Reasons for Me

Sometimes I wonder why we exist. What purpose are we serving by being alive? Is there some grand plan for us that none of us knows about? I am not a staunch believer in God, but I sometimes pray for my family and friends. Sometimes for myself; asking God for patience, courage and strength to get me through difficult situations. I go to church with my in-laws a few times a year, but I don’t own a Bible and occasionally I use the Lord’s name in vain.

I started thinking about why we, as humans, exist after a co-worker told me a story about her daughter. Donna’s daughter, Kelly, is 19-years-old now and seemingly ‘cured,’ but growing up Kelly had horrible food allergies. On more than one occasion Donna had to perform CPR on her daughter to get her breathing again after she had eaten an orange or some other food that sent her into anaphylactic shock. She told me that recently Kelly started eating small portions of the foods that had previously been deadly to her with no harmful aftereffects. Donna believes that as her daughter matured and her body changed, the food allergies simply went away. Because of the hardships Kelly endured and her near death experiences, I believe she was put on this Earth for a purpose. But what?

I wondered about Donna and Kelly’s existence. Does Donna exist because her daughter exists? Without Donna, there would be no Kelly. Does Donna exist to help Kelly realize her potential? To help Kelly fulfill her destiny? Do we exist solely for the benefit of one another? If so, how is my life connected to that of a complete stranger?

I watch the inmates I am responsible for and wonder what their purposes in life are. They steal, cheat, lie, and cause harm to other people in many different ways and on varying levels. Their actions negatively affect their families, friends, strangers, and their community as a whole. Many refuse to take responsibility for their actions and blame everyone around them for their mishaps. In my opinion, those that continue to be selfish and hurt other people are worthless, are a drain on society, and have no business breathing the same air as I do. Yet, the door to the jail is a revolving one and my job security is never threatened. I wonder why these kinds of people exist when they contribute nothing positive to the community.

Which leads me to ask why do I exist? Do I exist because inmates exist? Do I exist to help balance out the numbers of good and bad? I am almost 40-years old and really have done nothing of any consequence in my life. I am a responsible, law-abiding citizen, but mostly I work, eat, and sleep. I pay taxes, but don’t belong to any charity groups that help children in need or build houses for the poverty-stricken. I never give money to the bell ringing Santa Claus outside of Wal-Mart at Christmas time and rarely do I buy cookies from Girl Scouts. I drive an eight-year-old SUV that burns through fuel and causes green-house gas emissions.

So why am I on this planet taking up valuable space? What am I destined to do in life that is so special? So many more questions than answers, but I suppose only in time will those answers be revealed. In the meantime, I could probably start using my time more wisely. I can volunteer and support a cause that I am passionate about (animals) and in the process maybe my destiny will come to fruition and I will finally understand the reasons for me.

Book Signing Like a Rock Star

We gathered together like a herd of sheep in a pen too small to contain us. Shoulder to shoulder we swayed and fidgeted as one. The air crackled with electricity; a tingle ran down my spine; my underarms grew damp; our nervous chatter was hushed. I wished I had applied a little lipstick. We had all come to see, to meet one man.

“I see him,” someone said.

Our heads bobbled to the left, to the right, back and forth as if we were performing some kind of bizarre ritual. The source of our excitement was close. We felt him; we smelled him. He was here, somewhere among us, blending in with the crowd.

“I don’t see him,” someone sighed with disappointment. Collectively we sighed.

I pulled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, wishing instead I had worn a cute little tank top to show off some too pale skin. I glanced at my watch. It was time. He should be here. He was.

“I see him!” someone screamed. Collectively we screamed.

As one we surged towards the bespectacled, balding man dressed in a black t-shirt and flip flops. All three-hundred of us crowded close, but fell just short of mobbing him. We jockeyed for position; all of us wanting to touch him, to take his picture, to hear him speak, and later to tell our friends that we had been one of the lucky few, okay one of the lucky three hundred, he had actually talked to.

You’d think Paul McCartney, the Pope, or even Miley Cyrus, had sauntered through the double-doors of Barnes and Noble, but it was only Sam. Only Sam? No, not ‘Only Sam,’ but Sam “The Cooking Guy!” Step back and recognize!

***

I clutched Sam’s book, Just a Bunch of Recipes, to my chest and practiced what I would say when it was my turn to have him sign my book….

