Wednesday, December 26, 2018

RANDOM THOUGHT - Darkness vs. Evil

It's the day after Christmas and I should probably be thinking on the year behind for lessons learned and contemplating the year ahead for goals to strive towards.  In a little way, maybe I am.  I've been reflecting on a tweet that I saw not long ago.  A Christian tweeted about defeating darkness, and he equated darkness with evil.  It's hard to explain, but my first thought was, "how childish."  I replied to his tweet with a question, but he never got back to me.  I won't describe what I think of an ego that can't engage with a conflicting point of view.  Maybe the Christian tweeter just never saw my reply.

In my mind, darkness is not a force to be crushed or defeated.  How do you even go about eradicating shadows?  I imagine one would have to position light fixtures from every conceivable angle and never turn them off.  But in an artist's mind, rendering a subject with 100% light would flatten the image and make it cartoonish.  Rendering shadow gives an object dimensionality, and that is the stuff of life.  Artists must make friends with shadows or their art loses credibility.  In real life, we don't turn off the light switch and turn on the shadow switch.  Darkness is no more than the absence of light; it has no real existence of its own.  It's just a default setting.

We don't live on an artist's canvas.  In real life, we must navigate in daylight as well as in shadow.  The earth will not stop spinning, so night time will always come - literally and emotionally.

There is a difference between darkness and evil.  Darkness is inevitable and, as we tell children at bedtime, there's nothing to be afraid of.  Evil, on the other hand, thrives on our fears and hides in the convenience of darkness.  It's not the darkness itself that we can eliminate and we really have no reason to want to.  It's the menacing evil when we magnify our fear that causes problems.

I've written a post or two about overcoming fear, so I'll leave it at that.

I would, however, like to draw the reader's attention to a best-selling book that has been around for several years and will always hold a special place in my heart: Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés.  Estés describes and explains the power of various cultural myths like a wise sage instructing young ladies on the verge of adulthood.  Many of the myths concern sacred traditions of maturing that require learning from uncivilized sources.  These uncivilized sources may be considered "dark" or "witchy".




My contention is that darkness is a fact of life and the strange creatures that dwell in the dark can be fantastic instructors.  Dark creatures are also God's creatures, so let them serve their purpose. There's nothing to be afraid of.


Merry Christmas, Happy 2019!  Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

#WomenWhoRunWiththeWolves
#overcomefear

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

GUEST POST - 8 Tips to Avoid a Full-Blown Holiday Meltdown by Live Well Mentally

It gives me great pleasure to welcome Brandy Higgins as a guest blogger.  She is offering fantastic advice for anyone with or without mental illness to survive HOLIDAY STRESS!!!



8 TIPS TO AVOID A FULL-BLOWN HOLIDAY MELTDOWN
I have mental illnesses but I am also an introvert. Being in large groups of people or  around strangers is very emotionally draining for me. I need to have a plan when I go to holiday events for many reasons, including being introverted, trauma, and mental illness symptoms.

I have had some very difficult holiday events in the past to survive. My husband and I often pushed several holiday dinners into one day so as not to let anyone down.. By the end I would lose it with my family.

One time I had a holiday dinner with my abuser, my father, and his extended family. It was extremely difficult. I had high anxiety going to the event and during it. I had flashbacks and dissociated during much of it. I did not have a plan and it was a miserable experience.

I often made the mistake of pretending I was fine when actually I was a mess. I would push myself too far.  Here are some tips to avoid a full-blown holiday meltdown during or after a challenging holiday event


Tips To Get Through A Difficult Holiday Event
  • Know your limits. If this holiday event is to much for you, stick up for yourself. Pleasing others is not worth risking your mental health.
  • Don't go it alone. Go with someone supportive.
  • Take short breaks in the bathroom or outside.
  • Imagine yourself in a safe place.
  • Do not pretend to be ok. Give yourself permission to NOT be ok.
  • Stay away from alcohol. It will be difficult for you to manage your mental illness symptoms if you are drunk.
  • Have a code word. Agree in advance with your support person to leave if their code word is used.
  • Don't apologise for yourself. You have done nothing wrong by taking care of your mental health.

I really hope these tips help you through the challenges of the holidays. I pretty much live by them. What tips do you have for surviving holiday events? Happy Holidays everyone. Leave questions, comments, suggestions below.



BRANDY'S BIO: Brandy Higgins, RN, BSN is the writer of Live Mentally Well-Better Living Thru Mental Wellness. https://livementallywell.com.  Lifelong Mental Health Survivor. Live Mentally Well is impacting our community and the world by inspiring mental wellness one person at a time.  She writes about Mood disorders, Postpartum Mood and Anxiety Disorders, Postpartum Bipolar Disorder, Christian Mental Health, Anxiety Disorders, Childhood Trauma, PTSD, and Dissociative Disorders.  Share my knowledge and come along with me on my recovery journey.

Sunday, November 25, 2018

RANDOM THOUGHT - My phobia

The TED Radio hour on NPR was on and the guest was the director of sensitivity or cultural studies or something very benign like that.  She's Muslim.

My phobia isn't Islam.  My phobia is radicals.  Radicals can be Christian or Muslim, and my feeling is that peaceful worshipers can't claim that violent worshipers aren't included in their religion.

There was a point in time when mainstream Christianity was violent and bigoted and racist and anyone-but-us-o-phobic.  I'm assuming the same was true of Islam.  The word Islam means peace but it also means submission to God's will and you know who determines what God's will is: Men in power so God's will is whatever they say it is.

There are simply too many passages in "holy" scripture describing a wrathful, raging, vengeful God to sincerely believe that organized religion is supposed to be peaceful and loving and forgiving.  It just wasn't always that way when the faithful lived in nomadic tribes.

It was perfectly acceptable to be homophobic because gayness is "against God" or "against nature".  I've got news for people like that.  Natural lions in the wild can be gay.  Here are the YouTube results to that search ----> https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=homosexual+lions


(c) Independent Co UK


Lions don't know God or doctrine.  They just are what they are and do what they do.

My point is that organized religion takes on the cultural flavors of the day.  Today's flavor is New Age.  When the religious zealots' "old guard" wants to keep the faith true to its original form by way of violence and hatred, they are still true believers.  I think they're completely f*cked up in the head and heartless and only hold dear the scriptures they cherry pick, but they are the object of my phobia.  There is plenty in religion that appeals to hate-mongers.  Believing otherwise is naive.  Perhaps a bit arrogant as well.  Human beings may be hardwired to "us vs them" mentality anyway (I'm thinking sports, religion, sexual orientation, race, nationality, politics etc.)

