tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22779168706514364832024-03-05T14:00:54.883-08:00Get the Frump Out of Your RumpNo one wants to be called a "frump." So, the last time someone said "stop being a frump" I took him seriously.
This is a 30-something's pursuit of happiness and empowerment, and ultimately something fabulous.Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-16010605214680474132012-08-13T21:42:00.003-07:002012-08-13T21:42:40.316-07:00Meet Me Here<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Join me on my new journey at the above site. For awhile, you might see some posts from this site make an appearance on the Grace Redefined site. The point of Grace Redefined is to encourage and provide hope to those who may need it and share the journey of someone who seeks it herself.<br />
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<br />Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-75671123717704700472012-08-06T23:38:00.000-07:002012-10-14T22:25:02.274-07:00Be Careful Who We Let Out Of Our Lives<br />
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<i>I am currently in the process of starting a new blog. The title is "Grace Redefined." When it's up and running I'll let you know here, and tell you what it's all about. This blog post would work perfectly there... </i></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><b>“Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Wishing is not enough; we must do.” </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><b>~ Johann Wolfgang Van Goeth</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There is this commercial for some arthritis medication that shows on television stations here, and it’s one that replays in my head. What I get out of it is this, “a body in motion stays in motion.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What I get out of <i>that</i>, is that we can’t leave everything to chance. <b>There is God’s will, and then there’s what God wills us to do. </b>I don’t care if you have enough money in the world to buy what you want out of life; you’re not going to get that job if you don’t apply. You won’t win an Olympic Gold Medal if you don’t realize that something athletic is your God-given talent and spent every available moment working to perfect the craft that He gave you. No one said it was going to be easy, but we all know it feels amazingly good when hard work prevails, good overcomes, and success is rewarded. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The last few posts have been about friendship, and this post applies to friendship again. Kris Allen sings the song “Live Like We are Dying,” and in it he says, “be careful who we left out of our lives.” I hear it as, “be careful who we let fall out of our lives.” ‘</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Face it, you won’t talk to every friend or every person in your life every single day. It would be a full-time job to physically and emotionally maintain those relationships. Facebook makes it easy, texting makes it removed, and I’m flabbergasted when I get a phone call. A handwritten note card? Stop the presses! That’s breaking news. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXB2ox1OQpmwuzlHY76E2YcMF8GQmrjFRivBobL8ZD1B7FpGncl6tBIBPrlvC46bBHGDtsgBxMlHkqM-_RzpMNFrjBViVdrgZIA_EqEsPbStoaWAuAmwTRMuKeAEKbqPhWxplEPsoat0I/s1600/MD129Your-Friendship-Is-A-Special-Gift-Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXB2ox1OQpmwuzlHY76E2YcMF8GQmrjFRivBobL8ZD1B7FpGncl6tBIBPrlvC46bBHGDtsgBxMlHkqM-_RzpMNFrjBViVdrgZIA_EqEsPbStoaWAuAmwTRMuKeAEKbqPhWxplEPsoat0I/s200/MD129Your-Friendship-Is-A-Special-Gift-Poster.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Through some unexplained reason, I found myself compelled to sit down last weekend and write handwritten note cards and letters. My intention was just to brighten someone’s day, but as I was writing, I could feel the Spirit move within me. Halfway through writing one note, I stopped to get out a file box filled of writings I started more than 10 years ago. Out of possibly 600 different things, I pulled out three to transcribe. The last one just hit me right over the head. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I won’t share that here now, but what I will say, it’s about telling those you love you love them and why when you know. We can’t wish our friends (or family, or spouse, or lovers, or anyone) to know how much they mean to us, nor can we hope we may ever mean anything to them. We have to actually do something about it, and expect nothing in return. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A body in motion stays in motion. </i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A heart that loves always loves. </i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Some of the most profound friendships in my life involve a person who walked in when everyone else walked out; a person who encouraged my strengths when others highlighted faults; a person who felt comfortable enough to confide in me when others might judge; and then there are the people who simply are always on the line. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i><b>“Sometimes our candle goes out, but is blown into flame by an encounter with another human being.” ~ Albert Schweitzer </b></i></span></div>
Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-49709362364943021122012-07-31T22:08:00.002-07:002012-08-01T23:50:03.657-07:00Friendship in a Constantly Changing World<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Change is hard, big or small,”</i> wrote my Grandma, nearly word for word, in the last legible handwritten notecard she sent.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It came just days before she went into surgery for her fourth hip replacement (long story.) </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Change <b><i>is </i></b>hard, big or small. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I heavily grieved the loss, and still do, of her active presence in my everyday life. At first, I was not sure what I would do if I couldn’t go to the mailbox and find a handwritten card from her. I called her answering machine, over, and over, and over again. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lately, all I seem to notice is change. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Friends move away, people change jobs, friends get married, have babies, or get divorced and move on. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In my naive youth, I once said, “I need to see change constantly.” </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Perhaps that’s not so surprising considering I work in an industry that thrives on changing events as they happen, and even I have an adrenaline rush when plans change last minute and I am forced to adapt. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Is it possible this is why some of us listen to the same song over and over again? Or, is it why one of my best friends and I chose to watch Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion possibly 80 times before we started college? </span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Even still, while I am a little bit attention-deficit and talk in circles sometimes, I need a <i>constant</i> much more than I need constant change. </span></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Perhaps, just possibly, we wanted so badly to stay in a place that we knew we couldn’t stay in anymore, so we found something that would stay the same. </span></span></i></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As a Christian who struggles with just as much as the next person, the only constant I know is my Lord and Savior. Yet, I’m also of this life and living in it now and know that I look for a constant here, too. I am not entirely sure if it is a faith issue as much as it is a human issue. </span></span></i></div>
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It may even just be a living creature issue! Elephants know this, dogs know this; even dogs and elephants together know this to be true (and the subsequent heartache that comes in losing their friend.) </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wwwimage.cbsnews.com/CBS_Production_News/938/472/evening_hartman0102_480x360.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://wwwimage.cbsnews.com/CBS_Production_News/938/472/evening_hartman0102_480x360.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TARRA, the elephant, and BELLA, the dog in 2009 (CBS News)<br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The Bible itself says two are better than one, and three are better than two (<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes+4%3A9-12&version=NIV">Ecc 4:9 -12</a>).</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i>The key is in not getting stuck on just one person. Two may be better than one, but not if you’re the only two people standing. I’ve learned this lesson in friendship before. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tonight, I raise my glass to the friends of all walks of life, different parts of my life, and the people I haven’t met yet. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Let us thank God and nurture the friendships that validate us, support our inner spirit, keep our light from burning out, and encourage us to never give up, and do the same for them</i>.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">LEARN MORE ABOUT TARRA AND BELLA:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/2100-500617_162-4696340.html">One Elephant Sanctuary, Unlikely Friends - November 2010</a></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18563_162-57319021/tarra-and-bella-elephant-loses-mans-best-friend/">Tarra and Bella: Elephant Loses Man's Best Friend - November 2011</a></div>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><a href="http://www.elephants.com/tarra/TarraBella.php">The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee</a></span></span><br />
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</div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-1834246595828573262012-05-30T23:04:00.003-07:002012-05-30T23:09:40.049-07:00A Blank Page Everyday<br />
