitating panic attack, it is a critically important detail.  You are consciously irritable because although you don’t like it and find it crushingly unfair, you know that you must begin the task of getting yourself up.  An all-too-familiar and tedious morning routine that can only be accomplished by taking one little baby step at a time.  Step 1:  Rollover onto your back.  Step 2:  Sit up. Your head, at this pivotal point, should be forced to separate from the pillow. Step 3:  Carefully remove the gift of sand that the Sandman customarily leaves in the corners of your eyes while you are sleeping.  On occasion you note that there is no sand – it is a known fact that Mr. Sandman only visits those who are sleeping which can mean only one of two things:  either your initial assessment was right and you didn’t sleep at all last night or Mr. Sandman has forsaken you.  Step 4:  Remove blanket from legs and feet – everyone knows that warmth and comfort travel from the bottom to the top, not the other way around.  Step 5:   Slowly swing now-cold legs off of the bed and let them hang there for an undetermined period of time.  Step 6:  Stand up.  Step 7:  Take a small step forward not allowing the backs of your knees to have any further contact whatsoever with your bed.  It turns out that your bed is both a problem and a solution which depends on the time of day and your state of mind.  In the morning, it is a problem and will silently beckon you to get back in, therefore, the further you get away from it, the better.  You must make a choice and standing in that spot close to your bed all day is not one of them.  Therefore, you immediately start walking away from your bed and begin the short journey to the bathroom.  Your first stop is the mirror.  You cannot help but stare at the reflection of the stranger who is exhaustedly looking back at you.  Under your eyes is the accessory that you received during the overnight hours.  The undisguised dark circles that you must now wear as an inglorious badge throughout the day. A visibly cruel reminder, as if you weren’t already aware, that you are tired. cause and effect.  To be clear, you fully understand the nightly assignment which is fairly straightforward and unambiguous at this point in your life.  It is the time that is carved out of the …

Pastel-colored flowers painted on a delicate porcelain teacup that sits atop its companion saucer made of equal fragility.  Alongside the dainty duo lies a single, untarnished silver spoon.  The spoon rests next to a napkin that has been starched and bleached within an inch of its life so that it can, for all intents and purposes, appear new and unsullied.  And for good measure, it has been artfully transformed into a swan with the more stubborn stains discreetly hidden beneath a carefully folded wing.  The numbered tables are round, each draped with a meticulously embroidered white cloth where, at the center, a candle nestles snuggly inside an ornate and polished silver candlestick.  The candle brings life to each table as the flickering pulse of its flame melts the unscented wax beneath it.   Tiered silver trays filled with tea cakes and finger-sized sandwiches are displayed on each table and available for the taking by the stylishly-dressed, well-groomed and, by all appearances, refined patrons.  The otherwise modest room is paradoxical as the candle-lit tables radiate warmth and intimacy against the backdrop of garishly overstated and bold floral-papered walls that are stacked high with the fragile china and fragrant tea.  Exotic teas that are served by the uniformed and white-gloved baristas who feverishly conjure and steep the hot, aromatic elixirs into liquid perfection.  The enchanting shoppe is serene, seemingly under a celestial spell that is summoned by hushed and polite conversations, soft string music, and the muffled clinking sound of stirring silver spoons submerged inside their teacups.  The gentle sounds work in harmony with the fragrant, hot tea to create a hypnotic atmosphere that illustrates a façade of peace and tranquility. However, when viewed at a closer range, it is revealed to be not much more than an exclusive meeting place that is as pretentious as the clientele who frequent it.    Oops.    Maybe that is unfair and sounds a bit harsh.  But as Samuel Langhorne Clemens, otherwise known as Mark Twain, pointed out with tongue in cheek, “There are no people who are quite so vulgar as the over-refined.”  We are agreed, unfair or not.  It is generally the over-refined who come in droves to these quaint, yet gilded, little tea shoppes where the more highbrowed among us feel right at home.  That being said, there are usually two or more sides to any story worth telling.  Stories that examine glaring societal disparities where we regularly speak in contradictions as we endeavor to build, not break down, impenetrable walls and further deepen, rather than connect, unbridgeable chasms amidst pervasive opposition, righteousness and futile misunderstandings.  And at its root is the familiar anger that we have become conditioned to expect, but not necessarily accept unconditionally.  It is no surprise that the proverbial ‘twain’ in these all-too-common stories never get a chance to meet, and even if they do meet, it is under the strain of already bitter circumstances.  