In my mind, God is all things, good and bad, male and female, known and unknowable, seen and invisible. 

But God is also too remote to play games with.  God is just there.  I am here on Earth trying to make my way and that's all I know for sure.  I won't kill you if you believe differently.

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

#thoughtsonreligion

Thursday, November 22, 2018

RANDOM THOUGHT - On Managing Expectations

I spent my morning keeping in touch with cousins and that was really nice.  I had a fascinating conversation with one and we talked about managing expectations.

My mother will never be the mother I have in my imagination and it's time to accept her for who she is.  It's time to let go of the unspoken expectations I carry in my heart, yearning for her to treat me some other way, to express her love in some other way.

So now, I bury that imaginary mother who can read my mind.  I grieve losing her but she was never real to begin with.

My mom sews.  Sometimes she sews things that I love and sometimes she sews things that I would never be caught dead in.  Her handiwork is her expression of joy and love.  That has to be enough because that's the mother I have.  When she takes time out of her days to make something from scratch with me in mind, that has to be enough.

This will be one of those things that I write down and burn for Old Year's Night.  If I burn something that doesn't serve me and my relationships, that's the only way to make way in my life for better things.

As for managing expectations, how do I say this?  If I have some unspoken expectation that my family and closest friends call me when I'm down and lonely, but they don't call, how will they know that's what I need if I don't express it?  It's not fair for me to be disappointed in them if they don't even know what I need.  If I write out what I need:

Please call me on the holidays since I haven't been a Jehovah's Witness for 31 years (how do you not know this?)
Please call me when I'm lonely; you'll just telepathically feel it, won't you?
Shoot me a text to encourage me because I'm embarking on something new and scary.
Please meet all my unexpressed needs today to show you give a shit.

I start to realize how utterly absurd I am.  Needy and ridiculous, and starting to sound an awful lot like my mom. OH GOD, NOOOOOOOO!!!!

I felt like a big turkey.



And then I felt like a



People can't read minds, and I have an obligation to know myself well enough to self-soothe.  What about their own lives and needs?  What would happen if I reached out to them?

Today I had a deep need for social connection and social media just wasn't enough.  Texting wasn't enough.  Email was completely out of the question.



I wanted to hear voice with intonation, inflection, laughter, joy and to hear how my family is doing.  Where are they going?  What's for dinner?  How are the kids and the pets and spouses?




Rather than sit and wait for the phone to ring, I picked it up and dialed and you'll never believe what happened.  I got what I wanted:  Human connection.  No other expectation than an honest conversation that could take off in any direction.  The real give and take of two people interested in each other's well-being.

Today is the best day of the year.



Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Happy Thanksgiving - a National Day of Gratitude




Tomorrow is my very favorite holiday!  I've been discouraged from celebrating because I was advised that every day should be a day of cheerful thanksgiving.  That may be true, but it's in the national interest for a day to be devoted to nothing but gratefulness, in my opinion.  People's lives are so hectic and inflated with the urgency of unimportant things that I see no harm in reserving one day out of 365 to reflect on the good things that we do have.

There are the the obvious good bounties: clean air, clean water, a roof over my head, food in the fridge, the soothing purr of my cat, a reliable car.  I'm wondering though if I can extend gratitude to life's pains and struggles.  It is in pain, struggle and reflection that we are forged from soft babies into tough people with integrity, resilience, and the ability to withstand future hardships. 

If we are never tested, no one can know with certainty if we can be relied upon.

I am grateful for my trials, the tests I passed, as well as the tests I failed.  In the end, they gave me answers to questions of my state of readiness: ready to go forward in one area, not ready to go forward in another.  It is at the points of pain and disappointment that we have opportunity to learn the most.  Easy success rarely teaches anyone anything; it often leads to arrogance.  Missteps on the other hand, often teach humility, and if we go back and try again, we also learn persistence.  Thank you, Life, for giving me so many chances to get better and improve.

I'm also grateful for my mind.  I do my best to be self-correcting and to exercise my power of choice even over the choices of thoughts within my own mental arena.  What I'm finding is the inner critic doesn't exist solely in my own head.  She invades everyone's thoughts.  That callous, jealous old crone.  She always negative, seeing the worst possible outcome in literally EVERY single situation.  Truth be told, every once in a while, she's right and she sees what can go wrong, which gives me a chance to craft a plan to avoid error.  For this, I'm grateful.

This doesn't mean she's always right.  The inner critic has an uncanny knack for predicting catastrophe, like 100% of the time.  Clearly, her forecasting skills are limited.  Having become aware of that, when she says I'm ugly, unlovable, an idiot, untalented or utterly hopeless, I just placate her and carry on.  "Yes, yes, I'm totally inept, here's a bone to chew on.  Now be quiet.  I have work to do, and I suspect I'll do it well." 

My biggest gratitude is this: I'm under absolutely NO obligation whatsoever to believe the inner critic.  Her accuracy in forecasting is worse than the weatherman's.  She's at 1% at best, which means, I've got a 99% chance of success in any endeavor, if I listen instead to the truth, which is:

Nothing beats a failure like a try.

As for trial by fire, as a tangential note, I like to think of the products of my mind (ideas) as natural resources, like crude oil or gold or iron or even water.  In their raw states, ideas and natural resources are damn well near useless.  Crude oil must undergo a refining process to be useful to people.  Gold must also be refined and often alloyed to increase its strength.  Even water must be purified.  The same with ideas.  No matter how elegant or beautiful or original my idea might seem at first blush, it must be tested rigorously if it stands a chance at survival.

In that vein, I try not to marry every single idea that springs from my head.  On the opposite side of that coin, I try not to crush them before I've had a chance to consider them.  Thank you Life, for humility and discernment.

Incomplete list of gratitudes:

Napoleon Hill
Stephen R. Covey
Brian Tracy
Rev. Dr. Martin L. King, Jr.
Louise Hay and Hay House publications
Tom Bilyeu and Impact Theory YouTube channel
My super adorable furry dumpling of a cat
Melanie, for checking in on me
Shantell, for showing me the lighter side of life
Renee, for photographing all the poignant beauty of rural decay
Lily, for introducing me to the writers group and so much more
Life, for the joy and pain, food and hunger, opportunity and closed doors and tiny little lights on alternative paths, laughter and jokes aplenty, wonder and monotony.

It all counts

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie
Happy Thanksgiving

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

A Life Lesson from a Joke Website

There once was a farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the state fair where it won a blue ribbon.

One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. 

The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors.
"How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked.

"Why sir," said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn."

He is very much aware of the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbor's corn also improves.

