The title of today's blog entry, was taken from a song, by Outkast. This lyric has always resonated with me, and I find it to be very true, when looking at either the "good" or the "bad," in life. I was talking to my best friend, the other day, and we were discussing the "bad" things, which had happened to us, in our lives. We pretty much put it out there - a list of all the truly terrible things, which had happened. The list had some pretty big events - things which had been majorly devastating bombshells, when dropped in their days. The list included deaths of friends and family (and even pets), rape, abuse, accidents, failure from school, the end of long relationships, betrayal by friends and loved ones, rumors which had been spread about us, getting fired from jobs...things which hardly anyone would volunteer to experience. The weird thing, though, is that when we laid all these things out, in the open, some of their power seemed to diminish.

With the passing of time, the wounds were not so fresh and raw. Everyone knows the adage "time heals all wounds," and while I don't totally agree with this, it is, naturally, at least partially true, on some level. But why is it, that time would heal us? Is it that we forget? No; with many of these events, I can recall even the tiniest details of the days, things which are seemingly insignificant, but forever burnt onto my mind, heart, and soul...things like the shoes I was wearing at my grandmother's funeral, exactly what I had bought at the store, on the day I totalled my first car, the exact pattern on the pair of underwear that I was wearing, on the night I lost my virginity...so why do we remember these things with a freshness that we might not even have for the events which took place yesterday, and yet, we are still able to heal?

One theory, that I have, is that with the passage of time, we gain new knowledge about life events, which have transpired since the times of our tragedies. To revisit yet another overly familiar pearl of wisdom, "there is a silver lining to every cloud." While it is certainly true that very few of us would ever agree that a tragic accident was for the best, for example, there are often a few things in our lives, which we are happy about, or people whom we love, which/who would, arguably, not be present, had not some negative event first transpired.

Of the many examples I could offer, here are a few of the more benign ones, which I feel comfortable sharing with my (however tiny) internet readership: when I was a little girl, I lived, for a time, in a really neat rural farmhouse, with an amazing barn to play in, secret staircases, and all kinds of wonderful trees to climb. I really, truly, loved that place, and I had several great friends, who lived nearby. Therefore, it was devastating news to me, when I learned that my dad had been transferred, at work, and that we needed to move to a new town. But of course, without this loss I experienced, I would have never met the amazing friends, who waited for me in my new town and school. This is a simple example, but life is full of them. Here is another: when my most beloved pet dog was hit by a car and killed, I was truly heartbroken. I blamed myself forever (and still do, often), and even now, years later, tears come to my eyes, when I think of her. However, I also know that if she was still alive, I would have never gone to the animal shelter and rescued Casey, the terrier mutt who currently keeps my feet warm, at night. I love Casey to no end, and if I hadn't adopted him, he might not be alive today. For sure, I am still incredibly sad to think of the dog I lost, but thinking about what is, which would not have been, softens the sharp edges of grief.

There are other examples, as well. There have been times, in the past, when I have encountered disappointments, only to realize, later, that there may have been unintended consequences, had my initial plans not been foiled. For example, several years ago, my mom and I planned to take a sightseeing trip to New York. We were going to stay in downtown Manhattan. However, I broke some household rule, and a fight ensued, and my mom decided that my ultimate punishment should be a cancelation of the New York trip. I was so angry! I just thought the world had ended, and my mom was being ridiculously unfair. As it turned out, it was definitely for the best, that we did not go; the trip had been planned during the week of September 11, 2001.

Still, these examples are small, compared to many others. Sometimes, the bad things which happen to us, are obviously much greater, with a much more vast an impact, than the mere cancelation of a trip. As my friend and I discussed these events from our lives, the most prominent, in her mind, was her ex-husband's extramarital affair, and their ultimate divorce. The events of that year, in her life, were hugely devastating, to her, and put her in a bit of a downward spiral, for a time. However, today she is very happily remarried, to a wonderful, loving man, who is actually a much better "fit" for her, than her ex was, and also a much better father, to her daughter. Of course, had it not been for her ex-husband's affair, and for her divorce, she would never have been able to find the real love of her life.

Naturally, though, it was difficult for her to speculate or prognosticate such an impossibly rosy outcome, when the life she had planned, had initially fallen into shambles. As I see her total happiness, today, and I recall the extreme depths of despair she experienced, a few years ago, it gives me more clarity in how it is smart, and vital, to discipline myself against succumbing to the nagging, choking fears, that today's major struggles, will never find an end. I know that no one can live in pain, forever. However, I am also reminded of the smile on her face, on the day of her first wedding, and I realize that even the best-laid plans, are only first drafts and rough approximations of what might lie ahead. Planning for tomorrow is essential, to be sure, but planning for the future, and dwelling on the past, must never replace the reality of looking at today as a viable opportunity for real happiness and growth.