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Seeing how I cannot seem to bring myself to spend the time creating a new blog home, I guess I will continue writing here. That is, at least, for awhile.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Returning now, to where we once were:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i>The construct (which is a word I like a lot, by the way, after years of it being drilled into my head by literature professors) of the day I revisited my friend wasn’t much different than visits in the past. As in many friendships, I found myself calmly surrendering, moment by moment, so that the reunion could actually happen. Simple as it were, the conditions on how we were to meet up changed at the last minute. Unlike the rigid tendency of lasting relationships and others saturated with disappointment, I politely obliged. The point was, and as it should likely be in any friendship, to spend time together. It’s hard to catch up on six years in just a couple hours. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She couldn’t believe it had been six years, she said, as we hopped in the car to visit her eldest child’s school. <i>A treat</i>, I thought to see this girl who, herself, was six years old when I first met her. College is now just around the corner and I grappled with the very thought of that. Then, I had to pause and remember that I was 19 then, and I am certainly not 19 anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let me just tell you,” she said as we pulled out of the driveway. That’s how the conversations begin. I listened for a few minutes, and also talked, about my own circumstance and how things had evolved over the past few years. Although, we both only really focused on recent months. The situations were different but the themes were the same: heartache, growth, discovery, and hope. When is it really ever different?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I am so tired,” she was saying. It sounded so familiar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ten, maybe eleven, years earlier I remember driving East on a freeway in very similar, but not so similar, circumstances. We intended to spend time together, but the course of the day changed, and I went along for errands and chores and what not. I went, just so what would normally be a forty-five minute to an hour visit could actually happen. It just took about three hours. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Yes, I talked too. Just not as much as I used to.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOlf4jCA_Fr_T1chTALgLRRSATtmBgWOp-FMLvV1PKrcSMRghr96FaVHFM0ApVtcr9EtHC1YnJdPc72v5M2BNC245zm6o1CcPkjLwM2wE1D0njVMpsWzv0kBJ3l9AGIh5j6BU-L4Y0Ms/s1600/Writing-blank-page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOlf4jCA_Fr_T1chTALgLRRSATtmBgWOp-FMLvV1PKrcSMRghr96FaVHFM0ApVtcr9EtHC1YnJdPc72v5M2BNC245zm6o1CcPkjLwM2wE1D0njVMpsWzv0kBJ3l9AGIh5j6BU-L4Y0Ms/s200/Writing-blank-page.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> A blank page looks a lot like what a real friendship is, friendships of all kinds and varying degrees of time spent. <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Years earlier, as I previously discussed, my college roommate and I celebrated in denial of the discovery that we were friends. Yet, just because we had this very honest realization didn’t mean we suddenly understood it. Nor did it mean that it, this friendship (or any, for that matter), would be easy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>These two friendships are entirely different but incredibly parallel. I was discovering one as I was discovering the other, and it hurt the growth of both.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I think I was in denial of that, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> “You’re never home,” or something to that effect, said my college roommate to me on the cell phone as I was driving home from my other friend’s house. I was never home because I was either at school, like she was, or at work part time, or babysitting. It was true I was hardly ever home. Then, when that phone call was made, I didn’t understand or feel the emotional significance of that statement. Looking back, it has a deep meaning when I recall being the one who used to fetch ice cream for bad days and stay up all night laughing and giggling when things were funny. It is true, I did not have time, nor did I make time, for that anymore. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There’s no use on wasting time on guilt, nor do I have any regrets. I just thank God I have both these friends today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You get a blank page with real friendships. You get a blank page everyday. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-67205661901896254412012-05-27T04:17:00.000-07:002012-05-27T05:52:43.108-07:00Discovery Begins with Denial<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When I started this
blog, I didn’t think there would be such long periods of time in-between one
post and another. Yet, I certainly didn’t think I would write everyday either. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ve thought about
writing a few times since the first of the year, but thought I had promised to
start over. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Starting over, it
seemed at the time, involves an entirely new creative process. I thought, how
can I start over if I don’t have a new blog title, a new purpose, and actually
help people? That is the goal, after all. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Most writers don’t
spend time penning something just because they have a story inside them that is
burgeoning and begging to be told. They end up writing that story because they
believe it will help someone. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Six years
and a lifetime of experience later, I found myself at the doorstep of a home
that once represented everything I had hoped for. Before ringing the bell, or
knocking, I looked around at a landscape that had mostly stayed the same.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Calm, and
completely composed, I rang the bell. Then, I turned and looked out at the
view, remembering years ago telling a friend, “I can see my parents’ house from
here.” </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I continued
gazing out into the past, as it were, and wondered how many dreams had come
true since I last visited; how many dreams shattered. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the
door opened, I found myself 19 again, but much more confident. I was visiting a
former colleague, who at one point had been the person who initiated a catalyst
of change in my professional life. It was her husband who answered the door. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the few moments we stood there talking,
filling years of time with quips about the business and personal goals, this
long-awaited reunion felt nothing like what happens in the movies. Perhaps the
most significant marker of time passing was in the age of their children, and
the great height one of them now stood. Where was that little girl I used to
baby-sit, I wondered. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My friend
came downstairs and in a moment, what felt like six years felt like six minutes
and a lifetime in the same moment. Unlike some of my closest friendships (and
even the ones you know you are supposed to keep up), we didn’t pick up right
where we left off, but we did. <o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It hasn’t
been six years,” she exclaimed. I confirmed, with proper memory and data to
back it up. “No way!” <o:p> </o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Denial
seems to be the first indication that two people were ever friends to begin
with. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I remember,
years earlier, around the time I first met my friend, I was having dinner with
my college roommate and her mother. I think it was Mother’s Day weekend of
freshman year. That second semester, she and I had every single class – but one,
together. I don’t remember what we were eating, or where we went to eat, but I
do remember what I was wearing. I remember, because we took a picture that
night upon a moment of discovery (or, at least I think we did).</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My college
roommate’s mom said, “Oh, you guys are friends.” The two of us looked at each
other, shrugged, kind of in shock, and denied it. I remember the awareness of
that fact, and not the circumstances surrounding it, like it was yesterday.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Discovery
begins with denial. <br />
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m going
to let that stew for a bit.</div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-47755444806782910512012-01-14T14:02:00.000-08:002012-01-14T14:02:36.744-08:00Help Wanted: New Blog Title, New Layout, New VoiceNow that it's a new year, I think it's time for a new <strike>blog,</strike> that is, a new blog title. Not for the blog post, but an entirely different blog altogether.<br />
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This will stay up as an archive of sorts, and a new one will begin. </div>
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I'm looking at a few different options that involve not only the things that I'm passionate about, but the things that are relevant to other people.</div>
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I'm open to ideas.</div>
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</div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-29887850732743752932012-01-04T12:31:00.001-08:002012-01-04T12:32:53.059-08:00Toast: To Opportunity (12/31)<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">December 31st</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>Toast</i></b><i>: Who and what are you toasting to in 2012? </i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Funny I should ask this, I just toasted - virtually - to a friend of mine in New York. It goes the same, I'm toasting to my friends (my friendships) and family. I'm toasting for success, love, and peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the middle of it all, toasting to opportunity. </span></div>
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<div style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 12px/normal Helvetica; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opportunity to spend more time talking with and spending time with friends and family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opportunity to do better at my job and learn new skills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opportunity to go on a date, or two, maybe, once in a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opportunity to give back, volunteer, and help make the world a better place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hmm, maybe I should go back to yesterday's post and say the word for 2012 is opportunity!</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial;">The rest of the Resonating Reflections of 2011 can be found<a href="http://resonate11.blogspot.com/"> here.</a></span></em></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-57895205095880495772011-12-21T23:37:00.001-08:002011-12-21T23:37:55.509-08:00Traditions: Of Love & Christmas (12/21)<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">December 21st</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Tradition: </i></b><i>What are your traditions of Christmas? Or Hanukkah, if that’s what you celebrate. Is there one thing that spans generations or your family or just in your life? </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This will be the fifth Christmas since my Grandma passed away and the sixth since we had Christmas with her last. So many of my Christmases and traditions involved her, but that was another time.</span></div>