So it is with our lives. Those who choose to live in peace must help their neighbors to live in peace. 

Those who choose to live well must help others to live well, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. And those who choose to be happy must help others to find happiness, for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all.

The lesson for each of us is this: if we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbors grow good corn.

Read more on page: http://www.jokesoftheday.net/best-new-jokes/


There's really nothing I need to add to this story.  I'm just glad I found it.

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

Friday, November 16, 2018

Caught between Natural Selection & Indecision

I have no kids.  It's partially by my choice, partially by Nature's choice.  Had I ever tried to get pregnant, it would have been challenging because of another condition I happen to have, which isn't necessary to get into here.

Meanwhile, I consider bipolar a genetic defect.  Having said that, I don't consider it a character defect.  But it does make the absence of motherhood a bit easier.  A lot easier.

For the duration of my peak fertility years, I was never certain that I'd be a good mother.  I had a bad temper.  People told me that I was moody and hypersensitive or sometimes too aggressive.  I could be reckless and irresponsible.  My work ethic wasn't always 5-star.  Kids were annoying, if you asked me.  Oh, but babies were so cute.  At least, most babies.  There are ugly babies, and their mothers don't know.




Finding babies to be cute isn't enough to make a good mother.

Of course, there are lots of moody, aggressive mothers, but pushing a watermelon-sized baby through a hole the size of a lemon wasn't appealing to me either.

That, and the thought of being 100% responsible for another life was overwhelming.

Over time, I matured.  I was a student of myself, in a manner of speaking. Always with my nose in a self-help book, I strove to better myself in various ways.  By time I thought myself capable of handling motherhood, the window of opportunity was lost.




As I gaze into the future, I think the world is too unstable to bring an innocent life into it.  I have absolutely no confidence in today's world leaders to leave Earth in a better state for the next generation.

 


YouTube video on the Widening Income Gap in the USA


The prosperity gospel that lots and lots of speakers and preachers are talking about is a lot of hot air.  Food scarcity is real.  Water scarcity is real.  Housing crises are real.  The yawning gap between the haves and have-nots is becoming have-alls and have-nothings. I bring this up because I would bear the burden of training my young one all day every day to love herself, fend for herself, provide for herself, play well with others, not steal others' toys but not let others take her toys either.  Do I teach her to master Monopoly and bankrupt her friends in "good sport", or master games of cooperation?  When should she hoard and when should she share?

Oh, the other thing I've been told is I overthink things.

Thank you Mother Nature for taking me the hell out of the gene pool!!! xoxox


Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

Thursday, November 15, 2018

RANDOM THOUGHT - A day of self care

Today started off even earlier than necessary, thanks to my furry "son" who wanted treats for breakfast.  I'm too soft with him and got out of bed.

Anyway, I submitted a magazine article on deadline. Check.
Blood work.  Check.
Shop at Trader Joe's for said furry "son" and Moscato for me.  Check.
Writer's group reading.  Check. (tied with the next item for best part of my day)
Massage and steam.  Check, check.
Home, make dinner (dinner for one with bipolar, of course. EASY check)
Session with writing/life coach (last thing to check off)

I list all this meaningless stuff to illustrate one thing.  A busy day can be accomplished with purpose and without being in a hypo-manic state.  Today was a day almost exclusively for my mental health. 

I did work. This article required some discipline.  The assignment was for a topic that I don't give a rat's ass about, but if I'm going to succeed as a writer (and that's the goal, right?), I have to write.

I submitted to the needle for my health. 

I took care of my furry dependent and had fun picking up a little suh-em, suh-em for my own pleasure.  Knowing my limits with alcohol and timing a glass of wine means I don't negate the important work my meds have to do.

Reading to an audience from This Darkness is Mine to gauge readability and get feedback from dedicated writers is mutually reinforcing.  Just because I write in a vacuum doesn't mean I'm writing for a vacuum.  The reader matters.  Whether the words (and grammar and punctuation) I've chosen convey the meaning and emotion I'm thinking and feeling matters.  And then the writing takes on its own life.  They get more meaning and feeling based on their own experience and memory.  That wows me!  Hearing that they can't wait to hear more fuels my heart.  This was arguably the best part of my day.

But then, I put the attention to my physical body and got a massage.  Normally, I don't fuss much or fight my massage therapists, but today when she found a knot or a trigger point or a tender spot (whatever you want to call it), I forced her to stop and focus on it.  What a difference that made!  She was so attentive and gifted and skilled, I didn't want to waste the opportunity.  We made jokes.  She said she was glad I was laughing through the pain. 

I said, "When it comes to pain, I'm like a ten year old; it's just funny.  I have to laugh at myself.  Do you ever get people who tell you to beat them up?"

"Yes, it's very upsetting."

"I don't get that.  If they want to get beat up, all they have to do is go to some hillbilly bar and pick a fight with the biggest, baddest dude they can find.  Why go to the most relaxing, most peaceful place on earth to get pain?  Makes no sense."

After the best deep tissue I've ever had, I took refuge in the steam room and sweated out some trace toxins.  The heat is supposed to minimize next-day soreness from a deep massage. 

Yeah, I got the elbow
Photo: Unknown


Steam Room at Lapis Spa
Photo: Unknown


Thank you Trader Joe's, once again, for making dinner a snap and delicious!

And now I'm waiting for another high point: a session with my writing/life coach.  I anticipate that the editing/refining work we're doing will be done by the end of March and then I'll have to forge my way in querying agents.

I'm quite proud of myself today.  I'll leave you with this:

We are never enough for what tomorrow will demand of us, but we are always good enough for right now.


Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

#selfcare
#bipolar

Tuesday, November 13, 2018

PART TIME HALF ASSED VEGAN NOTES - A tasty little snack that was just meant to be

I've been to the local Publix grocery store just about every day this week (mainly because I keep refusing to write down a list).  On one visit, I noticed a brand spanking new vegan section for alternatives to deli meat and cheese. (Me *high pitched, eyes wide*: ah-ha! ah-ha!).  While I'm looking forward to trying the vegan meatballs, I'm a little terrified of what they mean by vegan eggs, but maybe I'll buck up and try them in the future.

Tonight back at said grocery store, I had no choice but to stop by the vegan deli section.  I think once I explain, you'll understand why.  Carr's Rosemary crackers were on sale and they must have a white cheese and hard salami in order to enjoy properly. Or do they?  That vegan section might have a tasty plant-based alternative.  See, I had no choice.

To be honest, I was in a bit of a daze.  The sliced "meat" looked like meat, but the packaging didn't say what it was replacing.  It did make suggestions to use it in a Reuben sandwich, so I was thinking it might taste like pastrami, not hard salami.  I figured if I hated it, I'd just go back and get real salami. What's one more visit to Publix?