Notwithstanding the fact that ‘never’ is a very long time.  The quaint little tea shoppe is located on a corner of a busy and bustling Main Street.  In the spirit of competition, just down the street on the opposite corner sits another type of establishment that appears to happily lack the refinement of its long-standing and, in this case, hubristic rival.  And that is the bar.   The bar, as you can well imagine, looks and sounds a little different than the tea shoppe.  Even from a distance.  Differences that become more obvious and unambiguous as you begin to stroll along the sidewalk away from the tea shoppe and towards the bar.  Your ignited senses become heightened as you are seduced by the faint rhythm of a drumbeat’s vibrations.  Like a slow-rising crescendo, beckoning you towards it, the sound becomes more intense the closer you get.   Before you know it, the music quickly seeps into the pores of your body until it makes direct contact with your soul.  In your periphery, you vaguely notice the passersby who are watching you shake and shimmy down the street as you have now given over the controls of your body to the music which is, incidentally, leading you directly to the bar.  And then you reach your destination and find yourself standing at its entrance door.  Forming binoculars with your hands, you put your face to the glass door and peek inside.    Yes.    This place looks and sounds more like it.   Without further ado, you swing open the door and are pulled into the uninhibited and welcoming embrace of the bar whose cadenced pulse can be felt beneath your feet.  Once inside, the music borders on deafening and is in strong competition with the wall-to-wall people who can be seen yelling at each other in order to be heard. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the spirits served here have the ability to break down those otherwise indestructible barriers, loosening lips and hips as singing and dancing is a well-known side effect of the specialized and made-to-order elixirs.  Sweet, complex and bitter concoctions made from distilled and fermented fruits now being mixed, shaken and stirred by the bartenders who energetically serve them to the throng of fully-galvanized revelers in different sized and shaped glasses.  Proving that the size or shape of the glass doesn’t matter, what matters is what is inside. Like a flame to a candle, the longer the imbibers stay at the bar, the more convivial and festive they become.  A taste of the forbidden fruit, as it were, leaves you wanting more not less, therefore, you plant your feet to the floor that is now sticky from fallen drinks until the last round is called just before closing time.  While you are admittedly tired, you are not ready to leave just yet.  This was fun.  The kind of fun that makes you momentarily pause with your half-full glass suspended in midair as you consider whether or not this level of fun tips the scale and leans heavily into the land of the …

A Letter to My Firstborn Dear Firstborn: Life is sometimes compared to a roller coaster, among other things, because whether or not you want to get on and go for the ride is rarely ever the point or always a choice that is yours to make.  Either way you will inevitably be loosely buckled in and taken on a crazy and bumpy ride with or without your consent.  Everyone is on their own roller coaster and, while some other rides may seem similar, they are not the same.  Through various stages of life, rides can be so smooth that they might even be described as boring or pleasantly monotonous.  While other times the ride is unpredictable, filled with chaos and uncertainty.  It is that part of the ride that can feel overwhelming as you will realize that you have no control over the unforeseen, and, let’s face it, mostly involuntary, dizzying twists and turns or ups and downs.  Even when you have had enough and beg for it stop so that you can get off and regain your footing on steady ground, somehow you will find the courage to stay on.  After all, the only thing about the ride that you are controlling is how you react and respond to it.  As parents, we are on an endless roller coaster ride.  It’s interesting because it is not something that is necessarily discussed or overly considered before we bring home our adorable little bundles of pure joy and innocence.  Parents are dreamers who are seemingly suspended in a temporary state of delirious bliss when their children are babies.  At least that was my experience.  Truth be told, and especially during the early days, parents are not exactly forward thinkers when it comes to their children.  For many, you are just so happy to have a baby in your arms that you don’t often think about how life is going to look in 5, 10 or even 15 years.  The days somehow move slower, one bleeding into the next.  You buy a special book so that you can memorialize all of your baby’s firsts – the first smile, the first time they roll over from back to belly, their first spoonful of solid food, their first word, their first step unassisted, and the list of firsts goes on and on. Those are the years when you follow a chart that breaks down each common milestone and an expected age by which it should be met, and if it is not, you grab your keys and your precious baby and hightail it to the doctor to find out what is wrong with them.  