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There are a few traditions that have followed my life.</div>
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One, my Dad has a little blue nightlight that he will plug in my bedroom and turn the light on Christmas eve. The theory was, if the light was off when I woke up in the morning it meant Santa Claus had come. The light was always off in the morning, even the last time I spent Christmas at home, when I was 29. </div>
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Second, when I was a lot younger, my Dad started buying little house ornaments from Hallmark. They were on of the "collections." Each year, from about 1985, I'd get a new house for Christmas. When I was about 12 or 13, and I only had a few, I used them to be the "neighbors" for my gigantic dollhouse. Suddenly, when I was about 26 or 27, there were enough ornaments for my Mom to decorate the Christmas tree with only the houses. That's what she did this year, she said. [photo to come when I see it!] </div>
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Now, as I look at these two, these are the only two traditions that continue to this day. But, there are others. </div>
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There is the tradition that lasted for several years of my hometown Church holding a midnight service and we would sing <i>Silent Night</i> outside in front of the sanctuary. </div>
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Then, there is the tradition when we would have Christmases with some family friends to watch a movie. </div>
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For a long time, just after Thanksgiving, a package would arrive in the mail. It was a three foot piece of green felt with three golden rings tied to it, cascading in rows to the bottom. The dates were cut out in red felt. Each day, I'd have something new to open: a pencil, a dollar bill, a pair of socks, or maybe a piece of candy. </div>
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Even still, another memory involves my Grandma taking me out onto the front porch to see if I could hear Santa Claus. She would bend slightly over with her arms around me, holding me close to keep me warm. Then, faintly, I'd hear, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" off in the distance. It wasn't until I was about 16... that I figured out how close Santa Claus was to my backyard. </div>
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These are all memories that I'll be able to carry on into my own family, and one I'm already planning on passing along to my pseudo-nephew. Every child and every family needs a Christmas tradition that spans time, whether the people who helped make them happen aren't around anymore, or not. Sometimes, when we stop experiencing the tradition ourselves, it's time to pass it on to someone else. </div>
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</div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-49090680960175276742011-12-12T23:16:00.000-08:002012-01-04T12:32:08.847-08:00Fear: Fear Itself (12/12)<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">December 12th</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Fear</i></b>: <i>What were you afraid of in 2011? How did you let fear control you? What will you to do confront it in 2012?</i></span></span></div>
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I was once afraid of seaweed. I grew up, for the most part, in Southern California. Boogie boarding and taking to the ocean were the highlights of much of my upbringing. Years earlier, however, when I visited Hawaii for the first time (25 years ago) I was pulled down by the undertow. </div>
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A mixture of sand and water forced its way up my nose and into my throat, and while my eyes were peeled open, I couldn't see very well. Everything looked foggy and hazy like looking through a blurred and water-filled hourglass, the sand just slowly passing through. It would be at least half a year until I'd find out (as a second grader) that I would need glasses. </div>
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I felt my body slam against the bottom of the ocean, which may have only been three feet down, and the force of the water sent me ashore. It felt like hours, but possibly wasn't longer than thirty seconds, and I remember it as if it were yesterday.</div>
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It was one of the most frightening moments of my young life; to be sucked beneath the surface, unable to see, hear, or breathe, until I appeared once again.</div>
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A theme for me this year has been to trust my instincts and let go of the fear. Instinct, I believe, is about seeing something and knowing it's there. Faith, on the other hand, is about believing in what you see, without knowing it's there. Somehow, Heaven-sent, I've been able to slowly grasp my instinct, and faith when allowed. </div>
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The thing I feared most in 2011 was, in fact, fear itself. </div>
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I pray that I'd be able to stare down the fear and be able to make the necessary decisions for advancement and contentment and pure joy in life from the perspective of faith and the instinctual good of the moment. </div>
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<i>To read more about the end of the year journey, visit Resonating Reflections of 2011 by <a href="http://resonate11.blogspot.com/">clicking here</a>.</i></div>
</div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-43992740896159080942011-12-05T22:13:00.001-08:002011-12-05T22:15:00.648-08:00Miracle: Rediscovering Grace in the Restoration of Faith<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #008bb8; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: large;">December 4th</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Miracle: </i></b><i>Do you feel you experienced or witnessed miracle this year? How so?</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It might depend on how you describe a miracle. Some people describe seeing them in the moonlight, or in the sunshine, or in how the rays of sun glisten through clouds.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Miracles, for me, come through receiving grace. It seems that it often takes feeling a hurt deeper than you ever have felt before and sensing that your friendships, or your job, or your sanity will come crashing down. The sense of feeling as if you don’t do something and quickly you’ll never recover is what I call grace and a defining moment. </span></div>
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<a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2010/12/floating-on-wings-of-earthly-angels.html">A long-term relationship</a> ended just shy of one year ago. It pained me and yet I so desperately wanted to prove that I was going to be fine and that I could move on, I pushed myself to move on and be alright without ever actually confronting why it hurt so bad to begin with. Several months passed before I realized that this "thing" I wasn't dealing with could destroy every other relationship I had: feelings of doubt, feelings of mistrust, and a general feeling of abandonment. </div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was exhausted - emotionally, hurting and fearing that the people I love and who I believe cared about me and sustained me during the initial difficult time would back away. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tired, feeling very much alone, and with nowhere to go, I went to a Church. It wasn’t like any Church I’d ever been to... a satellite campus and broadcasted at a high school auditorium. Yet, I walked without resistance into the quad of the campus to see a sign that said, <a href="http://www.centralchristian.com/">“A Place Where It’s OK to Not Be OK.</a>” I immediately felt tears streaming down my face. </span></div>
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I was undoubtedly torn. At one point, I didn't know who I could trust nor did I know why I wondered and doubted that. This Church I had just walked into announced they were starting a series called, "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Torn-Trusting-When-Leaves-Pieces/dp/1601420730">Torn</a>: Trusting God When Life Leaves You in Pieces." </div>
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The Pastor, <a href="http://www.judwilhite.com/blog/">Jud Wilhite</a>, said at the beginning, "Maybe you don't know why that relationship ended, or maybe you don't know why it hurts." The tears at this point poured down my face. <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I thought, and somewhat still believe that the people I wanted to confide in, or had already vented to, may have considered me too emotional, or presumed I would have already moved on. I felt as though also these people I loved had their own concerns that I didn’t want to bother them. My ears heard the words, "It's not about you." </span></div>
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My heart ached. Of course it wasn't, it was about all of them. I wanted to be there for my friends and for my family but knew I couldn't because the hurt I felt inside was greater than any love - at that moment - that I could receive or offer. </div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Drug addicts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Domestic violence victims.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Assault survivors.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Foreclosures.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Job loss. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And so on... </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Many of us often rationalize that our hurts, a simple breakup, or the natural end-of-life death of a loved one, are not significant enough in either the eyes of God or our peers because our neighbors may be dealing with something that much "worse" or difficult.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In discovering grace, it becomes known that it doesn't matter what it is because you're the only one who is experiencing it. Only you know what it feels like to lose the job, to be abused, to have lost your house or try to quit... something. The one common theme is that each of us can be torn by that one issue only one of us knows about. That's where we can come together. </span></div>