Once home with my booty, I wasted no time in slicing the plant-based "meat" and "smoked gouda".  The "meat" by itself was perplexing.  I could taste tomato and that was fine, but you really need to create a different category to describe the flavor and texture.

But - and here it's exciting - once you pile the "meat" and "cheese" on the rosemary crackers, suddenly all the flavors and textures meld together like they were soulmates.  It was simply meant to be!


Field Roast Smoked Tomato Deli "meat" with Follow Your Heart Smoked "gouda" on Rosemary crackers
Photo: Mackenzie Littledale


The low down:

Original Field Roast Grain Meat Co. (R) Vegetarian deli slices smoked tomato flavor
with hearty tomatoes, hickory smoked infusions with red wine, old world spices and herbs
Serving size - 3 slices
Calories - 100
Calories from fat - 25
Total fat - 2.5g
Dietary fiber - 2g
Protein - 14g

Follow Your Heart (R) Smoked gouda style slices VEGAN, non-GMO, gluten free, soy free
Serving size - 1 slice
Calories - 60
Total fat - 4.5g
Protein - 0g

Photo: Mackenzie Littledale


I'm not going to analyze the crackers because even if it turns out that they're made with animal products, I will NEVER give them up.  I love CARR's rosemary crackers and that's that.

Photo: Mackenzie Littledale


However, I was still proud of my snack, so I finished it off with Soy Delicious fake ice cream in Vanilla Bean (dairy free) and crushed Oreos (still vegan).

So Delicious Dairy Free FAKE ICE CREAM Vanilla Bean and Milk's Favorite Cookie
Photo: Mackenzie Littledale


This has been a public service announcement of sorts.

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

#FakeIceCream
#FollowYourHeart
#VeganCheese
#FieldRoastGrainMeat
#VeganDeliMeat
#Publix

In the end, I chose to be a light

Once upon a time in a very large city at a very prestigious firm, I started talking to this guy.  He didn't have a high ranking position, and technically neither did I.  We talked enough and took a day off work to spend together, getting to know each other in the biblical sense.

He told me he was free and clear.  No baby mama drama.  No girlfriend.

Too bad this wasn't remotely true.

He got a phone call that made him nervous and he told me bluntly, "You gotta go."

Anthony, if you're reading this, I will NEVER forget how that made me feel.

As it turns out, he did have a daughter.  Her mother and her family refused to let Anthony have any involvement in their lives.  It also turned out that he had a girlfriend, roughly his estranged daughter's age.  This young girlfriend used him for money.  I put 2 and 2 together and figured he was punishing himself with this user because he didn't have his authentic daughter in his life.  Despite his coldness, I felt sorry for him, because he was so lost.

I hired a private investigator online and within days his daughter was located.  When I put the information in his hands and he realized what it was telling him, he was speechless.  Days later, he saw his daughter and she got to meet his family.  He told me I put a light in his family.

Here's where he screwed up again though.  He was angry that I wouldn't be with him and he wanted what was "his".

HA!

Just because I choose to shine light doesn't mean I'll stay in someone else's darkness.  Whether I forgive him or not is irrelevant.  I would not let him stake claim to me.  I deserve a partner, not a project.



Friday, November 9, 2018

RANDOM THOUGHT - Did I mention...

It occurred to me this very morning that the aspect of indoctrination from Jehovah's Witnesses may have had a disturbing effect on my mental health.

So yes, I carried the genes for bipolar, but something traumatic had to trigger it.  I got my triggers in rapid succession like machine gun fire.  So here I am.  Bipolar.  ExJW.

It's so easy to assign blame.  I've spent a significant portion of my life trying to find out where to stick the label "YOUR FAULT", but whether I find people or circumstances to blame, the fact remains I have to stick to my medication or I can't be trusted in public.  Period.  And that's an easy thing to do.  I set my phone with a nightly alarm to take my meds, so even if I forget, I can't forget, if you know what I mean.  My phone is my 5th appendage.

I can't help but wonder how the coldness in the JW organization affected my emotional well-being as a child.  Imagine every holiday (EVERY SINGLE HOLIDAY) as a child being placed in a room alone as my classmates sang holiday songs, laughed, made arts and crafts, wrote out Valentine's cards, etc.  Exile isn't the right course for a child when those years should be spent bonding with peers who may become lifelong friends.  My birthday wasn't a celebration.  I wasn't supposed to say the pledge of allegiance.

What military or law enforcement would defend someone who has no affection for the country?

I wasn't allowed to join Brownies or Girl Scouts.  Why not?  Because they say the pledge of allegiance.  So basically, I have few life skills.

All this can be overcome, I imagine, but not without becoming aware of how it all affected me.  Stunted my growth, and stunted my ability to connect deeply with human beings.  I want so badly to fall in love, but I don't know how.  In my mind, I believe that romantic love is all about showering someone with affection, but I have to learn that affection comes with deep emotional bonding and being vulnerable, having common interests and conversation, making plans and spending quality time together.  To date, I struggle with knowing how and where to start.

There is still such a long way to go.

As a public service announcement akin to "If you don't smoke, don't start", I say, "If you're not a Jehovah's Witness, don't become one".




Their beliefs and practices are foreign.  That, in an of itself, doesn't make them wrong, but their expectation that you disconnect from the full spectrum of what life is on this planet will cost you, possibly your sanity.


PS
Every year my family has the same conversation, pretty much verbatim.  "You know I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, so I'd like to have a dinner with my family."

This year I changed my response.  "No thanks, Mom.  Every year you ruin my Thanksgiving and it's my favorite holiday.  You wonder why I cry at the Publix holiday commercials.  Well part of it is because my own family isn't as connected and happy as the one in the commercial.  I want music, dancing, laughter, games, jokes, togetherness, an expression of gratitude, and some affection with people who show that they actually love me.  I can't do it to myself ever again.  Just sitting around with people who act like nobody matters."

I feel really good about that!  I'm going to continue to change my future for the better.

PPS
This is one tragedy reported by the Detroit Free Press and perhaps there are many more due to the Witness practice of disfellowshipping people who leave.
https://www.freep.com/story/news/local/michigan/2018/02/19/keego-harbor-jehovahs-witness-mom-triple-murder-suicide/351559002/

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

#Exjw
#mentalHealth
#EmotionalWellbeing

Thursday, November 8, 2018

PESCETARIAN SATURDAY - WOW!!! If you love salmon and you're in Hollywood

If you visit Hollywood beach and love salmon, you're in luck.