You are frequently reminded to ‘live in the moment’, that ‘the days are long, but the years are short’, and ‘don’t worry, it’s just a phase’.  And all of those things are true.   But you don’t realize how true they are until each of those moments or phases passes by in the blink of an eye and you find yourself nostalgically looking back on them with a wide-range of raw emotions. Those are the moments that you would like to freeze in time.  When you find yourself on your knees begging time to stand still, or at least slow down for a little while, to give you a chance to adjust to the changes that are happening all too quickly and seem to move at a warped speed the older your children get.  Each stage stealthily appears out of nowhere, and then just as suddenly as it arrived, it is gone leaving in its wake nothing more than a memory.  Time is uncooperative like that, and stops for no one.  You know that your child will never be these ages again and you want to hold them there as long as possible.  Because no matter what and come what may, they will always be your baby regardless of how big they get or how quickly they move through each one of life’s stages. You are reaching an important milestone in the coming days.  Middle school graduation, and then you will head to high school in just a few short months.  I don’t know exactly how we got here, but nevertheless, here we are.  Saying that I’m proud of you is simply not enough as it woefully understates the depth of love and admiration that I have for you.  I started this last year of your time in middle school with no particular expectations.  The beginning of the year felt like any other school year getting you and your siblings back into the routine of waking up earlier and prepared for the academic workload and extracurricular activities.  As usual, our days filled up quickly with the constant movement and scheduling that consumes our minds giving us little, if any, time to pause or reflect.   And then it happened.  It was at the end of November, I think, when I received an email from the school asking for a baby picture of you for the yearbook.  That email was immediately followed up by another notice requesting that I write a letter to you which would go in the yearbook next to your baby picture.  As a writer, this task should not have overwhelmed me to the degree that it did.  I prefer to take the time that I need to consider my words carefully before I am comfortable making them available for eyes other than my own.  The pressure began to mount as I was feeling rushed to summon to the surface the feelings and emotions that I was not yet prepared to face, all the while knowing that the one person who I needed to reach and who would feel the depth of my words the most would be you.  And as Mark Twain said, “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter.  ‘Tis the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”  Truer words have never been spoken and are words …

Seasons.  There are four of them, and depending upon where you live, maybe you experience all of them in a single day. Or, perhaps there is one season that refuses to leave, in which case, you may have never had the opportunity to experience the annual quarterly event widely known as the ‘changing of the seasons.’   But if you happen to find yourself in the Northeast corridor of the USA, particularly in the September to October time period, you know.  Notwithstanding the fiery debate surrounding Global Warming and Climate Change, and the fact that the weather, which was at one time considered to be a signal of those changing seasons, has now become erratic, not to mention a highly contentious subject among both believers and naysayers alike.  And everyone else in between.   While the calendar still reliably provides the precise date that one season leaves and a new one marches in, the weather itself is no longer exactly in agreement.  If, however, the weather decides to cooperate and square with the calendar, and when the seasonal baton changes hands, the difference from one season to the next is unmistakable. For some, it is the season changes from Summer to Fall and Winter to Spring that are the most celebrated as we bid a not-so-fond farewell to those unpredictable extremes in anticipation of peace and uneventful calm.  Even if it only lasts for a little while.  Notably, from Summer to Fall, after having spent so many days enduring the oppressive humidity and blistering heat to unceremoniously wake up one day to cool, crisp air is a long-awaited relief.  When you open your door on no particular day and walk outside, all doubts are erased as the cool wind kisses your cheeks and causes the hair on your arms and neck to stand upright as your body adjusts to the change in the temperature.  Fall has arrived.  Soon we will see the color of the leaves, once previously green, become vibrant in varying shades of gold and red until they drop off of their tree only to dry out, becoming dull and lifeless.  