“Last Lecture” Musings

A couple of months ago, I was given a great tip to watch “The Last Lecture” by one of my good friends.  And I didn’t listen, and read the book instead, as I gravitate towards books over media when given the chance.  Read it  in under an hour.  It was one of the most profound set of life lessons all compressed in 206 pages, and while very sad, also very necessary.  I don’t know how Randy, the author, COULDN’T have written this book before his death.  Don’t think that would’ve been possible.

 

The most important thing to Randy was leaving behind a legacy of truth to his children.  I love the fact that he called out how he won the parent lottery, which is very rarely heard these days.  Much more obligation and strain comes screaming through in parents’ actions, when you open your eyes and look around.  Nonetheless, he had a specific purpose, filled with many avenues to truth, for writing this piece, but he never wavers from the core of what is most important to him.

 

It makes you think (the dog-eared pages remind me of that over and over) about what’s meaningful in your own life.  When it comes to people, the most important person in my life has always been my mom.  Recently, she & I have undergone some pretty telling attacks from family members that was quite frankly, a long time coming, because of the nature of their collective and individual characters.   The degree of lunacy and mistruths that comprise who they are as human beings are much too lengthy for anything resembling a blog.  But the principles within “The Last Lecture” speak succinctly to people like them, pleading for them to see the ruinous lives they lead, how it impacts others, and the resulting pain.

Randy speaks of truth, and this is something that is very obvious, these people have never genuinely known.  To the core of who they were as children, to the sad but plain reality of how adulthood has happened upon them, without them learning an iota from the past.

 

Randy makes excellent points about rights and responsibility.  People like them love to spout off about the “rights” they have or that everyone else doesn’t have, but the very core of their character lakes responsibility.  The two are married, and they have severely overlooked that.

 

Truth in the context of staying the course.  Randy’s most valued quote to me is, “It’s interesting, the secrets you decide to reveal at the end of your life.”  My mom has been the primary caregiver of every sick and now deceased person in my family.   And the secrets that have been revealed to her are pretty incredible, and I only know about them because there is no line of segregation between mom & me.  But what struck me on that quote on an even deeper level is that those that don’t decide to reveal their own set of truths to whomever before they leave their life as they know it.  What a pent-up shame.  What a waste to the ones you leave behind.  Infused with quite a bit of selfishness, and iced with dishonesty.  Hence, going against Truth.

 

This book is a multiple-re-read.  And each time, as with any good read, you can’t help but gain perspective.  I loved his near-closing lines about a life lived.  “It’s not about how to achieve your dreams.  It’s about how to lead your life.  If you lead your life the right way, the karma will take care of itself.”  I go back to my inspiration for life when I read this, my mom.  And I have to put it in a macro and micro perspective.  Stepping way the hell back, it’s wonderful to stand where I do and simply know that people like mom exist.  That there are still people out there like her, however few and miles between.  And she has cultivated a key number of people who would stand underneath her and lift her as far as they could upward, if only to make her feel for half a second how glorious the sum of her actions has been. 

 

Microscopically speaking, there are times like this, when she has been confronted with ignorance at its finest, as well as an enormously sour dose of ingratitude from those that she thought would be a part of her life till the end.  To watch her disposed of in the most heartless set of actions, by people that lived to self-serve, is the absolute polar opposite of goodness.

 

It’s easy to be misled by liars.  It’s equally easy to walk away and take stock in what’s real when confronted with such caliber of people. 

 

As for me, I’m on the sidelines of this one, at heart.  I’ve known for quite some time about the true nature of the so-called righteous users who gladly accepted my mom’s grace & good heart, and turned on a dime, once it no longer suited them.  And as I’ve always known, it’s in their best interests to use every device they can scrounge up to avoid the truth.  Sadly, she hoped for more out of them, but they dimed themselves off that there is no way around it.

 

The book is a good reminder that people like them, once family, but never true to themselves let alone others, are inconsequential and as good as the false platform from which they preach.

 

The Last Lecture puts it all in perspective, in a way that makes anyone with a sense of genuine heart capacity, able to absorb the meaning. 

 

My mom serves as a tribute to many of my writings because she is a gem.  And still unaware of just how valuable she is.  It is my privilege to be her daughter, and I try to remind her of that more than once daily. 