Latitudes restaurant at Marriott Hollywood beach has a Scottish salmon wrap with tsiziki sauce.  Sorry for being too irresponsible to look up how to spell tsiziki, but it's Greek to me (haha).

It's grilled perfectly, moist and juicy and the balance of flavors is very satisfying.  I like the wrap with sweet potato waffle fries.


Scottish Salmon Wrap w/ Sweet Potato Fries
Photo by Mackenzie Littledale

Latitudes Entrance from Hotel Lobby
Photo by Mackenzie Littledale

Partial outdoor view of the BEACH at Latitudes
Photo by Mackenzie Littledale


Latitudes has indoor and outdoor seats and a bar.

Marriott Hollywood beach is at 2501 North Ocean Boulevard.  Ask them about their Thanksgiving dinner specials


Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie


#Salmon
#Latitudes
#MarriottHollywoodBeach
#PescetarianSaturday


Wednesday, November 7, 2018

The Election is over, so now I get back to writing

While the election results for the Florida governor's race and the US Senate seat were disappointing for me, I still need to live my life.  That means writing away.  Writing means reading, too: reading what I've written so far to check that my storyline is intact and that the words convey the right meaning and feeling.  By "right" I mean, what I intended to express.  Reading also means reading others' stories, words of inspiration and words of encouragement.



In all of this, I'm finding the more I empower my protagonist, the more I realize I must empower myself to match her.  Even though most of the novel is based on a true story, there is some fictionalizing involved.  As Michelle Delphinia grows, I find she grew because her real life counterpart grew.  Where she needs to excel, I must excel behind her and catch up or lose sight of the way she's going.

All the characters tend to stray from the final chapter.  They take on a life of their own, and I must corral them to make sure we all make it to the climax and resolution.

Because it's based on a true story, it doesn't necessarily follow every single rule of storytelling.  There are villains who don't show up until much later.  All I can say is life broke the rule and it's a detail to which I'll remain true.

I've gotten satisfactory and helpful feedback from a few different sources, including my writing coach, my writers group and you.  I'll be forever grateful that you've taken time out of your day, away from your activities and perhaps from your own writing, to read Chapter 1.  I'm an untested writer.  You have no way of knowing whether my style is like JK Rowling or Ken Follett or some long forgotten novelist that no one ever read twice.

While the decision to post an entire chapter came partially out of insecurity, I had to honor it.  To shore up my guts, I've decided not to post another chapter.  Now that I've addressed the comments that I felt were crucial, the rest is up to my private consultations with my coach and writers group.

Life is amazing, isn't it?

I've seen many quotes that comparison is the thief of joy and we'd all be much better off if we didn't compare ourselves to others.  However, the human brain is deeply hardwired to make comparisons, so I'm not going to undo that.  My writing compares favorably in certain ways to others' writing, and just as good in other ways, and perhaps needs boning up in yet other ways.

I'll figure it all out.  Sooner or later, the book will be finished.  I refuse to take 10 years to write my first novel.  I'm anticipating that my coach and I will have a finished manuscript to send to a literary agents by March 2019.

What matters is ultimately it's my story to tell in my own language.  Body language, facial expression, words, tone of voice.  It all matters.  It all develops characters.  It reveals what I've observed.

The book is a soup of sorts.  Stone soup, perhaps, where many members of my village brought a different ingredient for flavor and nourishment, and in turn we all get fed.

Doesn't matter who's in the governor's mansion in Tallahassee.


Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

Sunday, November 4, 2018

On Writing - Ch 1 of This Darkness is Mine: A Novel based on a true story


This Darkness is Mine: The Dark Gift of Bipolar
A Novel based on a true story

(Names have been changed to protect the identity of living people)



Ch 1: No sense of urgency (New Year’s Eve 2014)

A crowd gathered around the valet area, craning to see the woman kneeling at the edge of a planter with her face almost buried in the mulch. A muscular Black man in a grey uniform pushed through the swelling throng, clearing a path for the hotel’s spa director to reach the woman.

“Is everything okay, Michelle?” asked Lorraine, the spa director. Slender and waiflike, she teetered on dangerously spiky heels. “Why were you rolling around on the ground?”

Puzzled, Michelle Delphinia looked up from the chewed up bubblegum and shiny dime she found mixed in the mulch. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she slowly shook her head. “Rolling on the ground? I’m just sitting here.”

Lorraine offered a placating smile to the crowd, then faced Michelle again. “You have the rest of the day off, okay? I called your brother. Your brother is coming to get you, so go with Bill from security.”

Michelle frowned. Why is Lorraine talking to me like I’m in nursery school? “You called my brother? He’s not going to be happy to have to come all the way to Miami.”

Bill’s hulking muscles and innocuous smile confused her further, but she was too disoriented to protest. She got up to follow him and her mind raced. I wasn’t rolling around on the ground, was I? Oh my God, she thought to herself. I was just minding my own business. God needs me to figure out reincarnation, and I was so, so very close. I can’t be expected to work it all out with these damned interruptions. But what if… what if this is a fuck up?

Bill escorted her through the crowd to a small, featureless room within breathing distance of two dumpsters. He motioned to a chair. She sat and remained quiet except for frequent requests for water, but no amount of water she drank could quench her thirst. She waited anxiously for an interrogation. The staff eyed her suspiciously but they didn’t ask any questions, so she turned her attention to six monitors on the desk. Must be boring as hell to watch the same plants do nothing all day, she thought.

Eventually, drinking so much water caught up with her. “I need the restroom, please,” she said, tugging at her black uniform top.

She couldn’t understand why she needed an escort to the employees’ restroom. I know the way to the damn restroom. The security officer waited outside the door. When Michelle came back out, she headed right to return to work, but the woman blocked her way. The impassive look on the woman’s face and crossed arms confused her.

Michelle raised her eyebrows; she didn’t like the way the woman looked at her. “I can’t go back to work?”

The officer shook her head.

Michelle paused a moment to process the answer, but it meant nothing to her. Fine, I don’t even want to go back to work. I have bigger shit to take down than you anyway. She shrugged and walked back to the beige office, finding her brother there talking to Bill.

She sat again, now wondering if Allen could talk him into letting her return to work.

“Thanks, Bill, I appreciate that,” Allen said, sounding weary. “Perhaps I’ll get her to change her emergency contact to her boyfriend.” He turned to her. “How are you feeling, Michelle?” Despite Allen’s light tone, distress tainted his brown eyes, and his shoulders stooped.

“I’m all right. They won’t let me go back to work. I have the rest of the day off now.” She didn’t want him to worry.