The trees themselves will eventually become devoid of all color as they brace for a cold Winter that is historically, and in accordance with the calendar, soon to follow. Unless, of course, Climate Change and Global Warming are not real in which case ‘cold’ is interpretive while the climate finds itself stuck in the crosshairs of heated negotiations.  Nevertheless, the calendar serves as an outsourced conduit, reliable or not, between Mother Nature and us.  As many have come to realize that the calendar really has only one job which is to report each year holidays, season changes and the phases of the Moon.  Even though it is generally viewed as not much more than a universal baseline guide with pictures and very small print that sells on average for about $14.95.  And thanks to Climate Change, Mother Nature’s seasonal credibility has really become just a perennial footnote on a piece of cheap cardstock that hangs on walls everywhere.  While we have become a modern-day, insufferable society who choose to squander an inordinate amount of precious time complaining and denying the damage, that we are solely responsible for, while we defiantly shift the blame to Mother Nature, an obvious scapegoat.  Henry David Thoreau said, “As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.”  And the truth is, regardless of how far we cast the long line of blame, it is not really Mother Nature who has reneged on her promises in more ways than we can count.  Pollution, as we know it, is defined as deterioration, contamination and a general misuse of the environment to the point that it becomes irreversibly damaged and unsalvageable in many places.  We know that Global Warming is a by-product, an unfortunate side effect of the changes in the climate that are due in large part to human activities.   Now that idea is wildly unpopular among some even though it is neither a new revelation nor is it in any way based on presumption.  Really, it is just another example of common sense that is heavily disputed and wholly ignored by the naysayers, otherwise known as ‘those who choose to ignore and/or dispute proven facts.’  The environmental deterioration that we are all bearing witness to is undeniably a direct result of cause and effect.  That is to say that it is our behaviors and mistreatment of the planet that have been the cause, and the effect is Global Warming.  And if that uncomplicated fact is true, then Henry David Thoreau had it right when he said, “Things do not change; we change.”  With the result of those changes proving to be catastrophic.  But we also know that pollution can take many forms, some that you can see clearly while others are elusive and not as obvious to the naked eye.  Because it is human activities and behaviors that, over time, have become the pollutant and have disrupted and compromised the survival of all living and non-living things which can be summarized as pretty much everything.  We can simplify all of the damage and give it the label of ‘pollution’ that has been formed by garbage, or we can just call it what it is which is a gross deficiency in human behavior.  And unless that changes, nothing will change while optimism is waning almost as quickly as the climate and changing weather patterns. Because as a collective society we have proven that we cannot have nice things, and we can corrupt and pollute just about anything.  Are we the destroyed or the destroyers, the victims or the perpetrators, the advocates or the accomplices?  The problem is, like the calendar to the weather, our claims do not square with our actions.  Henry David Thoreau is quoted as having said, “The question is not what you look at, but what you see.”  And that is exactly the point.  Even while evidence generally always points to the …

Clowns.  Caricatures brought to life with exaggerated smiles painted on their faces whilst wearing colorfully oversized costumes.  Literal sideshow animations who outwardly project humor while performing comical antics and stunts that are meant to make others laugh, meanwhile inwardly they themselves may or may not be laughing.  Aerialists who swing through the air and balance on highwires while bravely performing death-dying acts, sometimes even with no net to catch them if they fall.  Wild safari animals, who have been trained to walk around in circles on their hind legs and leap through rings of fire all while being whipped into submission and compliance as they are goaded and provoked by their daring handlers.  The dazzling and bewildering sleight of hand of magicians who pull tricks out of hats and then, to both the horror and delight of the audience, stunningly split their scantily-clad assistant in half at the torso with a large saw, or just make her disappear altogether.  And in the center, the ringleader who vociferously introduces the sometimes shocking, but always spectacular, acts to a crowd of eager spectators.  All together providing approximately two hours of entertainment on a round stage inside a large tent.  Welcome to the circus.  Or at least that’s what the circus used to look like.  Over time it has come under fire for various reasons, not the least of which being the gross mistreatment and cruelty towards animals.  Now when we capture wildlife, we just entrap them inside large enclosures, create stages that mimic their natural habitats, and we call that the zoo.  