 

Not everyone has a mom like I do.  And not everyone has a piece of the family pie that is full of venom.  I have both, and if there was one general take-away from Randy’s book that made some sense of it was that you have to have some bad to appreciate the good for what it’s really worth.   While I have the ‘righteous sisters’ and their continuous plea to spread their toxicity, the good within my mom outweighs in spades.

 

Shelves

At least for books you have read, plan on re-reading, or just have great attachments to.  But shelves are not meant for people.

 

It seems to me that I am some sort of magnet for this mentality from men.  The ones that find me PERFECT for them, but just not right now.  Something, in their life, always gets in the way and detracts from this so-called perfection.  It was flattering the first few times… at this stage in my life it’s a complete joke.

 

The guy that proclaims you are everything he ever wanted, but… but he is not emotionally available quite yet because of his previous relationship.

 

The one that wants to preserve you because since you almost seem to good to be true, he needs to go out and test the waters “just to be sure.”

 

The pussy that’s afraid of really diving into you because it is that good… he’s used to bad & sticks this karmic badge on you.  Of course, he doesn’t want you to see anyone else… he just needs you to wait.

 

The one that pretends by him sticking you on this shelf that it’s really a pedestal.  It’s not… it’s a shelf where dust collects and life is stagnant all the while waiting for him to come pluck you out at his convenience.

 

I’ve been sucked into this trap more often than I care to admit, but it’s often a vortex.  I had a deal about fifteen years ago with a man I adored.  We said if we weren’t married by the time we hit a certain age, we would marry.  We did this because he wasn’t ready to commit to me because of many of the reasons above.  We were terrific together, but he literally wanted to shelve me.  It wasn’t about preserving me from a looks standpoint with respect to aging… it was about him wanting to go and do and be and experience and then… have the option to come retrieve me at his convenience.

 

I always viewed the shelf concept, at least from a realistic standpoint (like where I do put my books) as a temporary holder for things I valued.  It was great to be reminded of as I walked by.  It was nice to know that something I took great pleasure in was within my reach at any given time.  But what a horrible concept to do to another human being.   It brings selfishness and self-righteousness into completely new territories… those that should remain undiscovered.

 

 

Excerpt from Circleforks

CHAPTER 20
I CAN STILL SMELL YOU

“Suddenly it occurred to me that I’m so busy trying to work out if he wants me or not that I’ve forgotten to clarify if I want him.” Zeruya Shalev, Love Life

Within moments of leaving my naked side, he called me as he boarded his plane to go back to his life, his wife, his 2.2 kids, and his multimillion dollar investments to say, “I can smell you so much that I think you have become a part of my nostril hair.”
He was attractive, fun, and most notably, easy. He had been with countless women that unlike me had required payment for their services, many that didn’t, some from whom he received refunds.
I didn’t care about any of that as our tongues collided and our bodies were given free reign to move, explore, and experience.
Crude? Maybe. But for me, this was not only an escape through my quest at climbing out of the middle, but an abandonment from all of the messiness of jealousy, love, clinginess, and false hopes for meaningful tomorrows. The middle could be so cold and devoid of emotion that I preferred the heat from my own slap in the face, rather than to have to cope with another minute of solitude and perpetual shivers.
Periodically in my life, as I took the time to recount past experiences, I remembered the consensus among the sexes in my life telling me that my behavior was not odd in general, but odd for a woman, more in keeping with a man. So, with this position as “the other woman,” I left my emotions at the door like so many men before (underneath) me had done.

Completely.