Bill said, “You’ll need to remove your car from the city lot, or it’ll get towed if you let it stay overnight.”

“I drove my mother’s car,” she said. “It’s in valet.” She knew full well that parking in valet was strictly off limits for employees and expected a reprimand.

“Oh, that’s very good then. We have it.” Bill smiled at Allen before returning his attention to her. “I’ll waive the fee for you, don’t worry. You can pick up the car whenever you’re able, okay?”

Michelle’s shoulders slumped in relief and she looked up at her brother. “God makes things work out, huh?”

Allen smiled wanly, slowly rubbed his forehead, and nodded. “Yes, Jehovah makes things work out.”

She blanched. Hearing his favorite name for God felt like insects crawling in her ears. Michelle followed Allen to his car, annoyed that he couldn’t resist leaving a damned Watchtower magazine with Bill. She noticed scratches on his yellow car; it was starting to look old, just like Allen’s ill-fitting casual business attire.

Her face fell at the sight of their mother, Janet, sitting in the back seat. “Oh, fucking fantastic,” she mumbled, rolling her head. She didn’t want to make this a family ordeal, but now her mother must be worried.

She stopped and glared at her brother. “Allen, why did you bring Mom?”

Allen kept on toward the car and got in the driver’s side.

Exasperated, Michelle dropped heavily into the passenger seat. “Hi, Mom,” she said, too ashamed to look at her.

Janet said nothing, and Michelle’s fury intensified at Allen for bringing her.

“You buckled in, Michelle?” he asked, officiously.

“Yes,” she said, forcing her voice not to sound hostile since he’d come out of his way for this, but she was angry he ignored her question. The fading scent of his sandalwood air freshener irritated her.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” she said, not wanting to talk about it with him. “It was a rough day.” She smiled to herself. “I got a gift though.”

“A gift? That’s nice. From a guest?”

“No no, from God.” Michelle looked at her brother out of the corner of her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t quote scripture or start preaching at her.

“I...guess...that’s...a good thing.”

She knew he said that just to appease her, so to punish him, she decided not to say anything more about her gift. It was between her and God anyway, but she could always tell her boyfriend, Joe. Joe would understand.

“Bill said security has been watching you on the cameras at work, and you’ve been acting weird lately.”

“Oh?” Michelle thought about her elaborate smoke break ritual and hoped she hadn’t done anything weirder than that, but how could she vouch for herself?

“When was the last time you took your meds?”

She balled up her fist at his intrusiveness, but couldn’t help but answer a direct question. She cocked her head. “I stopped going to see my nurse back in...maybe back in June after Mom and I got back from Atlanta, so that would have meant I had pills until August. So I must have stopped in August.”

“What?” Allen sighed. As if to a child, he said, “You’ve been off your medication since August? And now it’s the end of December.” His voice flattened and he stared straight ahead. “Why did you stop?”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his hands moving to the ten and two positions. Janet remained silent; perhaps she couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Shawn.” Michelle rolled her eyes. Shawn was her ex-boyfriend and uttering his name repulsed her. “Shawn and I had talked about the meds we were taking. I told him I didn’t have any side effects, and he said that meant my meds probably weren’t doing anything. If they’re not doing anything and I have no symptoms, then I don’t need them.” Michelle heaved back in her seat. “But maybe I do need them?” She looked out the window, desperate for something to focus on.

“Yeah.” Allen nodded. “You need them.” He sounded exasperated and sighed again. “We’ll go to your place and you’ll pack up a bag. You’ll stay the night with Mom.”

A swarm of random thoughts buzzed through Michelle’s mind. Emergency, me take room to the goddamn, but the thought wouldn’t unscramble before it collapsed back into the swarm and disappeared. She remained silent and unnerved with the buzzing thoughts until the mental hive quieted down.

“Michelle?” asked Allen.

“Take me to Joe.” He would be the only one to make her feel safe and he’d know just the right things to say and do.

“Have you told Joe about your condition?” Allen asked.

“Oh, um, actually, no.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, hating herself for acting sheepish. “Fine, I’ll pack a bag and stay at Mom’s place.”

Allen reacted exactly the way she feared he would. “You didn’t tell him yet? Didn’t he tell you about his mental illness? Doesn’t he have the same diagnosis you do?” Allen sounded incredulous. “Joe has been perfectly honest with you, Michelle. I think soon would be the time to tell him the truth.”

“I know,” she said, her thoughts racing ahead of her until there was nothing but static.

The sky shifted dreamily from crimson to violet to charcoal. Michelle imagined the sky as a slow motion flamenco dancer changing costumes. Allen’s car was stifling hot, the faint sandalwood becoming noxious. At the risk of angering him, she turned on the radio. Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Manic Depression’ came on, and the music tangled up inside her.

They pulled up outside Michelle’s apartment in a neighborhood in Hollywood that the cops willfully ignored. Getting out of Allen’s car felt like an escape, but his presence cloyed at her as he followed her inside her apartment. She haphazardly packed an overnight bag, unable to focus with Allen interrupting with suggestions. Her brother shook his head at the disaster she called home and excused himself back outside.

Janet smiled when Michelle loaded her bag in the backseat next to her. She smiled back weakly, dreading spending the night at her mother’s. She got back in the front passenger seat. A half hour later, they parked at the senior community residences where their mother lived in one apartment, and Allen and his wife lived on another floor.

Janet turned the key to the lock and Michelle’s spirits sank further. Inside, Michelle sat down in the recliner in the living room. She could see them in her peripheral vision stealing glances at her, and loathed the possibility that they’d launch into prayer. A shroud of loneliness and isolation sent her inward to her thoughts, but her thoughts skipped over disjointed memories out of time and context. No sooner did one feeling surface, another replaced it, until she had no idea what she felt.

Michelle started crying, feeling guilty about smoking. “I didn’t know smoking would be slavery. And all those liars and crooks who get kids hooked, I still buy cigarettes from them. I’m making them rich while I kill myself with their damned cigarettes! I’m helping them kill more kids.” She went quiet. Allen and Janet looked startled and mumbled to each other.

Suddenly, she burst out, “I thought Dad’s Parkinson’s was my fault!” Her arms shook. Allen and Janet each took hold of an arm and told her she wasn’t to blame. Michelle was surprised that that had come out of her mouth. She’d never felt guilty or responsible for her father’s Parkinson’s.

Her mental state continued flowing in and out of focus until midnight, when the Times Square ball dropped on TV. As fireworks exploded outside, she thought they were ghost canons from the American Revolution.

When Janet couldn’t stay awake any longer, she said, “Night, night. I’m off to bed. Can’t keep my eyes open another minute.”