Millions of tickets sold each year to see wild animals wandering around behind protective glass in an otherwise unnatural setting for the purpose of providing entertainment to children of all ages.  Entertainment.  Over a long expanse of time and years, it would seem that many things have changed, while one thing has remained decidedly steadfast, and that is a profound need to be endlessly entertained.   Today we don’t really need to bother going to the zoo and buy tickets to see wild animals as they pace and perform inside protected enclosures.  In fact, we no longer need to leave our homes at all because we now have the internet and ‘social media’ which does not necessarily involve purchasing a ticket to witness never-ending performances, but, as we have quickly learned, it does come at a cost.  Nothing is free while it would seem that cheap is doubtlessly expensive.  William Shakespeare famously said, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”   And no truer words have ever been spoken, however, those who graced the world stage in the 16th century likely could have never imagined how far and wide that stage really stretches.  Enter the main act, social media, who completely infiltrated a stage that has no visible exit points allowing it a permanent role in all current and future performances.   All the world is now literally just one big giant stage and there are a lot of players.    Ironically, and with the common goal to stand out and be different, all of the players have become exactly the same.   As we shapeshift and transform ourselves into as many different characters as needed in order to earn the globally-recognized signal of reinforcement which is a happy face or a thumbs-up or maybe even a heart if we really like something.  It would seem that the circus train, otherwise known as social media, has arrived with no scheduled date of departure.    As Shakespeare said, “What’s done cannot be undone.”   So, if that’s true and it cannot be undone, then what actually constitutes entertainment these days?  The answer has to be everything, while ‘anything goes’ has taken on an entirely new meaning.  Some social media platforms are obviously more popular than others, but they all generally serve similar purposes.  Purposes that are inherently misnomers due in large part to the inarguable fact that the distribution content is more often than not a perpetuation of lies and false representations.   Through no fault of his own, Shakespeare’s “We have seen better days” is an absolute underestimation that doesn’t even skim the surface.  With participation at an all-time high, and increasing exponentially, we are no longer merely spectators who are in the audience watching revolving performances unfold, because we are all now storming the stage and ruthlessly competing for the lead role.  Social media has quickly become equivalent to rubbernecking as we slowly drive by a car accident to see something that we know we will later try to unsee, but we look anyway.  As we cover our eyes with our hands and peek through our spread fingers so as not to miss any part of the spellbinding show, while we impatiently wait for an opportunity to jump out from behind our unveiled curtain and participate.  As we fabricate our personal stories in order to create the plot twists and cliffhangers that keep our audience (also referred to as our ‘friends’ and ‘followers’) interested, leaving them no choice but to come back for more.  Shakespeare said, “The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”  With the benefit of a limitless stage, in our own right, we have all seamlessly become actors, authors and playwrights creating fictional characters as we unabashedly participate in our own manufactured realities.  21st century purveyors of willful fraud, lies and tomfoolery conducted primarily behind the safety of a small protective glass screen.   Shakespeare said, “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”  Which might actually be better tolerated and more palatable if we were talking about just an hour of strutting and fretting upon the stage.  But it has become abundantly clear …

Recently, I had an interesting epiphany.  It’s strange how the universe seems to provide messages that can be construed as either cryptic or unambiguous.  However, no matter how the messaging is ultimately interpreted, it is still, nonetheless, a sign.  Now some don’t believe in that sort of unconventional thinking, therefore, it is often quickly dismissed and replaced by the more stereotypical and ordinary comforts of familiarity.  And yet, it leads one to wonder if it is the universe providing the signs or if it is intuition that is inherently persistent.  As we are programmed to diminish those “signs” by labelling them as erroneous thereby making them instantly unimportant and trivial. Today, it would seem that it is the universe that is desperately trying to get our collective attention.  Hurling challenges, some of pandemic proportion, one after the other providing compelling evidence that it does not intend to stop any time soon.  We can blame it on one challenging year that rolled into another, or we can simply rely on the prevailing standby of just blaming others for any unsolicited difficulties that become wedged between us and our version of normalcy.  