Allowance(s)~

Anybody remember allowances from growing up? I remember my friends having them...a certain amount of money *usually pretty modest* that their parents would allocate to them each week. Usually it involved an exchange of the green in return for domestic chores, or helping out in a number of ways. My friends would mostly use their funds for going to the movies, or clothes, or (once we hit middle school) “hot” dates ;) And man, those bowling alleys and arcades were off the hook! We were so cool...swingin' hipsters, I tell you~

As for me, I do not remember an allowance. I do recall regarding the concept of them as being a bit foreign. Even the name, "allowance" carries such a loaded and strange connotation to it. In my home, my sisters and I were simply expected to help around the house as members of the family. The thought of getting otherwise rewarded (besides a deeply felt "thank you!" from my amazing momasita) was equally as alien. If I wanted money for spending or something extra....(say...like perhaps meeting that smokin' boy at the mall and cruising around all TWO of the shops until our moms came to get us in the matching mini vans...around 9pm...* live it up!*) then I babysat, or found other odd jobs apart from regular washing of the dishes and keeping our family home clean. The funniest thing is that I don't remember being annoyed by this fact that I had no allowance. I felt it was not "owed" to me simply for helping my mom out around the house, and for being a contributing member of the family—pitching in wherever was needed.

Today I am thinking of adult allowance(s). I see many of them...but as adults we are no longer supplied by our parents, and it seems to be of a much different, and less tangible, genre of "green." As a (ahem) grown up, I feel I receive an allowance (of sorts) everyday...from the world. I see this presenting itself in various forms---as love, acceptance, encouragement, and affirmation, etc…

I also, at the ripe old age of 28, am looking at this allowance...of love, of acceptance, of encouragement, of affirmation...and beginning to ask myself...what is expected of me to earn such a sum this week? Is there a list someone could please post on the fridge? (You know, the kind with small checkboxes perhaps? Or a honeydew melon graphic on the top--sous smiley-faced green gourd attached?) No? Well that would be too simple and straightforward, then, wouldn’t it?

In our world, I wonder what the “acceptable” labor and toil required of me is/ would be….and I wonder if I secretly deep down feel the need to “earn” my allowance…or even worse, if I walk around with an attitude of being “owed” (and hence, demanding of the world) this allotment. Either attitude, I have a sneaking feeling, will get me a pittance (and a begrudging one at that).

So, I’ve a mind to do away with this whole allowance business! I believe it best if I follow the practice of my youth. I will have a deep awareness that (although most definitely worthy of provision and goodness) I am not “owed” anything by anyone. I will simply throw my full efforts into claiming my role as an integral and contributing (without reservation—or expectation) member of this non-biological brotherhood I satellite around daily. In turn, I will not feel this need to “earn” anything—for there will be no formal offering of payment.

It will be as before…my needs will be met…all that is required to sustain comes for those that are family…ohana…and who live, and move, and have their being as an integral piece of the whole. Seeking the “green” now takes on a whole new meaning:

G-rowth

R-efreshment

E-ncouragement

E-nrichment

N-ewness~

May we all have more than enough green to sustain us—never feeling owed—never having to earn—but rather stepping up, and serving up…as siblings~

Labels~

Labels. They share information. They indicate things—things like how much something costs (or better yet, how much we paid for it). Sometimes they provide the consumer with further instructions or directions as to how to proceed with the product to which the label is attached.

For instance, in a nutrition label…the 8 MILLION grams of caffeine in my serving of soda * may * suggest to me, ever so gently, that I might not need TWO of them…that is, if I ever want to see the back of my eyelids again. Similarly, the label placed on the pack of cigarettes purchased at the corner market serves as a disclaimer, warning those that may not be aware, that there are health risks involved in the usage of the product they are about to buy. Clothing labels are particularly intriguing to me, I must admit. Designer jeans and outfits apparently have labels whose value (yes, those teeny, tiny, few small square inches of fabric) apparently surpass the monetary worth of the entire material mass to which they adhere. At least in America the BEAUTIFUL~

Labels posted on the back of ANYTHING purchased from Home Depot or Radio Shack (yes, and any of those other stores that sell products that * gasp * expect us to put something together) …I will pause a moment to allow a collective group shared moment—a celebration and awareness of the unity brought upon us as we think of how we all share that foreshadowed frustration when the label “Assembly Required” is read….* shared shudder *~