Yes, he was married. Yes, he was another one of the people in my world that I was heavily entangled with from a professional standpoint. Yes, it was all the same shit that stunk just as badly before.
Except NOW I was weightless. A brief truce with my middle-doom. I accepted my lot. I knew I was in the middle, but I stepped up and made some demands of my own. The last thing I was going to do this time was beat myself up for something that I gave myself permission to do.
I circled the middle like a boxer would with his opponent, grabbed my “stuff,” and took off for a while.
I had a friend once tell me that as a woman, I was always in the driver seat. I interpreted it more as the seat between the driver and the passenger. Until the Smeller. With him, I acted like I was in charge, like I COULD call all the shots. In fact, I took some lessons from him to throw right back at him.
I didn’t worry about tomorrow and lived in the seconds of the moment. I separated love from all sorts of physical expressions. I didn’t wince when he called to say night to wifey. I didn’t marvel at his lack of hesitation when he gave me my time to call home, whoever “home” was for me at the time. I didn’t try to find meaning with him before or after enjoying him. I abandoned my middle tendencies in favor of carelessness. We sat shoulder to shoulder drinking our night to blacker night. We lay pressed against each other with no greater visions than what could be encapsulated right then, which, ultimately, was never contained.
I would like to launch into an in-depth dissertation as to how this cured my middle disease, my insane need to stay embedded in places and people I didn’t belong. I would love to conclude that my learning experience with the Smeller propelled me to care less about others and value myself more, to truly live for the moment instead of for analyzing the moment.
But why? Just as soon as I stepped off the wagon, I was right back on, with only distant memories of my apathetic detour. I didn’t last long as a free woman.
Why didn’t I? Was it my need to be back in familiar territory? No, I could’ve turned that situation into something like that if I wanted to.
Loss of control by the absence of crowding? Maybe. I truly was free for a concentrated period of time, not bothering with the things that tended to pull me in; those magnetic thrusts from my heavily populated antenna.
But I was used to so much MORE! Heaviness. Complication. Meaning in everything. Circular momentum that afforded me significance.
If I kept myself at the heart of scattered matters, I was indeed significant, and as long as this was true, I didn’t have time to dwell on the lack of importance staring blankly, starkly, and squarely at me.

Hello world!

Welcome to Trish Dozier’s blog, feel free to explore the comments already here & to post your own: just click on a category then on the “comment” link bellow the text to make your own contributions.