Or.  We can do the unthinkable and consider the possibility that we are controlling all of it. My recent epiphany, as they often do, was figuratively handed to me.  Being an intrinsically unconventional thinker, I accepted the message that was actually meant to be delivered by UPS, however, I have surmised, that it was very likely the universe that was speaking to me.  I run.   Probably not very well, yet I still find myself fully dedicated to a sport that has often and invariably left me sidelined holding a bottle of ibuprofen in one hand while my other hand applies ice to my elevated feet as I nurse, again, chronic foot injuries. It’s a familiar pattern for me.  I know what I should and shouldn’t do to avoid a painful injury, and yet, I continue to repeat the pattern that more often than not renders me incapable of walking let alone running.  If you are also a runner, you get it.  If you are not a runner then it might be difficult to explain that even though running is physically demanding, it is still somehow mentally fulfilling, until of course it’s not, which is why breaking up with it is complicated.  Over many years, I’ve narrowed down all of my chronic foot problems to my running shoes which finally brings us to my long-awaited epiphany.  As I scoured the internet for the best running shoes money can buy on a budget for an assist in combatting my newest injury, I landed on a shoe that seemed to fit the bill well enough.  So.  Under the dueling pressure of both anxiety from not running and a swollen and throbbing tendon gifted to me courtesy of running, I pulled the proverbial trigger and purchased the magical running shoes that would, without a doubt, get me quickly back on the road pain-free.  But alas, it would seem that the universe had other ideas. Let me just save some time and cut to the extraordinarily anticlimactic chase.  It’s hard to know whether it was the universe’s cosmic messaging system or my generally reliable intuition that was monumentally malfunctioning, but the magical running shoes seem to have been directionally challenged en route to my house.  This, of course, prolonged my inability to participate in the sport that I rely upon for the primary purpose of sanity.  With my anxiety now fully peaked, I slowly limped to the door to see if the UPS driver had managed to drop something on my front porch without my trusty guard dog hearing.  He had not.  And as any frantically logical person would naturally conclude, there had to be some kind of hidden message in the lack of delivery.  Perhaps it was the universe’s way of forcing me to break free of my familiar pattern by preventing me from running and doing further damage.  No shoes, no run.  But without knowing for sure exactly what UPS and the universe were playing at, I grabbed my computer and carefully reviewed my order to see if I could locate my undelivered, and presumably lost, shoes.   And there it was.  In the order’s delivery history on the vendor’s website, it stated that the shoes were delivered, however, they were ‘hidden in a safe place’.  Truth be told, and at this point you can well imagine, I’m not all that interested, or even physically capable, in playing hide and seek.  The shoes were allegedly hidden so well that they could not be found only to later be revealed that they were, in fact, never really even delivered.    It begs a confounding question that has nothing to do with running or even my injured feet for that matter, and that is what else could possibly be hiding in ‘a safe place’ with the expectation of never being found? Without realizing it, we probably already know the answer to that question.  Dr. Seuss said, “Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.”  That’s probably true, however, there is no doubt that we, as a society, have become equally proficient at mucking up the answers just as skillfully as the questions themselves.  Besides my running shoes — which, in case you were wondering, eventually did show up only to be quickly sent back due in large part to the fact that they were the equivalent of strapping two stiff boards to my already compromised feet – I have been introspectively distracted by the recent surge in what has been coined ‘cancel culture’.  It doesn’t really matter what side of this particular fence you decide to secure your post, one strong gust of wind and all of the posts are collapsing anyway.  Like most things, we get so caught up in the protest that oftentimes we don’t remember or even know what the fight is really about.  Dr. Seuss said, “You’ll be sort of …