Hi Sam. You’re so great! My husband and I are big fans!
Hi Sam. I’m going to a BBQ this weekend. What do you suggest I make?
Hi Sam, you’re so cute! Hee hee hee

Twenty minutes later I still hadn’t decided what I would say, but I had time. I pulled my yellow card from my pocket, #167. He hadn’t yet reached #20. I had a long ways to go, but towards the front of the store there was a commotion. Barnes and Noble had just sold the last of Sam’s books! People grumbled, a woman cried, I thought a fist fight might ensue. Many of those people had already been issued numbers, but had no book to sign and this was after all, a book signing. Their loss, however, was my gain. A man handed me his yellow card as he went out the door. #143! I giggled crazily with anticipation.

***

The line moved slower than a snail taking a nap. Actually, it didn’t really move at all, it just seemed like it did with people bouncing from one foot to the other to keep their legs from falling asleep. Absolutely everyone wanted their picture taken with Sam, to hug him (at least the women did), to tell him how good his recipes were, and to tell him how great he was. I was no exception, but I would have to wait my turn.

Finally, the moment I'd been waiting for. It was 10 p.m. and I’d been standing in line for a good 3-hours. I went over everything in my head. I decided I would tell Sam what big fans my husband and I were and ask him what I should make for the BBQ. He flashed his lovely smile and as I gazed into his twinkling eyes all cognizant thought flew from my head. I couldn’t speak. I merely held up my camera and the man in line behind me took a picture of us, then I thrust my book at Sam to sign. At last I found my voice. “You look tired,” I said. Good going Rae! Basically I told the man he looked like shit, but I got my cookbook signed and all was good in the world again.

I'm Neither an Outcast Nor a Mother

I don’t have children nor do I want any. I have absolutely no maternal instincts unless it’s to shelter an orphaned kitten. I have no regrets and don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything. I never realized, however, just how segregated from society my choice has made me until I attended a coworker’s barbecue. Some quick introductions were made when my fiancé and I arrived, but for the most part we were left on our own to mingle. I work with most of the men that were there, but I didn’t know any of the women except for one.

Situations like this make me very uncomfortable. I hate having to make small talk with strangers and intended to stay close to my fiancé. He, along with all the other men however, quickly migrated to the garage leaving the woman folk to socialize in the living room. I was in a dilemma. Should I venture into male territory and cause a ripple in the testosterone level or suck it up and hang with the ladies? I decided to stick with the girls and plopped down on the sofa to chit chat with complete strangers.

The one woman I knew, Melissa, had her three-week old infant with her. I acknowledged he was a cutie-pie, which he was, and made the obligatory goo-goo gee-gee noises and poked his little belly, but beyond that what else was there to say? Apparently there was plenty. After a few minutes my urge for a very strong drink became unbearable and I thought my head would explode. Gross things were being discussed in such detail that I almost vomited. Twice. A conversation about Sue’s water breaking and how she thought she had just wet her pants lasted nearly ten-minutes. Then Melissa plopped out her boob and started nursing, although she had the graciousness to cover herself with a blanket once the baby was in position, but still…Yuck! A discussion about the benefits of breast feeding soon followed.

I had no idea what these women were talking about since I have never experienced anything remotely associated with pregnancy, child birth, or child rearing. At first I tried to be involved, adding a ‘wow’ or ‘really?’ in all the right places, but it was awkward. I even thought about telling the story of how I fell off the porch when I was a toddler and caved in my forehead, but changed my mind. It didn’t seem like it would be appreciated among this group of strangers. There was absolutely nothing I could add to the conversation. I tried hard, but when the topic turned to diaper changing and all the crap (literally) that comes out of babies, my mind began to reel. I couldn’t stay focused enough to contribute an ‘ah’ or even an ‘ew'.

There must be another woman who I could talk to that didn’t have children, but as I looked around I realized I was the only one. There was no escape. Kids were everywhere – cuddled in their mother’s laps, sucking on a boob, crawling on the floor, running around in the backyard. I had nothing in common with these women and felt like such an outsider. The mothers sensed my distress and further isolated me by not including me in their conversation of all-things-children.