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So, when I realized my life had left me emotionally in pieces, I chose to seek my faith. It was the beginning of the return back to feeling at peace with myself, at the risk of losing loved ones and friends in the process.<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Whether fortune or unfortunately, I had to work at rebuilding my faith, then myself, before I could tackle anything else. It's now all an evolving process. </span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/30922916?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/30922916">Torn: Lyric Video</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/centralonline">Central Online</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My prayer for the end of this year, is that through the restoration of faith and self-worth, may also my relationships with family and friends be restored too. That also, one day, if a friend is hurting and feeling like they need to climb out of darkness, I can either have the awareness or the invitation to offer a hand in that climb.</span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><a href="http://resonate11.blogspot.com/p/join-resonate-11.html" style="color: #b44f56; text-decoration: none;">Join the Journey</a>. Answer the Prompts & Tweet Your Link using #resonate11 & #reverb11</i></span></i></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-53794079398087960822011-12-02T17:29:00.001-08:002012-01-04T12:32:29.377-08:00Make: A Master's Degree & Wine Corks (12/2)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i>Make: </i></b><i>This is a two pronged prompt! What did you enjoy making this year? Did you “make the Dean’s list”? Or, maybe you made a really good wine, or maybe you made some furniture? And, what do you look forward to making during the holidays? Cookies? Homemade gifts? </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroxNeIbMqCnmIOg-VuE4djEzgcs-u8ZkMsqqbKPst-cVGAO_9zz9ugfiwF5Peq4BGvuSzahMJfCxkUhXWkSQqrX9rvhBl38B5bwroPb1wQKGX6HNzqMDtQZBstQ3kcij7S3dDZsSD9rJu/s1600/RRDay2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroxNeIbMqCnmIOg-VuE4djEzgcs-u8ZkMsqqbKPst-cVGAO_9zz9ugfiwF5Peq4BGvuSzahMJfCxkUhXWkSQqrX9rvhBl38B5bwroPb1wQKGX6HNzqMDtQZBstQ3kcij7S3dDZsSD9rJu/s200/RRDay2.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-decoration: underline;"><i>In 2011</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">At the end of April, or at the beginning of May, I finished my last final for the last class of my graduate program. I can say, looking back, that I thoroughly enjoyed “making” my degree. After all, learning is a key part of staying alive. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Deciding to go to graduate school in 2009 was a decision crafted by the downward spiral of the economy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My profession and my skills felt as though they were headed to the grave. The Internet takes much away from broadcast and the monotony of my daily tasks left me craving creativity. Fortunately, the program I enrolled in allowed me much of that.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-decoration: underline;"><i>For the Holidays</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Last year I <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2010/12/my-wine-corks-tell-story.html">blogged</a> about looking forward to making something with wine corks. I now have enough wine corks to make a Christmas tree, place settings, and I could definitely contribute to making a wine cork chair. My friends at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/onehopewine">ONEHOPE Wine</a> will understand where that came from. (Yes, finishing my Master's Degree has something to do with all the wine corks.)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And, speaking of wine, I was a part of a winemaking group at the end of 2010 and we bottled the wine in April. It’s supposed to be ready for the palate by Christmas. That’s something that I am looking forward to trying before the year is even over. Therefore, I suppose my answers could be the same. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">How about you? Did you make anything this year? What do you think about the value of education? </span></div>
</span>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-42630148213515712882011-12-01T20:22:00.001-08:002012-01-04T12:32:17.203-08:00Memory: An Empty Airplane Seat (12/1)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"><i>Earlier this week after learning that a blogging community I participated in last year would not continue, but would rather be a self-initiated event I decided to create Resonating Reflections. Last year, the group #Reverb10 built a community around one another and those who participated learned a lot about themselves, each other, and found support that otherwise may not have been there. Upon the suggestion that we each create our own #Reverb11, I settled upon the concept of #Resonate11. In essence, it's the same thing. I just used a different "name." So, whether you are in a #Reverb11 group, or joining this one, we're in this together. Thanks to the team that brought us here to begin with.</i></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">December 1st</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i>Memory:</i></b><i> What’s the first thing you remember about 2011? What stands out in your head? Grab a piece of paper and write down the first five things or moments that come to your mind. Then, write about them. Choose one that you remember the most. Why? Or, use your camera. Take a picture. Maybe you captured that moment you remember.</i></span></div>
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<li><i>Hawaii- Particularly an empty seat on an airplane</i></li>
<li><i>Pretzel M&M’s in Nashville </i></li>
<li><i>A fun night with a friend with whom I hadn't spent much time with</i></li>
<li><i>Watching Sara Evans sing “Stronger” on TV for the first time</i></li>
<li><i>Being dumfounded and surprised</i></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">That’s my list. They didn’t come to me so quickly, did they come quickly for you? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />For anyone who has followed the journey thus far on the blog, they likely know why the song “Stronger” resonates with me so deeply. Yet it’s nearly been one year since I had to become stronger.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">An Empty Plane Seat Next to Me<br />
January 12, 2011</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The first moment is the best moment that set me up for the whole year. I got on a plane to go to Hawaii, a trip I was supposed to take with someone else. Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean I realized why the seat was empty. I don’t know why it took me so long, I had only been single for a month. With the holidays in-between the four weeks felt like a mixture of four minutes and four years: a blur. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />As soon I figured it out, I took a picture. Then I asked the flight attendant for a glass of champagne. </span></div>
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<a href="http://resonate11.blogspot.com/"> </a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2o2PfV8ZaP_Uu64NsLFO61Zog-ohL0OEPaKgjRKtPXKVE7H8CFAFprP6CQPde2y8R2gE0tVKPc5ZNIOrbwPWE67_PIZtcnrv9h6qYjJR_Hig-xAOcMM-UcDhoc-wTURHe0cVZ9pjxyw1/s1600/Resonate11Button.jpg" /></div>
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<i><a href="http://resonate11.blogspot.com/p/join-resonate-11.html">Join the Journey</a>. Answer the Prompts & Tweet Your Link using #resonate11</i></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-75405862133378120472011-11-13T17:13:00.001-08:002011-11-13T17:37:49.738-08:00Putting the Puzzle Pieces of Life Together<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In five days it will be one year since I started this blog process. It started out as one kind of <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/p/getting-frump-out-of-my-rump.html">journey</a>, and as life changed, it has become another. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Writing often helps one put the <br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The other night, while on an airplane traveling to a getaway I wrote a poem. <b>Writing, for me, has always been an idiosyncratic process.</b> <b><i>It just happens. </i></b>When I write what reads like a poem or song lyrics to me the words flow in one stream of consciousness. Once, I wrote a two page poem, front and back, while in between classes in college. I had about seven minutes to do it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sometimes, with writing, the words just come because the story is already in the author. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">At the top of the page on yellow legal pad paper I wrote, “Written just shy of 11 months from the day since my life changed (not that anyone is counting).” I wanted to put some finality on <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-dont-want-worry-wrinkles.html">the shock that comes</a> when a relationship ends; or rather, <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2010/12/floating-on-wings-of-earthly-angels.html">when my relationship ended</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you remember, I started this blog because my boyfriend at the time would call me things that hurt my feelings. The ending of the relationship though, when that happened, it hurt more. Then, there were a lot of other feelings that came out over the course of time. Removed, I finally had a way to address what it felt like in that instant that everything changed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Who knows, maybe this will help you or someone you know deal with the pain, heartache, grief, or whatever it is. </span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I don't know what you just said.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm sorry, I missed it.