  Do-overs and second chances.  New beginnings and a fresh start.  Here we are.  It’s that special time of the year when we sit down for a self-examination and reflect on our experiences from the previous year. When we swing open our closet doors and rather than shoulder-shove everything back in and save the mess for Spring cleaning, this is when we customarily remove those things that we no longer use or need and throw them away.  It is also a time when we consider the general status of our relationships and decide whether or not that area of our lives could stand to be purged as well.  As we recognize that some relationships, like sour milk, had expired and started to smell long ago, but during those hectic days throughout the year that are often consumed with unforeseen fire drills, we never seem to have gotten around to extinguishing them.   Oh, yes.  As the clock strikes midnight on December 31st and slams the book on the previous year, we applaud and cheer as a new book opens.  We become emboldened by the idea of re-writing our stories as we prepare ourselves for the next task of resolving to forge a new path in the new year.  We create ironclad resolutions that we – fingers crossed – won’t retreat from when challenges arise and distract us from our new dreams and goals.  This is usually the first, of many, mistakes and missteps that we make literally right out of the gate. However, we know that the truth is not often found in the grand aspirations that are written on a napkin at 12:01 am on January 1st.  Whether we are willing to admit it or not, we know that absent an actual plan, our resolutions most often become nothing more than a dubious and self-imposed charade.  Ambitious goals that are easily abandoned when the fruits of our labor yield anything and everything except the fruit and lack the instant success and gratification that we need in order to make our efforts worthwhile.   And yet, when whittled down we can see that like most things, our high hopes and goals, lofty or otherwise, are no different than anything else. When we do not see the results that we had expected in very short order, we quickly throw in the towel not because we didn’t start with good intentions, rather we quit because of a general lack of commitment.   Over time and once the excitement of momentum fades, inevitably we lose our appetite to sever the longstanding and well-established relationship that we have with our comfort zone. Now.  All of that is probably true when you are coming off of an uneventful year with your version of normalcy still somewhat intact.  But we are not talking about coming off of a normal, uneventful year, are we?  We are talking about the year 2020, the year that put us all through the same test allowing no one permission to sit and watch from the sidelines.  We all experienced a consequential year filled with uncertainty.  The health of ourselves and our loved ones along with financial and political instability were among the overarching concerns for many and still are today.  And then, as if 2020 wasn’t more than enough on its own, 2021, wasting no time and without hesitation, came in like a gangbuster with its fists flying clearly looking to continue the devastating work of its predecessor.  It is as though at some pivotal point unbeknownst to the rest of us, the annual playbook changed hands while we were all busy writing out our optimistic resolutions on the napkin.  But it does beg the question that is not easily answered or even understood for that matter, and that is how much responsibility are we willing to accept for the challenges that we face in any given year regardless of extenuating circumstances?  We are reminded of the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “A productive and happy life is not something you find; it is something you make.”  If that’s true, then it is curious how those carefully crafted New Year’s resolutions, that were allegedly created under the guise of perceived happiness, can be so easily abandoned.  When we look around until our eyes land on someone or something to blame as we quickly detach ourselves from the resolutions that, if we are being honest, we weren’t really very attached to in the first place and quickly warm up to the idea of finding a new dream that maybe doesn’t require so much work.  And over time, ambivalence and a lack of disciplined commitment become the equivalent of stepping on a banana peel at the top of a slippery slope.   As we begin a precarious downward spiral putting further distance and empty space between us and our dreams.  It doesn’t happen overnight, but over time and with each new year disappointment compounds and struggles to keep pace with those resolutions that were never really meant to be fulfilled. Dr. King is quoted as having said, “There is no deficit in human resources; the deficit is in human will.”  And that is an undeniable fact.  ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way’ is not just something fun to say for the purpose of feigned motivation.  It’s true and aborted New Year’s resolutions make that case plausible every year.  So then why do we do it?  If it is an annual exercise that is really viewed as being possibly more unpredictable than playing the Lottery, why bother with it at all?  Save the napkin and a tree.  Because the truth is when there is no will or motivation attached to attaining a dream or goal, then there is no way forward.  And when we refuse to hold ourselves accountable, the gravitational pull towards the bottom of the slope increases exponentially.    Because a general lack of accountability is the unspoken weakness that plagues so many of us, during our southern trek down the slippery slope …