If I had had kids I would have easily bonded with these women. I too could be laughing about sleep deprivation, debating the use of disposable diapers versus cloth, complaining how quickly kids outgrow clothes bought just a couple months prior, and experiencing all the joy children bring to the world, but I couldn’t and it made me angry. Angry, because these women made me feel like a pariah, because I had purposely chosen not to add to the already overpopulated planet. And then I felt sad. Not for me, but for those seated around me. After listening to them prattle on and on about their children, I realized they had absolutely no lives of their own.

They couldn’t discuss the latest movie, because they hadn’t been to a movie in years unless it had talking penguins. No one traveled, because it was too much to carry around car seats, strollers, diaper bags, and everything else that accompanied a small child. They didn’t have time to watch sports or television in general, because they were too busy shuttling their kids back and forth to school, dentist appointments, dance class, etc. and when they were able to watch television it was Barney, Blues Clues, Sesame Street or some other children’s program. Their hobbies were their children’s hobbies: soccer, Little League, ballet, swimming. Their world revolved around their children. I wondered what would be left of them once their children were grown and moved away. They could be soccer moms for only so long.

Finally I excused myself and no one seemed to notice, because they were busy raving about ‘onesies’ and how you ‘can never have too many’. I went into the garage in search of my fiancé and found a space where I felt more at ease. Even though I was the only woman in a group of men, I didn’t feel like such an outcast. Here I could talk about current events, sports, work, and about life in general. It was great because not once did we discuss the bodily fluids that randomly spew from small children.

Bound by Whose Etiquette?

04/09/2007

There were several definitions of the word etiquette when I looked it up in the dictionary. To put it in simple dictionary.com terms, etiquette means “the practices and forms prescribed by social convention or authority.” The purpose of etiquette, I suppose, is to encourage us to follow certain rules to avoid pissing people off. I mention etiquette, specifically wedding etiquette, because my fiancé and I are planning our wedding.

At a recent family dinner, wedding etiquette was a hot topic. The main reason for our discussion was because a few days prior I had mentioned to my mother that I was thinking of wearing flip-flops with my wedding dress. I only said this because the shoes the clerk gave me to wear while I tried on dresses were too small and hurt my feet. My mother went ballistic and forbid me to wear flip-flops at my wedding. She forbid me! Just for the record I am thirty-eight years old and this will be my second marriage. Of course I couldn’t let the discussion end, because the more I talked about wearing flip-flops the angrier my mom became. I found her behavior rather amusing. Of course my mother saw no humor in it at all.

At dinner I told my brother and sister-in-law of the incident and added embellishments in all the right places. After all I was only joking and had no intention of wearing flip-flops. However, after I told my story, my father was quite serious when he said he would not go to my wedding if I wore flip-flops. His reasoning? He thought I would look like white-trash. Wow. First off, flip-flops are worn by a huge percentage of the population, not just in the white-trash communities. Secondly, I would hope it would take more for me to look like white-trash than donning a pair of flip-flops. But that is my father and sometimes his rationale isn’t always as clear to other people as it is when he figures it out in his head.

After he made this comment I quickly tried to calculate the money I would save due to his absence. After much persuasion from my sister-in-law, and a small payment made under the table, I decided I would much rather have my father in attendance. I couldn’t believe he was that serious, though, which brings me back to the original topic at hand: wedding etiquette.

When Robert and I first started planning our wedding I decide to browse through the wedding section at the Barnes and Noble bookstore to get some ideas. Every other book was about wedding etiquette, but after flipping through a few I couldn’t take it anymore. In every book some self-proclaimed wedding planning-advisor-person was telling me what I was allowed to do and what not to do. This was my wedding for heavens sake! If I wanted to wear a black mini skirt with flip-flops and dress up as a vampire I should be able to do so! But not according to these people. I should avoid black, because it is associated with mourning and loss.

Who exactly are these narrow-minded people who write these absurd books that place restrictions on how a young bride plans her wedding? I read several of the jacket covers trying to figure it out, but I still don’t know whose rules these are. According to the definition, etiquette is society based, but aren’t I part of society? Certainly these are not my rules, yet I am pressured to follow them simply because a book tells me what is right and wrong. If I go against the perception of what a traditional wedding is and want something more suitable to my personality, is that so wrong? It doesn’t sound like it would be, but when I share my ideas with others, such as having no bridal party, I am gently criticized because my ideas don’t fall within the wedding norm.