As well as products, I am realizing more and more how “labels” are also assigned to people. Sometimes the individuals attach themselves with a certain branding—sports stars crown themselves with glorious nicknames and monikers, announcing their awesomeness to all. Couples are known to the rest of the world as, “married” “divorced” “engaged” “courting” “separated” “dating” “talking” “texting,” or “INSERT OTHER CREATIVE DESCRIPTION OF ATTRACTION HERE_______.” * Oh, the drama—the angst!…and yes, such a large spectrum to measure the sliding scale(s) of togetherness *~

We have labels indicating (or so it may seem) who we are…and by this, I mean, our professions…doctors, lawyers, policemen, teachers, mothers. Our preference of partners also assigns us a tag—gay, homosexual, heterosexual, bi-sexual * and for one particular season of my life, I vaguely recall believing that ASEXUAL should be among these as well…) yeah…some of you know what I’m talkin’ bout~

As I ponder the concept of labels...thinking of my own and those I see most closely surrounding me, I often ask if they are necessarily good or bad. Or does it depend on the context(s) or connotation(s) of the label(s)? I am unsure as of yet as to my exact answer, even…I am pondering. But I am intrigued nonetheless…and I do believe it is a question worthy of seeking answer(s).

Oh labels! How I am fascinated by all that you say…but more, even, perhaps by what you do not~

Love By Any Other Name...

A fellow sojourner had some amazing insight and additional perspective regarding my most recent post. I am copying her thoughts here and encourage anyone who hasn't read it, to do so, so you can truly hear her voice and, that, in turn, my thoughts may also have a place within contextual walls.

Our friend was lamenting over society's convoluted concept of love: " i meant love, romantic love...[..]..i'm not disillusioned, what's elusive is love itself. who could define or measure? our society seems to idealize it therefore many suffer from unnecessary heart breaking."

I sadly agree with her take on the state of society's mindset. I see our present population as having a very unrealistic view of love, therefore making it so elusive that it is cruelly unattainable in the vessel of a human counterpart. She mentioned how we idealize love...as in, making it (love)... (or at least our idea of love), as the ideal, or end objective goal--the dangling carrot we are desiring to obtain and possess.

Like this beautiful woman, I too have been affected by such ridiculous and rude expectations....completely cruel in their disregard of my own reality and heart's well-being. I think of this with such an aching, and pray that society *myself included* would embrace love that is fierce with reality...and rather than idealize it, that we would RESPECT it...Listen for it--and then PRACTICE "it"~

I was thinking more about this, what I see as a breathtaking, ferocious love...one that is palpable in life--is felt, and shown, and a force to be reckoned with, rather than some sweet, ethereal cotton-candy coated ideal. I thought of a quote I recently read of one of my longtime favorite authors, Lucy Maude Montgomery. She said: "What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality."

I think *without getting on a soapbox here* that maybe where things are breaking down, or simply getting lost in translation, is in the illusion *ideal* of love that we humans have bought into. It is fed to us daily through media-meals, romance novels, Hollywood films, even in gazing *short-sightedly* at one another's relationships *not realizing there is always more than meets the eye*. Real love is tough. It's not sweet all the time. It's hard to chew, and often hard to swallow. It is tiring to practice. It is elusive to "catch." It is often hidden due to the fact that real love is quiet and unassuming...not announced with fanfare or regaled with Blockbuster bells and whistles.

Love is indeed a four letter word...but one that I wish was never censored for the public. I wish we had just left it alone and rocked that word in all of its raw and, yes, (maybe) shocking, purest form (no stars here...)~

L-O-V-E. Uncensored. Let's use it to go shock some people...

'Effin Messy (A Tribute to Finger Painting, Flaws and Freedom)

I am in the middle of reading the book Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (extremely good, by the way) and I came across this passage regarding perfectionism. She is directly referencing the process of writing, yet I have complete faith that a lesson about life is fast on its heels... Such wisdom and awareness could not go undocumented here:

"Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground--you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it's going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation, while writing (LIFE??) needs to breathe and move."

For some reason, as I read this passage (the whole chapter, really) I could not get the image of children finger painting out of my head. Kids--- ten-tentacled--caked to the core with a rainbow pallet of bright blues, radiant reds, and glittering greens--they "stroke". Swirling and twirling--swinging wide-- joyously launching globs and blobs of pigment with reckless abandon. Hues hurtle heedlessly towards the canvas--splashing; spreading; saturating every inch of naked space--clothing it with color. A spirit of frenzied freedom breathes life into the previous pallor.

Children are no respecters of lines...this is evident as one surveys the carnage of a canvas that was once so tidy and neat. Yes, I say, carnage....for the children have feasted upon their freedom of flaws...having satisfied themselves upon the sweet surrender of sterility. And it was good~