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Tell me one more time that everything</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">is not alright.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Cuz I can't think.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm lost inside.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I can't find - </span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Where am I supposed to go?</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">You said goodbye, I know</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">That part I got right.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm sorry, but I don't know why?</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Tell me one more time that everything</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">is not alright.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Cuz I can't hear you.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm not listening.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I can't find - </span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Where am I supposed to go?</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">You're gone, You're gone.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm all alone, all alone.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Just get up and say goodbye. </span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">It's not for me to leave.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm sorry, you've got to go.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I don't know what you just said.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I'm sorry, I missed it.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">But that don't matter now -</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">You're gone, alright, and out of my life.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">and now I'm free</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Thank God you had to leave.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I am free.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Now that I'm who I'm supposed to be.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">And I am fine.</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">Everything is alright. </span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">How do you deal with loss? With heartache? What’s your method of dealing with what you know to be good (like the ending of a relationship that should have ended) and also with the sadness that it ended anyway? Do you allow yourself to realize that it’s alright and natural to feel both relief and sadness at the same time? Let me know what you think. If you want... </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Courtesy: http://uwbwritingcenter.wordpress.com/2010/10/18/confession-i-write-poetry/</span></span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-91914241309783764912011-11-09T23:46:00.000-08:002011-11-15T23:02:42.932-08:00If I Die Young... (Part 1)<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Kimberly Perry is somewhat in a state of contentment. The song she wrote, that her band (<a href="http://www.thebandperry.com/about.html">The Band Perry</a>) sings and has won awards for is all <i><b>about knowing all is well.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>con·tent·ment</b>/kənˈtentmənt/</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Noun:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A state of happiness and satisfaction.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Synonyms:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">satisfaction - gratification - complacency - complacence</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Just in case you were wondering.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In my last post I wrote about writing something down, making it happen, writing it into life. Writing, for me, is a way of putting something out into the world. Then, let whatever the world wants to do with it - have at it. Right?</span></div>
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“If I die young...” It’s a contemplative phrase. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7NJqUN9TClM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i>Life is short, so my question is what can each one of us do to ensure that however short, or long, our lives are that we can say the following:</i></b></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i></b>“I’ve had just enough time.”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i>This isn’t a message about giving up. This is a message about living on without any hurried pursuit of anything. Just be you, the great you that you were meant to be. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you’re thinking about suicide, there is help:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">National Suicide Prevention Lifeline</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-16259322292592471902011-11-06T20:25:00.000-08:002011-11-08T13:25:46.666-08:00Write it Down: What's Your Story?<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Keep in mind that the person to write for is yourself. Tell the story that you most desperately want to read.</span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><em style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><strong>Susan Isaacs</strong></em></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It started out with Helen Keller, and then it was Lesley Stahl, and sometime later I tripped upon Chelsea Handler.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Each of these women have either autobiographies or biographies about their lives and their purpose. <b>What’s your story?</b> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I’ve always enjoyed writing; finding and telling a good story. My Dad used to write down my thoughts on the day, or what I would tell him happened. We affectionately called them the “red books,” because they were in fact red daily diary books. They chronicle my early childhood from the perspective of my father, and occasionally as I told him. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Throughout my life people have told me to “write it down.” Often, I wondered what they wanted me to write down. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You should write a novel, it would help people,” one person told me earlier this year.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“You should write a letter, then burn it, or tear it up,” said another not so long ago.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When I write fiction, I read the story back and it almost always reads like my on life. There’s no fiction in the stories I write. The names change and some of the circumstances are different, but I know who the characters are. I know where they’ve been, and I know where they’re going.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">At some point that concept became incredibly frightening. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">On this journey to “something fabulous” I’ve found myself sitting right smack down in the middle of my faith. It’s something I haven’t done this earnestly and honestly since high school.<b> <i>Suddenly, I realized one reason why I cannot finish writing “someone else’s story” is because there’s someone else who will. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As Christian, and in high school, I leaned up against Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV). The Bible says, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i>For the first time in my life, I actually get it! I can’t write something down to make it true, or to make someone or some circumstance come to life.</i></b> I can, however, write down whether in the form of a letter, this blog, a poem, or a novel, what I’m thankful for, the lessons I’ve learned, the friendships I’m grateful for, and where I hope I’m going. I can write down what hurts and who I need to forgive -- and no one has to see that! I can also write down the incredible fear in trusting that it will all work out. Whatever “it” is.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Religious or not, if you have faith in what you cannot see, it will work out. <b><i>Know this: It will work out, even if it’s not as you expected, hoped, or so long desired it would. It’s better this way. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">What’s your story? Are you going to write it down?</span><br />
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UPDATED: 11/8/2011</div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-39339197110801961592011-10-23T21:12:00.000-07:002011-10-30T22:46:46.585-07:00I'm Not Asking "Why?" Anymore<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I looked at my phone for what felt like hours waiting for it to buzz or ring or light up.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Nothing. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My own wrestling with patience prevented anyone from contacting me first, or so it seemed. That’s because I would stop at almost anything to communicate with someone at randomized, seemingly perfect for me, moments. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Think about what you need to do for yourself in those moments,” someone said to me recently. I cannot remember the exact wording now, but they continued and said, <b><i>“Instead of thinking about what hurts or why its hurting, try to figure out what needs to be healed.” </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Have you ever been hurt and knew exactly what you needed to do to help yourself heal? Could you figure out the first step? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“That’s a good idea,” I said back. In fact, it seems quite simple now that I think about it. After all, when I was younger it was pretty simple to figure out the first step towards healing. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i>When you fall down, you get back up again.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When I was eight, I got on my bicycle and started riding it down the steep back hill of our development. It’s not for certain, but I believe I might have been carrying other things with me, weighing down bicycle with a faster speed to the bottom of that hill. Half way down, the front wheel skirted right, the back went left, and I landed underneath it and the bicycle dragged me about ten more feet. I don’t remember if I cried, but I probably did. I have a scar on the inside of my elbow that reminds me just how deep the road carved into me as the bicycle dragged me down the hill. In that moment, I didn’t need to figure out why it hurt or what had happened. It was quite obvious! So, I, in a sobbing and tearful, bloody mess begrudgingly walked my bicycle back up the hill and home. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Not all hurts are that easy to figure out, and for most people the hurts become a little more complicated when you get older. Not the hurts, but the cause, and the why sometimes is impossible to figure out. Then, sometimes, we, I know I do, get stuck in wondering why something happened that we cannot see the first step.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>One thing is for sure, I’m not asking <i>Why? </i>anymore. </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As a child: “Why did Sigmund (the cat) die?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Parent: “She wasn’t feeling well and she’s in a better place.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As a teenager: “Why couldn’t I go to the college I wanted to go to?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Parent: “Because it wasn’t what you thought it was going to be.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As an adult: “Why did he leave me?”<br />