“Mom,” said Michelle, getting up. “Lock your door.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m capable of doing.” Michelle didn’t want a repeat of her last reality break, and she feared how far she might go and then not even remember. A monster lurked inside her.

“Oh, it’ll be all right. You won’t do anything.” Janet smiled and waved her hand.

Michelle and Allen looked at each other in disbelief. Aware that no one in her family did any research whatsoever on her diagnoses over the years, she still didn’t expect her mother to be this naïve.

“You can sleep downstairs at my place,” Allen said to Michelle.

She knew immediately that was a better option, though she wasn’t sure Allen’s wife, Annette, would be so welcoming with her in her current state. Behind her eyes buzzed with a vibration. Her mouth dry, she craved water again. Her memory flared up and vanished without a trace. She should have been alarmed at this.

“All right,” she said. “Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, darling.” They hugged each other and Janet smiled with a joyful expression that left Michelle disoriented. In the spare moments that she was lucid, she realized she dangled on the edge of reality again, but she had no medication with her. How was her mother so blissful? If she posed a mortal threat to Allen and Annette, how would they respond?

Downstairs in Allen’s apartment, Annette had already gone to bed. He sat up with Michelle in his living room, her mind periodically clouding over and she felt like sleeping, but she’d awaken with a start. This went on for hours. Allen offered a Jehovah’s Witness bible and suggested she read Proverbs since she liked Proverbs so much.

At four o’clock in the morning, he turned in and went to bed. Michelle prostrated herself on the floor, ready to surrender her life to Jesus. When nothing happened, she lost confidence that she’d ever find salvation or the real world. Her mental creatures laughed mockingly at her and took cover. She got back on the couch, stared at the lamp, and a fear of the dark came over her.

Left alone with a bible for company, Michelle remained frozen on the couch.

At six o’clock in the morning, Annette bustled from one room to the next and made smoothies for them both.

“You’re okay with me staying here for the night?” asked Michelle.

“We’re family. You’re welcome here,” said Annette. “How did you sleep?”

“I’m not sure.” Michelle didn’t want to answer anymore questions about anything at all.

Later, after Allen woke up, he said they needed to get their mother’s car from the hotel valet. He had a long to-do list. Michelle watched him, amused as he went back and forth from one room to another, thinking aloud. She gave him space, and he finally crafted a plan. She was never sure why she was the one who needed meds when everyone’s decision-making process seemed insane.

Allen finally organized his task list and cheerfully sat on the couch with Michelle. “Did you read any Proverbs last night?”

“I did,” Michelle said, earnestly, but then she sullened. “It set me off.”

“Sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“It’s hard to put into words. It’s like certain thoughts shut me down and I get cloudy.”

“Cloudy. Uh-huh.” He nodded.

“A fish will never discover water.” She wasn’t sure where she’d heard that.

Michelle assumed the twinkle in her brother’s eyes meant he understood she had a measure of self-awareness but the condition took her by surprise sometimes. There were things in her subconscious that even she wasn’t allowed to glimpse, let alone bring into the light of day. Creatures flitted through her mind, toying with her sanity, never letting her see them squarely. They knotted her stomach up in frustration, but they scared her, too. Not knowing herself or fully knowing herself were equally terrifying.

Allen started his tasks and Michelle spent the rest of the day trying to keep herself occupied, forgetting completely that she should have been at work.

That evening while Annette made dinner, Allen showed Michelle some videos from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. She was surprisingly open to watching them, given her deep-rooted animosity towards the organization. Janet stopped by and they ate dinner in the living room, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Michelle locked onto the idea that her other brother’s daughter, Renie, was coming from the Bronx to deliver a baby. Believing it to be a surprise, she kept it to herself. Allen asked her to pack up her bag so they could get going, and asked for the valet claim check for their mother’s car. She winked at him, assuming they were going to meet Renie at the airport.

Allen, Annette, Janet, and Michelle got into the yellow car, with Michelle seated up front. Driving down Hollywood Boulevard, she latched on to the belief that she could see phantoms and spectors, and it was her duty to root them out. She yelled out the window to a man standing outside a porn shop, “I can see you, motherfucker!” Ha, he thinks he’s invisible, but I can see him! Her vulgarity set her prudish family on edge.

Forgetting him, she thought again of Renie’s arrival. She turned around to Janet. “You afraid, Mom? It’s going to be a pleasant surprise. You have faith in Jehovah, right?” She uttered the name of God without appreciating the irony.

“Yes, I do.”

“So you’re not scared, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, good, because I think you’re going to love this!”

When Allen pulled up to the emergency room, Michelle suspected nothing, thinking Renie must already be in delivery. But inside, the intake nurse asked her innumerable questions and drew a syringe. Her pulse quickened and her palms grew sweaty. She had no fear of needles, but her eyes dilated and her breathing sped up uncontrollably; a thought popped into her head that vampires didn’t need to fly around and bite people for blood anymore. Her mind connected real and imaginary dots, though she was unable to tell the difference. Vampires could get all the blood they wanted from hospitals, and the public suspected nothing! When it was evident she was being admitted, she looked desperately around the white room for an escape.

Allen took a step toward the door and thanked the nurse. He called to Annette that they could go get their mother’s car from the hotel.

“You’re leaving me here?! I trusted you!” she yelled at Allen. Her body burned with betrayal. “What did I do? I don’t want to stay here! You can’t just leave me here!”

Allen looked at her like she was hopeless. “You’ll be in my prayers,” he said and left.

RANDOM THOUGHT - What happens when you connect with a tribe of your own?

Ever since I started connecting on Twitter (with intention and purpose), I got exposed to people who have Bipolar, and some with other mental illnesses.  I've connected to writers.  I've connected to writers who write about Bipolar.  I've connected to people with Bipolar who write about it informally.

All in all, I'm still not 100% sure that the doctors are right about my diagnosis.  Much of my Bipolar behavior happens when I'm not looking, so to speak.  I don't know any way to describe my own invisibility when I'm manic. I guess it's like looking in a mirror and seeing no reflection.

I've questioned my diagnoses (Bipolar, schizophrenia, paranoid schizophrenia, depressive disorder, premenstrual depressive disorder) over the years but one thing became obvious: I cannot go any length of time without being medicated.

To date, my meds are very low dose.  5mg, that's all it takes.

My thoughts come at a rate of roughly 11 per second, and that's perfectly tolerable for me.  I can carry on a conversation most of the time.  Sometimes I space out and get distracted, but I believe my level of distraction is similar to "normal" people.  You better believe the concept of normal belongs in quotation marks. 