In reflecting on this concept, I have done some reading, and I came across this ancient Taoist parable. It summarizes how any given situation can be good or bad, depending upon how it is framed, in the context of the other life events, of the person living it:

A farmer in a poor country village was considered very well-to-do, because he owned a horse which he used for plowing and for transportation. One day his horse ran away. All his neighbors exclaimed how terrible this was, but the farmer simply said, "Maybe."

A few days later the horse returned and brought two wild horses with it. The neighbors all rejoiced at his good fortune, but the farmer just said, "Maybe."

The next day the farmer's son tried to ride one of the wild horses; the horse threw him and broke his leg. The neighbors all offered their sympathy for his misfortune, but the farmer again said, "Maybe."

The next week conscription officers came to the village to take young men for the army. They rejected the farmer's son because of his broken leg. When the neighbors told him how lucky he was, the farmer replied, "Maybe..."

Ahh, work. I have a love/hate relationship with my job. Mainly, that is, I love payday, and I hate all the other days. Tonight, I had a particularly fun evening. Whilst my spouse is out in Los Angeles, watching the tide come in at the Santa Monica pier, strolling down Rodeo Drive, and eating In-n-Out, I am here, at work, registering nothing but domestic violence victims and psych patients. Joy.

This morning, I received notice of a psych admit. The diagnosis was "Major depression, borderline personality disorder, suicidal and homicidal ideations." The patient's first name was Sandy. The information that I had on the patient, from the patient's prior visit, indicated that the patient was male. Now, why you would name your baby boy "Sandy," is beyond me; there are certainly many perfectly lovely names for a boy, but Sandy is not one of them. Of course, it seems to be the trend, these days, for parents to name their little girls, Charlie, Dylan, Ryan, Hayden, etc. I hate this trend, myself, but what can you do? Anyway, aside from Sandy Koufax (whose real name was "Sanford," anyway), and Sandy the dog, from the musical, "Annie," ("Sandy...Sandy's his name") I have never really heard of a boy named Sandy. To me, it's reminiscent of the Johnny Cash song, about a boy named Sue, so I guess maybe, as the song suggests, his parents wanted to raise one tough son of a bitch, so they figured naming him Sandy, would do the trick? Or else, they wanted to raise a homicidal maniac? If that is the case, they were apparently successful.

So anyway, I filled out all the appropriate paperwork, generated a wristband, etc., and went into Sandy's room. Here is what I saw: the patient was dressed in a masculine style, consisting of jeans, and t-shirt, and work boots. However, s/he had her/his hair in pigtails, but covered, for the most part, by a 'do-rag. I thought I sensed a bit of a 5-o'clock shadow, but the patient's face was very feminine, and his/her voice sounded like a woman's. If I had to guess, even without knowing the patient's name, I would have guessed lesbian or biker chick with a possible hormone imbalance. To make matters worse, as a matter of courtesy, I addressed the patient by "Mr. XXX," to which she/he raised an eyebrow and said "excuse me?" However, I could not discern whether this was the result of apparent indignation, at having been addressed as a member of the wrong sex, or as the result of being sleepy/hard of hearing.

I never did ascertain whether or not the patient was actually male. I hurried out of the room, filed the paperwork, and now Sandy is someone else's responsibility. I just hope that if he is a she, then this is all resolved, before they put her in with a male roommate. I really didn't feel like asking any questions, though. I am already peeved that I am not in California, right now. It would really be adding more insult, and injury, to my situation, if I die at the hands of an androgynous homicidal maniac, when I don't even want to be here.

I really can't stand this job, sometimes, but every time I fantasize about quitting, I remember that payday is just around the corner. Oh, sweet payday, I hear your siren song calling me...it is the song which forces me to sail on, the song which causes me to crash into jagged rocks filled with homicidal trannies. Yeah, you know you're jealous of my life, right about now.

So I have a plan. It's sort of a secret. Only a few people know about it. It's kind of fun to have a secret like this. Do you want me to let you in on it? I am planning to run away to California. I have wanted to go west, for years now, but I've always been met with resistance, or doubt, or just reasons why it's not a good idea, why I should wait until later...but now is the time. I need change. I can feel it in my bones. The desert, the mountains, the shore...I don't care. I'll even take a 909 area code, and be considered a hick. A hick, of California's standards, is better than the social rank I hold, in Illinois, for sure...

I like my secret. Some days, when I am met with an obnoxious coworker, prattling on about some stupid, inane nonsense, whose sense of self-righteousness is insanely disproportionate to their actual insignificance, I just think about my secret. I think about how someday, soon, I will be so far away from this time and place...knowing that I will be gone from here, is like having a lucky pebble in my pocket, which I can rub for reassurance. Meditation, to me, has become the simple act of allowing the chatter of stupid people to fade into white noise; in my mind, it becomes the lapping of the Pacific Ocean against the shoreline.

They say that the best way to see my hometown is in your rear-view mirror. I am sure that I will agree, and someday, soon, I will be able to say that I know this, for sure.