Parent: “It’s for the best.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s interesting, I think, that the answers are easy when we’re younger and they are more vague as we get older. More deeply, because when we ask such a deep question like, “Why did he leave me?” or “Why did she have to get cancer?” we most likely wouldn’t be happy with the answer. It would not bring us the joy that we so long hoped to feel again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When I hurt, sometimes I hit the gym and I pound my feet on the rotating belt as if it were pavement. It’s as if I’m chasing after some sort of something on the horizon and I never get there. Other times, I hang out with friends and occasionally enjoy more than what I need to enjoy when it comes to wine. Or, I write down stories that I hope would make sense of the pain. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Since my last post, I decided to stop asking why and just go to the source that my Grandma taught me as a young girl: my Faith. Instead of asking myself again, why did my life change in the way it did, I asked who will still love me tomorrow? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you’re not a Christian, or have never been to Church, it may not make sense to you. But, for me, the message that I knew, and had heard, and trusted for years was much more loud than it ever has been before. In Romans 8, the Bible says, If our God is for us, then who can be against us? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">That’s real soul food, and real comfort, for me, on this journey... to something fabulous. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you're interested in learning more about the Bible, please check out this <a href="http://www.youversion.com/">website.</a> </span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-72692961732978775912011-09-09T17:52:00.000-07:002011-09-09T17:52:02.948-07:00"How Are You Dealing With...?"<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are repetitive themes in some of my blog posts. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes, the best way to deal with something is by doing absolutely nothing. Sound familiar? Earlier this year, I wrote about how sometimes <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2011/01/when-doing-nothing-is-absolutely.html">doing absolutely nothing is doing absolutely something</a>! I suppose it depends where you are coming from.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think of getting a massage or a spa treatment as doing absolutely nothing that some how is some something that we really and desperately needed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s hard to do nothing, sometimes. If something is bothering a person, many times the desire is to seek a distraction. If they’re dumped, they want to go to a bar and meet new people. If they’ve been out of work, they might volunteer or get involved with their child’s school. Or, they’ll go to the gym or make what was once just a hobby an everyday activity.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For me, being alone with my thoughts can be an unwanted reminder of the unwanted events that have occurred in life. Some people would argue and say, “Your life hasn’t been that bad!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">True! It hasn’t. How a person deals with what’s happened in life is unique to that individual. Not everyone responds to the death of a grandparent the way I did and have. Not everyone can still conjure up tears and emotion six years later. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It’s time to get over it,” people might say. Or, they’ll ask, “How are you dealing with...?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The truth is, for the most part, I never once gave it any thought until people started asking, and then they continued to ask. It dawned on me, <i>I guess I wasn’t dealing with it at all</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What do you do when you relive how something “bad” made you feel? Do you talk to a friend, a family member, or do you write in a journal? Or, do you turn to something that reminds you of a better time, like an old television show or do you re-read a book you loved?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Or, do you simply do nothing. Sit on the couch, or in a cozy chair, or a rocking chair and look at what’s around you, maybe reading a book? Let me know what you think. </span></div>
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Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-52701722897214562412011-09-02T19:32:00.000-07:002011-09-02T19:32:56.198-07:00I Want to Sparkle<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s September. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Of course, you already knew that. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m not sure, though, when, or how, this year became to be three-quarters of its way through. Really, I look at the calendar and I’m certain that the pages just turned to June. By the time I recognized it was June, I think it was August. That may explain that.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Time flies when you’re having fun, moving on, learning new things, or <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2011/02/all-other-kids-grow-up-too.html">growing up</a>. That’s all happened in the last nine months. <b><i>What have you learned this year?</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This year, I learned that I love to be spontaneous, so long as everything else is planned. It’s important to me to know where I’ll sleep, or how I’ll get somewhere, but the rest --<a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2011/01/when-doing-nothing-is-absolutely.html"> I can go with the flow</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Also, I learned that I’m content with being alone. In fact, much to my dismay, I actually enjoy it. That being said, I do love companionship and hope one day that I can have a relationship where there’s an honest blend of mutual interests and individual interests.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>What I learned most about myself and my experiences of this year is what I don’t want, and how to help those who may not want it either. I don’t want to be stifled. </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b><i>I want to sparkle.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Getting the frump out of your rump is a permanent process; it is a constant cycle and the recognition of what does deserve and what one does not; and getting it out allows your sparkle to shine through. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have something big coming. <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2011/01/stand-up-take-chance.html">It’s still in development and <i>it is</i> coming</a>. As soon as I can tell you, I will. I hope you’re as excited about it as I am. </span></div>
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Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-86632413784455022712011-08-25T23:04:00.000-07:002011-08-25T23:04:26.896-07:00The Best Way to Heal is to Help<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I first set out to write this blog it started because of a wound that was very deep, but very few people could see it. No matter how hard I tried to cover it up, the temporary bandages didn’t seem to be working.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are bruises we can see, and there are bruises we can’t. It’s the latter that are the most common and the least talked about. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I set out to <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2010/11/come-on-get-frump-out-of-your-rump.html">get the frump out of my rump</a>, I didn’t realize that it came with the shedding of the source of my “frumpage.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
