Sweet Daughter of Mine

Sweet Daughter of Mine –

Some people might say that you talk too much, but I am here to remind you that your voice is a gift.  You’ve got words, so use them.  Use them as much when you are elated as when you are frustrated.  Don’t shut down.  Don’t shut people out.  If you are hurt, tell them.  If they shut down and your instinct is to keep talking, do so.  If you feel the need to express extreme frustration or hurt with extreme words, do so.  Be as honest with your words as the love you give.  Do everything as authentically to the moment as you can.

But, Daughter of Mine, that moment may shift. When it does, be humbled.  Be humbled but once again, don’t shut down.  Don’t silence your words.  Be humbled and say sorry.  If you need to write it down, do so.  Tuck it away in a scrap piece of paper into the front pocket of your hoodie.  Bring it out when the moment is right.  Hand it over, tears in your eyes.  You can’t always say it, but written language is as important as spoken word.  This, I will teach you, daughter of mine.

You should also know, sweet Daughter of Mine, that your words can hurt or deter people from moving closer.  Use language authentically but know that when you are authentic to the moment, that has the potential to sting, scare, or scar.  Tread lightly in the extremes and do your best to balance honouring the moment with avoiding harm to those whom you truly love. 

Drop the F bomb when the moment is right.  If you are hurt, scream it.  Fuck, it feels good.  Learn to balance this too.  Know your audience, sweet Daughter of Mine.  Use language appropriate to the setting in which you find yourself.  Use your limbs too, when you tell a story.  Go big or go home.  Be a storyteller.  Every good storyteller knows you’ve got to drop a few cuss words to captivate the audience.  And, one last thing, sweet Daughter of Mine, fuck those who say you talk too much. 

Much love,

Your Mama, who talks too much.

Marry a Man Who:

Marry a man who:

-       Suggests picnics on beautiful summer days.  He may or may not help pack said picnic but the fact that he wants to find the perfect spot, set out the blanket, and enjoy the simplest foods with you outdoors means everything.  Meet him there – leave the dirty dishes in the sink, the laundry in piles, and help make it possible.  Help to pack the snacks, the water, and the blanket.  Put aside all that needs to be done and smile because he wants this with you.  Find the perfect spot under an old tree and marvel at nature together. Use this time to talk, but more importantly, to listen.  It was he, who invited you, after all.

-       Has strong arms.  They may need to hold you in the darkest of places.  Make sure those arms are strong enough to hold you but not so strong that they force you up before you are ready.  Make sure those arms will hold you until you are strong enough to do that shit for yourself.  My mama might also tell you that those arms must look good in a white t-shirt, and she’s not wrong.

-       Sprays you with the hose whenever he washes the car.  Spray him back.  Keep that boy inside of him alive as he’s fun and slightly unpredictable.  You’ll need that in the future when you are close to breaking, exhausted, run down, and overwhelmed with life.  Make sure he knows that he can always snap you out of it with his fun, boyish side.

-       Is up for adventure and isn’t fazed when things don’t go as planned.   Hold the hand and kiss the shoulder of the man who, after realizing it will take longer than 5 hours to drive 500 kms in Japan, laughs at the mistake and tells you to play DJ for the drive.  Kyoto will be worth it, he’ll say, and he will be right. It may take longer to get somewhere than anticipated so make the drive part of the trip.

-       Has a hobby.  On that note, get one for yourself.  Share in each other’s interests.  I know life is busy, but allow him the time to indulge in the things that fill his cup.  Pour a drink, plop yourself at the counter, and follow along as he teaches you the importance of each step in the beer making process.  Ask questions, be engaged, and most importantly, be present.

-       Sets goals with you.  Longevity comes in tiny steps and small victories.  Set these goals together with the focus on forward movement.  Eat better, swim more, more date nights, plan trips, save money, advance your career, the next car, the next house.  Work the plan all the way to envisioning your property in Hawaii when the kids are grown, and you both retired.  Celebrate goals reached and rework the ones that prove to be more of a challenge.

-       Loves you hard.  Make sure you know it, feel it, and believe in it with all of your heart.  Decipher between the kind of love that pulls too much from you, leaving you drained, and the kind that is a steady, constant feeling of comfort.  Choose the latter. 

Lucky One

Stoned, In the early afternoon heat, I stumbled into my bungalow on the beach.  

This, a routine I had been doing for the last few weeks.  I’d wake when the sun beating on my thatched roof got to be too much, slip on my suit, open the door, and slide into the lukewarm Gulf of Thailand. Refreshed, I’d emerge and meet friends at the beach restaurant for a bite to eat.   Following that, we’d smoke a joint and lay on the beach. 

This was my happy place.  I’d listen to Portishead’s Dummy or St. Germain’s Tourist and write.  We would talk about home, the three of us.  We shared our upbringings, and I’d collect little bits of them in my journal on that beach.  Our bond strengthened by our reasons for travelling to the island.  

Little did I know, someone else on that beach wanted to know me.  He followed me with his eyes and memorized my super simple island routine. Watching, timing, and waiting to take from me what I would have never given freely to him.  

So, on that day, when I stumbled into my bungalow, stoned and exhausted, he waited and quietly let himself in.  My camera, passport, and wallet strewn about the small 10x10 space, but he didn’t want to take those things.  He wanted to take my outgoingness, my freedom, my energy, the way my hair dried of salt-water, my tanned skin, the way I flirted with other island men.  He had watched me (I was told after the fact) and wanted to take from me everything that I would never have given to him.

When I opened my eyes, he was hunched over at my head staring at me, inches from my face.  It’s like he had hesitated, and I woke up before he could pull the trigger.  I jumped up, stoned and confused.  I spoke to him calmly and frankly - What are you doing in here?  This is MY space?  I know my door wasn’t locked. Could you please leave? As I spoke to him, conscious not to get too mad or offend him, I opened the door.  

Somewhere down the beach, my travel companions noticed my open door.  Excited I was awake they decided to come up to my bungalow to collect me to get a head start on the day’s adventures.  When they walked into the bungalow, they were confused about who the intruder was.  Startled by their presence, he took off running down the beach, and I collapsed onto my mattress on the floor.  There I sat, and wept.  

I wept because my mother’s fears were not unfounded.  Some men will take what they want.  He wanted to take from me, and I was lucky.  I am a lucky one.  I was lucky that my door opened at the same time that two Canadians looked up from their beach walk.  How is that lucky?  How is it lucky to NOT get raped?  Jesus. How is our thinking so warped?  

Stoned, in the early afternoon heat, I stumbled out of my bungalow, changed, missing a piece of innocence and replacing it with this ridiculous feeling of luck. I’m a lucky one.