This is where my stress level starts to rise. Not from all the planning, but from the pressure to have the typical cookie-cutter wedding, because the etiquette books say it should be done that way. In my humble opinion wedding etiquette is quite stifling and the authors of those stupid etiquette books are mini dictators in the making. Duties are defined for everyone involved in the wedding – flower girls, ushers, bridesmaids, best man, ring bearer, groomsmen, and on and on. The control factor is out of control. For instance, I Googled ‘wedding etiquette’ on the Internet and came up with a plethora of useless information. Did you know that if you’ve been married before or have children you’re not supposed to wear a veil or have a train attached to your wedding dress? And don’t carry orange blossoms! Why, I don’t know, but so advise the wedding etiquette gurus so it must be law.

My advice? Toss the wedding etiquette books into the trash, get creative, and open your mind to all possibilities. Plan your wedding as you and your fiancé see fit. Oh, and feel free to wear flip-flops. Your feet will thank you.

Do Random Acts of Kindness Really Exist?

04/07/2007


People are rude. I see it all around me. For instance, last weekend I was driving to the mall with my mother. I attempted to change lanes, but when I turned on my blinker the car in the next lane sped up so I couldn’t merge. Did that car get to its destination any quicker because the driver wouldn’t allow me to get in front of him? Nope. As it turned out we were both headed to the mall and got to the same parking garage at the same time. Would it have hurt him (yes, it was a man) to slow down a moment to let me get in front of him? Nope, but I see rudeness like this happening all the time.

Once my mother and I got to the mall we parked the car and entered a department store through a set of double glass doors. We were only a few steps behind a woman in front of us. She opened the doors and entered the store, but didn’t bother looking back. She let the door close in my mother’s face. Rude? Definitely, but I don’t think it was intentional. The woman was simply in a hurry and not paying attention to her surroundings.

But that got me thinking. Do random acts of kindness exist anymore? I tried to think of occurrences where an act of kindness was shown to me. When was the last time a stranger held a door open for me? Or let me cut in line at Jamba Juice? I couldn’t think of any, but then I realized I was just as guilty. When was the last time I had shown kindness to a complete stranger? I couldn’t remember that either.

The following Monday I was on my way home from work. While on the freeway a car in the next lane turned on its blinker to merge into my lane. What did I do? I sped up! I was no better than the jerk I had cussed out the day before for doing the exact same thing to me. Not long after another car wanted to merge into my lane. This time I slowed down and let the driver change lanes. I was met with a friendly wave. There were no immediate benefits to my good deed. I didn’t win the lottery that night or make every green light on the way home. I half expected Ed McMahon to be waiting on my front porch with a Publisher’s Clearing House check, but that didn’t happen either.

The only thing I could hope for was that the driver who I expressed kindness to would extend the courtesy to someone else. My kindness would start a chain reaction of kindness all across the city, the state, even the world! Maybe that’s asking too much, but think about what a better existence we would have if we all showed at least one act of kindness a day to a complete stranger. I decided that’s what I would do. If nothing else I would at least feel better about myself for trying to make a difference. I was also curious to see the reactions I would get since kindness seems to have stopped being a part of our culture.

I showed my first act of kindness while standing in line at the grocery store. My cart was fairly full, but the woman behind me had only a few items, but still too many to go through the express lane. She seemed to be in a hurry so I asked if she wanted to go in front of me. Of course she said yes, but she also thanked me. She then proceeded to tell me how excited her two small children were about coloring eggs for Easter. One of the items she was buying was an egg coloring kit. We made the usual small talk that strangers do when forced together in public places, but it was light hearted and she was genuine in her appreciation for my letting her take cuts in line.

I tried the same trick while in line at Barnes and Noble. Two brothers, probably around 8 and 10 years old were in line behind me. Their mother called the oldest boy on his cell phone. I gathered from the boy’s side of the conversation that their mother was angry because, heaven forbid, she was outside in the car and didn’t want to wait any longer. I offered to let the boys go in front of me so they wouldn’t get in trouble for making their mother wait. They said thank you, but declined. Evidently acts of kindness don’t work too well on kids, but I tried and I think they understood my intentions.