<b><i>The truth of the matter is that I didn’t realize I was being hurt until I wasn’t being hurt anymore.</i></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s been a struggle, almost daily, these past several months trying to figure out if there’s a story to tell. If I was alone, and if I wasn’t, could others need to be helped. If they needed to be helped, how can I do that? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s clear, as I write this, that the pain still exists. Some of the wounds have healed, but it’s an ongoing process. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I heal when I can fit into that little black dress and am confident to wear it.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I heal when I am not afraid, or bothered by the possibility of enjoying tea alone.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are other moments I heal. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>But, the biggest is finding ways to help. Would you be willing to help me help others? </i></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-84034257374235076412011-07-24T23:20:00.000-07:002011-07-24T23:20:29.156-07:00Staring Out Into Possibility<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Written En Route San Diego to Las Vegas</i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now that a year in my life has come and gone, even while in the midst of the current year, I find myself staring out into a valley of possibility. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I could use the imagery of mountains to climb or hills to scale, but the entire concept of pushing something up a hill never to arrive is not one that I wish to pursue.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The <i>Myth of Sisyphus </i>is one of never attaining the goal, but always be engaged in the climb.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I, for one, am not certain that the climb itself is all that it’s cracked up to be. The journey, however, that’s an entirely different story. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When people enter a dark moment of their life I never hear them talk about “the climb.” Instead, they’ll refer to it as “darkness” or “a rut” or a “battle.” Never, that I can recall, does anyone mention some pursuit upwards.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That is not to say that there is no pursuit in going up, it’s just that I’m not certain anyone cognitively feels that they are “moving” into a higher capacity while carrying weight in the process.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Leading up to this new series of 365 days, or 525,600 minutes, my vision is not one of standing in the same place, moving, but going nowhere. Instead, it’s almost a series of ballet movements across grains of sand and onto something.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, though, that begs the question: Is moving upwards as or more difficult than the grain of sand on previously uncalloused feet? I suppose that answer would be best told by the person engaged in the journey.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-72339510186339937882011-07-21T23:35:00.000-07:002011-07-21T23:35:41.991-07:00Bookends, Measuring the Year in a Life<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“525,600 minutes how you measure the year in a life?” begs and so tries to answer the theme song of the musical Rent. <br />
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When I think about the “year in a life” right now, I think of the word bookends. It’s the marking of both the beginning and the end of something, and the story that’s told between those markers is how you measure that year in a life. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bookends are like the sunrise and sunset of the day. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At the sunset of one year and the dawn into another I made myself a promise. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“In 2011, I’m going to like myself more,” I said. I wrote it down. I published it on this blog so that anyone could see and hold me accountable should I have any doubt that I could do it. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A post called <a href="http://nomorefrump.blogspot.com/2010_12_19_archive.html">“Floating on the Wings of Earthly Angels” </a>told the story of how very real people turned up in my life in previously unimaginable ways. Emotionally, spiritually, and some days, physically, I was floating on angels. Now, I am again, and this time no one had to say anything. I already knew. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Anyway, days grew into weeks and weeks grew into months and somehow I found myself standing seven months after that post without a single question or doubt that everything had in fact happened for a reason. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tomorrow will mark one year since something quite specific in my life. It will also be what would have been my Grandma’s ninety-second birthday. <b><i>When I look at where I will be tomorrow and where I was exactly 365 days earlier and then all that has happened in between, I can’t imagine it only being 525,600 minutes. </i></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I started July 22, 2010 in tears of emotional hope. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I ended July 21, 2011 with a smile that could not be wiped from my face that could only be described as ethereal joy. No hope necessary, it just is. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b><i>The story that’s told in the middle of these bookends </i></b><i><b>is</b></i><b><i> a year in a life. </i></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s told simply: in small and big prayers, in some very big cups of coffee, quite a few bottles of wine, moments of uncontrollable laughter, the making of some wonderful new friends (some old one’s too) and memories, as well as the shedding of a former self that all built up to an overflowing of gratitude. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bookends. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Oh, and I totally like myself more. </span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-78916410333538100612011-07-06T22:55:00.000-07:002011-07-07T21:29:43.574-07:00On Coming and Going<blockquote style="font-family: Geneva;" type="cite"><div>11:14 PM Nashville, TN time, July 4, 2011<br />
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Preface:<br />
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</b><b>It's been a long time since I wrote. Not because I didn't have anything to say, but because I was busy living. Not thinking about it or worrying about it, but just living. </b><br />
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Coming and going.<br />
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There's been a lot of that in my life the last several weeks. I graduated (but didn't travel) from Boston University with a Master's Degree. I shut down my computer for everything but work and social media and lived and laughed up life.<br />
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I went to Palm Springs and soaked up the sun and made a lot of new memories... Stories I will tell my children one day.<br />
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Mom and Dad came to visit and bought all my "new" friends their drinks. My Mom even did a shot. In this visit my parents became my friends.<br />
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My two best friends came to visit and a friend from my Palm Springs days did too and we all partied together.<br />
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Then, I went. I packed for what would be three full days and three nights of a weekend that could only be described as life-changing. I went to Nashville, TN to be picked up from the airport by one of my most favorite people so I could meet his beautiful and awesomely wonderful wife. Then we, my same friend who visited just two weeks ago, another friend, too, all piled in a car to drive to Chattanooga. Another friend was getting married.<br />
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I hadn't slept in 36 hours and couldn't have been happier. I had three of my favorite people - two of my favorite men - sandwiched in a car for two hours.<br />
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I couldn't even begin to tell you the rest of the weekend. We went to a comedy murder mystery theater and laughed. I shared a room with a friend that made us laugh so much we couldn't believe our friendship brought us across the country.<br />
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There is more. I went to this wedding and was so blessed to have it as a tool or a reason to see one of my best friends. My heart felt torn for the four years I had let (yes... let) go by. I cried inside and we immediately started planning my return. What a beautiful friendship to meet someone's wife and start a friendship as if we had been friends for years. To meet his Mom and feel as though I was talking to my own. Yes, I cried a little upon coming, but going was the hardest part.<br />
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Somehow, the universe might have known and flight delays kept me on the East coast for all of the 4th of July.<br />
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It's Independence Day. Let freedom ring, let the white dove sing, let the whole world know that this is a day of reckoning.<br />
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This day meant so much to me, and I spent five hours of it in an airport. I came off a weekend of creating new memories and new friendships and different relationships. I am, was, spent. I sat next to a woman at the airport bar.<br />
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<b><i>Airport Mom said to me (I will paraphrase) "Karma is about things happening for a reason, it is not payback." </i></b><br />
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It's a statement, even as a woman of Christian faith, that I enveloped my emotional heart around. I wondered, when you feel you left a piece of your heart somewhere or with someone, do you get that back? How? Is it by returning? Is it by faithful or divine intervention? Is going really going? Is it just the beginning of something you never anticipated beginning? Is missing someone the unexpected indication that you love them more than you thought?<br />
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Airport Mom's husband passed away in May. She had just returned from seeing her first husband on her getaway trip. She said she loved her second husband. Their time was so short, and she believed she served a purpose in his life, and he hers. Somehow, their path was the road that may lead her back to her first husband. The true love of her life.<br />
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<i>If a chance meeting at an airport bar provides a lifetime of wisdom; imagine what a chance encounter at a wedding can do? Or a split decision amongst friends to share a hotel room? Or to eat Twizzlers? </i><br />
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<b>We are all coming and going to somewhere - where the heart is, where we hope the grass is greener, to where we believe we really belong. </b><br />
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It's in that coming and going that we really live. It's not in that destination. This weekend I lived possibly more than I have in years. I lived in the in-between of coming and going, knowing it was not a short-lived reunion. It was just a passage of time leading to several lifetime friendships.<br />
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I hate goodbyes, but there are no goodbyes in coming and going.<br />
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"I'll see you soon."<br />
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To my friends referred to here, I love you more than I can articulate. <br />
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To my Airport Mom, I am in awe of your optimism and honest contemplation of your life's path, and the reminder to relish in the journey. <b>Now, I really do understand that everything does happen for a reason.</b><br />