Normal is an elastic range.  I am in an elastic range that crosses over into normal and sometimes just on its periphery.  That's where my creativity is and I need to go there. 

Admittedly, it's better when I go there intentionally or I might not come back.

I've been lost in my mind before.  Some places are quite lovely and fascinating.  Others are deeply disturbing - that's the dungeon.

I said the post was random.

Thank you to my Twitter tribe.  While we all experience varying degrees of mania and varying degrees of depression, we all hold on to each other. 

I'll leave you with this - a link to another blog, and I invite you to watch the YouTube video embedded there.  Those racing thoughts are so frequent to me that that's my normal.  It doesn't alarm me.  I find my own reassuring and confident voice among all that static.

Things that help (although I'm not consistent about any of these things except bedtime meds):

Meditation (sometimes I go off the rails with this, but I'm trying)
Affirmations
Maintaining a journal
Assertiveness communication exercises
Talk therapy
Writing a book based on my experience, though it takes much discipline to learn the craft of writing and storytelling
Honoring my commitment to not give up on myself
Daily motivation video on YouTube
Searching for twitter hashtags on bipolar, mental health, mental illness, writers, writing, etc.
Positivity quotes
Just calling someone for a regular conversation
Work, for the sake of structure (and earning a living)

I'd ask for comments, but I know the site makes that challenging.  If you'd like to follow, please look for the BLUE FOLLOW BUTTON.

You can find me on Twitter @MackenzieLitt13

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie




Sunday, October 28, 2018

For Writers and Artists - Your Demons

I'm reading a book called Writing Down the Bones, which was a gift from a friend who supports my writing endeavors.  Author Natalie Goldberg says, "If you are not afraid of the voices inside you, you will not fear the critics outside you.  Besides, those voices are merely guardians and demons protecting the real treasure, the first thoughts of the mind."

I'm going to keep this short.




We all have demons, but if you remember the ancient cathedrals of the middle ages, you'll know that the ugly, demented gargoyles were meant to protect the sacred from evil spirits.

Our ugly, demented thoughts may be willing to serve a similar purpose, guarding what's sacred inside us.  Rather than allowing those thoughts to defeat us, perhaps we can face them and befriend them.  Since they're inside our heads, maybe their real purpose is to protect us from darker, evil forces outside us. 

We can think of them as guardians, gatekeepers of our tender emotions.

DEMON (inner voice): I'm worthless.  I don't deserve to live.

MASTER (you): This is not true.  You're supposed to protect me, not scare me.

To put it another way, think of Fluffy, the 3-headed dog in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.  Fluffy was huge and scary!  But Fluffy's job was to protect the treasure from Voldemort. 

Our Fight or Flight system is one part Fluffy.  Taking ownership and responsibility over our inner Fluffy means Fluffy can guard us in our most vulnerable moments.  Inner Fluffy is wild and untamed and doesn't recognize who's boss.  So we have to learn how to train her so she attacks enemies, and not us.  And all will be well in our heads.

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

Thursday, October 25, 2018

RANDOM THOUGHT - Visual imagery to overcome fear

Get some place quiet, close your eyes and imagine yourself as a little kid, the littler the better.  You're in your pajamas with your favorite bedtime toy and standing in a valley.

There is nowhere to hide.

Think of a fear that's holding you back.

Now, imagine how big that fear is.  Estimate each unit of energy of that fear as a man.  How many men equals the power of your fear?

Now, put every man on a horse.  Is it a 100 men, or a million men on horseback?

(c) Getty Images



Hear those men on horse thundering towards you in your pajamas.  They stop at the crest of a hill and you're trembling.

One man gets off his horse and approaches you. 

You say, "Why are you always chasing me?  You're scaring me!"

He says, "You don't have to be scared of us.  We're your cavalry.  We've been trying to tell you that you're our Queen/King.  We'll take you anywhere you want to go.  Where would you like us to take you?"

This is owning your power.  

That energy you've been scared of is inside you.  It's YOUR energy.

All this time, you've been devoting your own energy into scaring the living shit out of yourself, when all you need to do is take full possession of it and direct it outwards.  Lead that energy, YOUR energy, outwards to conquer and have what you want in life.

Friday, October 5, 2018

The Anti-Politics Post

I'm so sick and disgusted by American politics, it's hard to even put it into words, which is a problem for a blogger.  Today, God bless today, I was turned on to a possible solution that mitigates political mudslinging during campaigns and has little regard for a 2-party system.

Do I have anyone's attention?  If you consider yourself a decent, upstanding citizen, then I have a feeling that you're just as disgusted by the Red State vs. Blue State sham!

There are 7 political parties besides Republican and Democrat in the State of Florida.  SEVEN!!!  And they are shut out of the primaries.  When the general election rolls around, nobody has any idea who these candidates are and they're ignored by mainstream media.  This is wrong!  They could be real game changers because people might get behind them if our elections were fair.




What if I told you there was a voting system in existence that:


  • Reduces political mudslinging
  • Encourages candidates to focus on the issues of the majority of the whole body of voters
  • Already accounts for run-offs without demanding voters to go to the polls again
  • Decentivizes candidates from attacking their opponents' character
  • Fosters moderation and civility
  • Leads to winners who are not repulsive to half the voters


Do you think I'm making this up?  

This system has been in place in #Australia for over a century.  #NewZealand and #Ireland use it too.  #SanFrancisco and #Minneapolis have it in place and the voters find the system easy to use and that it produces better elections with better qualified candidates.

I am not making this up.

It's called RCV, short for Ranked Choice Voting.  When there are only two candidates, it works the same as voting does now.  Its magic really shines when there are more than two candidates for a position in office.  Voters get three columns and rank their 1st, 2nd and 3rd choice.  If there is no clear majority winner, the system filters out the candidate who got the least votes, and then filters for 2nd choice candidates until a clear majority winner is chosen.

NO RUN-OFF ELECTION NEEDED.  
This saves voters time and effort and gas and lost work.

Here's more info on the fairvote.org site.  Be sure to check out the video clips of Minneapolis voters who used the RCV system.  So easy!  So positive!

Clearly, #Sarasota, I'd LOVE to hear from you.  If South Florida gets on board, the local governments can function for the people again and we'll keep growing upwards from there!

I'm so excited about the prospects of this system!!!

Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

Be sure to hit the BLUE FOLLOW BUTTON near the upper right corner of the desktop version.

#RCV
#RankedChoiceVoting
#Australia
#NewZealand
#Ireland
#SanFrancisco
#Minneapolis
#Sarasota
#FairElections
#Advocacy