Well, that was different.  Thanksgiving this year looked, we’ll just say, unfamiliar.  For my family, and undoubtedly many families to be sure, it is traditionally a day that is consumed with eating, drinking, inappropriate humor and a general sense of merriment.   It is a day of reflection that is spent feeling thankful and grateful for the people and the things that we hold most dear.  Above any other day of the year, it is a day that we dig deep and actually use our words to pay homage to our blessings.  But this year was different courtesy of the uninvited and unanimously unwelcome guest, also known as the virus, who decided to pull up a chair at dining room tables everywhere and stay, forcing us to give our thanks from a safe distance.  However, with or without the virus and while Thanksgiving is a full day of food and spirit, for better or for worse and like it or not, it is also often considered to be a catalyst; a moment in time when we look forward to the days ahead that will ultimately close out one year only to ring in anew as the clock strikes midnight.  We celebrate this ritualistic orbital gift annually as we go to sleep in one year and wake up the very next day to a fresh start, a new lease, as the new year provides new opportunities that hopefully do not need to include masks, hand sanitizer or extra toilet paper. Yet even amidst the chaos and uncertainty of this past year, it is still nearly impossible to not get caught up in the excitement of the holiday season.  Driving around seeing the festive town and lawn displays, twinkling lights adorning entire front porches, cheerful songs that are so irresistible that even those who align themselves more with the Grinch or Scrooge can sometimes be heard joining in for a chorus or two.  The magical and mischievous Elves on the Shelves and all of their nightly shenanigans.  For anyone with the younger variety of children in the house, the Christmas wish lists that go through multiple revisions until they are ready to be viewed by the jolly man with the white beard and red suit who will make the ultimate determination on their nice vs. naughty status throughout the course of the past year.  It is a flurry of constant movement and purpose as we do our best to make memories for our children filled with the magic and wonder that nostalgically transports us back to our own childhood holiday memories. Magic. A sleight of hand.  Optical illusions.  The skillful and covert trickery that parents partake in each year in order to create, in a single day, the holiday memories that their children will hopefully carry with them for a lifetime.  With more frequency and a heightened sense of urgency, we find ourselves harkening back to the days of our youth, as we oscillate between remaking holiday traditions that we grew up with while simultaneously inventing a few of our own.  Once a year, we dust ourselves off and sweep away the cobwebs to give our imaginations permission to shine.  As we are quickly reminded that the build-up of excitement is a much-needed contagion that we catch from our children.  A welcome crescendo of chaos that is at the same time both dizzying and bittersweet.   We rely on movies and books, past and present, to be our unshakeable guides while we navigate new terrain as our children get older and quietly tiptoe through the field of believability.   We become like a scene inside a snow globe.  As long as we continue to shake the globe and make it snow, the scene inside the globe comes back to life again. As far back as our own memories will take us, maybe we remember brief moments when our breath was taken away after witnessing an awe-inspiring act of something unbelievably miraculous, mysterious and, yes, magical.  Whether it was a death-defying circus performance or a magic trick with a deck of cards, those moments when we are left to wonder if our eyes, like the cards, are playing tricks on us.  Because magic does not always present itself in those abracadabra moments like when a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat.  Sometimes – most times – magic is found when and where it is least expected.  And the magic of the holiday season is no exception.  Albert Einstein is quoted as having said, “The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious.  It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science.  He who knows it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle.”  And that is true whether you are talking about a flying reindeer or global warming in the same sentence.  Just because you don’t see it with your own eyes doesn’t make it less true.  It begs the question:  at what pivotal point in our lives do we cease believing in what would otherwise be considered unbelievable?  When did we become so cynical that our sense of wonder and hope for miracles become nothing more than an unattainable pipe dream? A child’s imagination is boundless when it is fostered and given the opportunity to flourish.  That is a fact that would be difficult to disprove.  Albert Einstein said, “The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives.”   And although that may very well be true, Albert Einstein’s theorization on relativity did not include games like Space Invaders or Journey to the Savage Planet.   We do not need a game to tell us that there are stars in the sky.  All we need to do is look up and see them for ourselves.  But the other truth that cannot be easily dismissed is that children today are spending less and less …