My acts of kindness didn’t stop there however. Once I started showing kindness I found the opportunities to do so were everywhere and I couldn’t limit myself to just one act of kindness a day either. Once I started I couldn’t stop. Expressing kindness wasn’t some great inconvenience and it actually took very little effort. At college I took a moment to help a young student pick up her papers after she dropped her notebook. On the trolley I let an elderly man have my seat so he could sit with his wife. The more I expressed kindness, the more I saw other people expressing it as well. Maybe not to the extent that it affected the entire country, but it was a start.

When I began showing acts of kindness my reasons were not selfish. I simply wanted to see what would happen. I wasn’t expecting some huge reward in return and I didn’t get any either, unless you want to count the many smiles, thank yous, and overall good feeling I felt in my heart. So do random acts of kindness really exist? I think they do.

An Expectation of Muteness on the Trolley

03/18/07


Although some may disagree with me, I think San Diego has a great trolley system. Okay, maybe not great, but it’s convenient and I don’t have to worry about congested freeways or having to fight for one of the nonexistent parking spots in the Gaslamp Quarter. I often ride the trolley to work and this morning was no exception. However, something happened that was totally out of the ordinary.

Normally I don’t sit next to strangers because I have issues with my personal space being violated and am quite concerned with germs. Today I opted to stand even though there were seats available. A young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, got on at one of the downtown stops. I moved out of her way since I was standing in front of the door. I expected her to elbow her way past and find a seat like all the other passengers had done, but she didn’t. She paused and said hello.

One thing I dislike doing on the trolley is making eye contact with my fellow commuters. I find it very uncomfortable, because once eye contact is established, what do you do next? Talk to them? For me, idle chitchat with a stranger is even more distressing than the meeting of the eyes. When the woman said hello, I didn’t know what to do so I ignored her and looked the other way. Another reason, and probably the main reason, I avoid eye contact is there are a lot of unstable people who ride the trolley. It has been my experience that when I have made eye contact with a person not fully cognizant of reality, it will sometimes trigger his or her paranoia. The person will start yelling at me or ranting at their invisible friend. This bizarre behavior undoubtedly upsets the other passengers and makes for an incredibly tense ride, because no one can predict what the person will do next.

My next thought when the woman said hello was what did she want? Money? A ride to her sick mother’s house in Ramona? A cigarette? My phone number? I’ve been asked all of these things, and worse, at one time or another while on the trolley.

When I didn’t respond, the woman asked, “Why do you look so mad?” This time I couldn’t avoid her. She was standing within three feet of me breaching my required stranger-distance of five feet, which is rather unrealistic sometimes on a crowded trolley. I wasn’t angry, but sometimes I like to look unapproachable to avoid unwanted conversation, as in this case, but sometimes it doesn’t always work, also in this case. I casually commented I was still asleep and tried to laugh away my trepidations of having to interact with a complete stranger. She chatted at me for a moment before she moved on and started talking to someone else.

Her spontaneous hello was totally out of the ordinary. Then, thinking about that, I realized how total the ordinary was. It wasn’t just me who avoided conversation and eye contact on the trolley. There were many people with their noses in books or newspapers, sitting with eyes closed, or with heads down studying their coffee cups as if the Virgin Mary might suddenly appear in the foam of their cappuccinos.

At the next stop as more people squeezed through the doors I decided to conduct an experiment. I said hello to the first person that climbed the steps. A quick flicker of her eyes in my direction and a slight nod of her head, but nothing more. I tried it again at the next stop. This time I was rewarded with a grunt of sorts and a tremor of the lips, which I think was an attempt to smile. No one was eager to say hello, let alone have a conversation with me. Was I asking too much from this voiceless group of strangers when I expected a reply to my simple “hello”? So it seemed. Was I in violation of some unwritten code of conduct for trolley passengers? You bet and after some of the hostile looks I received, I wasn’t about to push the issue any further.

When the next group boarded, I didn’t even bother to acknowledge them. It was too exhausting to interact with someone whom I didn’t care about in the first place, let alone wouldn’t recognize the next time I rode the trolley. It was much easier and more acceptable to those around me to keep my eyes averted and feign indifference. As the trolley continued on, I stared mutely out the window looking at everything except the person in the adjacent seat, who wasn’t looking at me either.