<br />
That is the richest lesson, however full of heartache, one could ever stand to learn.</div></blockquote>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-48794967554262832922011-05-22T19:20:00.000-07:002011-05-22T19:20:38.710-07:00“You Need Not Take Everything So Seriously.”<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, I’d have a lot of Starbucks coffee drinks, or a couple bottles of wine. I didn’t get a dollar each time that was said, and I’ve still had quite a few coffees and wines in my belly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> I heard you the first time.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> The first time someone said it to me I was sitting, no I was squatting, face-to-the-wall, on my bed talking on the phone to my childhood babysitter. I might have been twelve. I’m certain I was going on and on about something that seemed delicately important at the time, and then the words, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“You need not take everything so seriously.” </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> The pleaser in me swallowed hard, felt the “knot” in my throat that meant I might cry if I wasn’t careful, and so I said, “I know.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> And, I did know, I just also knew that knowing that wasn’t going to change thing. I would, and have, taken everything seriously since then; except, maybe, some of the things that I really should have taken seriously. You know, like undergraduate grades and first dates, and long-term relationships, and really meaning to say “I’m sorry,” instead of just saying it. That stuff seemed to just jettison from me without going through the entire social-penetration process. I mean, I may have just met you at the grocery store or through a mutual friend, and within minutes I might be telling you my whole story, emotional and all. Doing that, somehow, probably, anyway, lessened the intensity and truthfulness of the relationships I deemed to be closest. I mean, if my best friends are the ones who are supposed to know all that stuff, and I’m also telling everyone else, then what the hell am I doing? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">This is how this works. I start thinking about something that has really no bearing on anything and then discover that it does by thinking about it just a little bit more. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Stop thinking.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, I’d probably be able to pay off my student loan that helped me earn a Master’s degree; which, by the way, required a lot of thinking in order to complete. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">In philosophy, which I almost double-majored in, and in graduate school as well as work training I was taught to have a reason for my actions; to be able to explain why I did what I did when asked. Then, combine that with graduate school and two years and twelve classes and some hundred and forty-four discussions of seeing the sentence: “Explain,” explaining just becomes second nature. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">As example, the other day someone said to me, “Oh, I see you like red wine.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I, ready and prepared to answer couldn’t just stop at yes. So, I said, “Yes, because it has such a wide range. There are light reds and then deeper and bolder reds, but I’m really into Malbec these days.” Who the heck wanted to know that? I don’t know, but I told them anyway. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then, sometimes, this is what happens. That person then says, “Yes, Malbec’s are really great,” almost as a way to put an end to the conversation. If I’m paying attention, my response is simply, “I know.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I know,” by the way is a phrase that I’ve said quite often, whether I know or not is another question. I’m certain, though, if you asked my Mom how many times I said that phrase, she’d say that she’d have enough dollars to buy me a lifetime of airline miles to come and visit as often as possible. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Speaking of Mom, her birthday is on Tuesday. Happy Birthday, Mom. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Here it goes: “I know you wish I could be with you, but at least you were just here recently and I’ll see you soon.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">To which, someone else might say I need not take <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> so seriously. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And, I, of course, would say, “I know, but…” and explain why I do, in fact, take that seriously. </div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-47491618663311000162011-05-14T19:23:00.000-07:002011-05-14T19:23:26.372-07:00Thinking About that "Movie Moment"<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Have you ever had a “movie moment?” Or, better yet, what would you consider a movie moment?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes, in social situations, or within my own thought process, I find myself saying aloud, “Wow, that was a movie moment.”<br />
<br />
You know what I’m talking about...</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s that moment when <i>he</i> realizes that <i>she</i> is the one. Or, the moment that <i>they both</i> realize they’re in on the joke together. Or, the <i>aha moment!</i> that two people, friends, or lovers, have when they discover they are far more similar than they ever thought possible. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You know the line (thanks Harry from <i>When Harry Met Sally): </i>“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, have you ever been watching a movie and felt that you already had your own movie moment and completely blew it? Have you ever actually found yourself standing in the rain somewhere about ready to tell some guy or some girl that you want to marry them some day and then you don’t? <br />
<br />
Here’s the thing. It was more than 10 years by the time I found out that a guy from high school waited outside my sophomore year English class every day and I just walked right by him. Why don’t you people say anything? What’s more, I wonder why even bother telling me now? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Is there some “hopeful romantic” (not hopeless, but hopeful) thread running through all of us? Do we all somehow sit there and think that the guy we’re having dinner with has been thinking all the same things we’re thinking, but all we do is think it? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">To all the people who say that this (real life) is not the movies, I say yes, that is true. However, we’re all just as stupid and vague and love-struck as all of those movie characters in those predictable movies. We just don’t have a music track to cue the <i>aha-moment!</i>, or the <i>run to him or her in the rain</i>, or the “it’s you” revelation.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What’s your movie moment?</span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2277916870651436483.post-24950968930945765472011-04-22T11:42:00.000-07:002011-04-22T11:42:10.519-07:00Confidence Found on a Bar Stool<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What makes a person confident? Is it the repeated hearing of compliments? Is it something just inside them that says they are confident, or good enough, or smart enough?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes I wonder about that.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When does confidence become rude? Can your confidence ever hurt another person? Is that even possible, or just a problem with perception?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">No, I don’t sit up at night thinking about this kind of stuff, but it is kind of fun to wonder.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I went out last week, alone, because I didn’t want to cook or be home alone. I went to one of my favorite spots and sat in an empty bar stool.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once the Yankee game was over, the guy sitting next to me struck up a conversation. He was intelligent, thoughtful, and quite attractive. So, I participated in the conversation.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He said one thing to me that I had never quite heard before and didn’t really understand why it resonated so much to me.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, he, after several attempts of trying to get to know me, finally said, “Are you one of those hot girls who doesn’t believe she’s hot?”</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I nearly whiplashed my beer right into his lap with a stunned expression on my face.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Me? A “hot girl”? Of course I never believed that I was or am a hot girl. I am the girl who sits in front of a computer for a living, wears glasses at night, and studies for a graduate degree most of my spare time. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and thinking, but it dawned on me, that maybe there’s hope out there for all of us girls who say that the right guy is either “handicapped or taken.” </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not that this is or was the right guy. I believe he was an agent of change. He allowed me to understand that everyone’s definition of “hot” is different. Maybe to him, in his young-Tom-Hanks-Ryan-Phillippe-wearing-a-hat-good-looks, being hot was being intelligent and confident. When he asked me what I enjoyed doing, I said I loved to work out and get outside, and also wine taste. I recognized that’s quite a social dichotomy. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This guy in one sentence handed me a plateful of confidence that I had been missing for years. I’m still not sure what to do with it, but with less than a week of graduate school left, I think I’ll start with smiling more. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hot people, in general, don’t frown. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, maybe I’ll pick up and read a book I’ve been meaning to read. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You know, because hot people, can carry a conversation.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, I’ll just shut up and listen, and enjoy the atmosphere, but don’t be afraid to say hello. </span></div>Anne Marie Petersenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07237589072306323151noreply@blogger.com1