GROUP DECISION FOR BOOK COVER…MEN, WRITTEN BY A WOMAN

Men Written by A Woman If we can write and celebrate a phenomenon that lays out why “he’s just not that into you,” then we can also take pleasure in finding out why that just might be a blessing. Type the word ‘normal’ into a thesaurus and what should pop up is blank space.  Since there is no such thing… how do you find a similar word?  It’s kind of like zero to the third power.  It’s still zero. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I wrote this book for the quote-unquote “normal” woman to read and take identification with, considering all the men on this planet that are so easily defined, yet so ridiculously dramaticized (to their own doing).  And to offer insight and a much needed dose of simplicity to those that think it might not be worth the time anymore.  And for shits and giggles to those that have a healthy sense of humor. So, for purposes of this long conversation, how is a woman seeking a “normal” relationship able to get along in this wide, mad world?  (Feel free to insert stable, healthy, or any word of your choosing into the above for sanity purposes.) For women that don’t enjoy being abused emotionally, physically, verbally or otherwise (with the exception of some knee rug burns or the like during a heated monkey sex session), and those who do not crave over the top zealousness be it sports, religion, sex, electronic or whatever related, as well as the woman that actually chooses heterosexuality because they prefer a man versus a dude trying to get way too in touch with his feminine side, or the woman who is confronted with the guy that is denying that his feminine side is the one that ought to be on the forefront, or that particular homeboy that just needs a mama, or… And many moreeeeeee…! There are all sorts of textbook, over-the-counter superficial remedies that women have to swallow about a man, no gag-pun intended.  But it’s insanely intriguing to see the commonality between the different types of men, and how simplified the categories become when we begin to break it down into the simplest terms possible. So the liberating part of this whole man puzzle is that there is freedom in the understanding of where and how they fit and why they don’t.  It doesn’t matter if you haven’t had personal experience with each of what you’ll read about below; it just means that you might be better equipped when you run into (and you will) one of the types that isn’t on your particular resume. While the title of the book is chromosomal in nature, it always takes two to tango.  So, the men in our lives… women… no matter how screwed up or wrong are still a reflection of our choices. And, you’ll have a hell of a time along the way reading what could be, might’ve been, or will take place.  The shit that has transpired, for you, will resonate and reaffirm, and that which hasn’t yet come your way will probably amuse and maybe slightly scare you. In case you’re wondering, I am not a lesbian, nor have I had any women only experiences (although I can’t figure out why), I don’t hate men, I am not a psych in the relationship arena (although that general category will be duly covered), and I resent bitter, negative lines of thinking.  I do, however, think like a man for the better part of my time.  And because of that, I can write so intimately about them.   And if you’re into the guy, you know THAT guy, who likes to put you down in front of his friends, or show you who’s boss behind closed doors, or who thinks that your job lies in serving him, or who would rather sit in front of a television show than fuck your brains out when given the choice, or the one who is perpetually cursed with no opinion on anything big or small, or the one who can’t wait to light up a joint or snort a line during or after a grand sex-session from which it took you three hours to get equipped for, or who would rather theorize why you’re wrong about something as simple as pairing chicken breast with wild rice instead of mashed potatoes for hours, or the precious one who needs you to baby talk him in order to make sure he sleeps as many hours as ‘they’ require, or the stellar one who cannot handle you wearing anything flattering outside of your home lorded over by his presence, let alone inside your home in front of barely cracked windows despite the fact that it was the same outfit he met you in (in public), or the sexy beast who cannot fathom coming inside you and then traveling down south despite the countless sessions where he urges you to taste your own sweet nectar on his cock, or hey!, how about dear Romeo who is so enamored with you from the jump because of your eloquent vocabulary and the way you carried yourself (remember how he used the word gait so flawlessly in the initial woo-phase), but now, he can’t understand why it’s a big deal for him to fart to the tune of his favorite song through the meal you prepared and get all butt-hurt when you don’t find the stench amusing whilst intermingling with your risotto.   Yeah, if THAT guy does it for you in a way that makes your heart go pitter-pitter-pat, perhaps this book isn’t right for you.  Donate it to someone you know that wants a little bit more out of life from their pursuits of <wo>mankind if you already have it in your possession. Without further adieu, it is now time for me to reiterate the fact that I dig men.  I would snort male pheromones if I could figure out how, particularly the ones that make and keep me wet all day long without even as much as a touch.  I dig the lines across a man’s back and the salt and pepper experiences that comprise their chest and head and everything between.  I like their strength, even when they don’t know how to properly use it, because it reveals a sort of vulnerability that makes the whole package that much more intriguing.  I’m a sucker for their weakness, because I think it contributes to their whole.  I love the concept of a male and female and how they fit, or can fit
when they choose to.  And I’m not talking Ken and Barbie union; I mean man and woman and all the things that the two can make come alive simply from both combining both sides of the equation.  I like the way a man walks when he’s complete in and of himself.  I love the way a man feels beneath me, be it nose to nose, skin to fingertips, or wet to wetter.   A true man is something to breathtakingly behold… and it takes a woman to recognize that.  I fall in love with a couple when I see the man leaning in and not caring how many cheesy ways he comes off in front of others.  When you can see that he’s truly seeing her, and that she’s his motivation for whatever may come. I think love is underrated, despite the popular and saturated opposite opinion of the day.  Even when I’ve experienced my lowest of lows from a relationship standpoint, I can’t subscribe to the cynical line of thinking that is so easy to join.  I choose not to be a woman scorned, despite a myriad of reasons why I could be. I guess the bottom line is that I appreciate everything that a man can be, despite the fact that they have really done a historical number on their gender.  The negative side to this is simple… what man wants to hear about his potential?  In his mind, being a man isn’t a journey he wants to embark upon.  You better believe he considers it his headliner. I’m truly into the countless ways that make them tick, because god knows they make women redefine the way we spend our time and energy.  Men may think about sex a gazillion times a minute, but women ponder what to do with and about men just as much.   In a slightly cracked nutshell, those are the reasons why I’m writing this.  So, for ease and kicks, I have divided the book into the following categories… mostly because people like chapters of organized thought versus rants or irregular blogs:  BrutePussyFriend (and you say he’s just a friend, and you say..)Afraid of ConfrontationAfraid of Confrontation with youWeakMama BoyPotentially GaySports FreakViagraAggressorLoserCouch-Potato Sex-FreakNarcissistBoringNever Been MarriedInsecurePretty BoyFrigidPhilosopherChick GuyMoney ManParty AnimalHot Dumb GuyShortyLiarNice GuyManipulator/CounselorOnly ChildArtistBlue CollarAsexualAss-ManThe “Boy”MetrosexualMarriedCling-OnOne-Night-Stand Man (ONSM)Wrong One For You (WOFY)Real ManNice GuyAbuserGym RatTampon If you have a particular need to jump to the topic that speaks to you the loudest, I say go with your gut.  But that being said, if you are a virgin to some of the categories, I highly encourage you to read through all of them from start to finish.  There is always methodology to this sort of madness. 

Does Clothes Make The Successful Woman?

November 6th, 2009 Remember when you spent hours deciding what to wear to school the next day? By Trish Dozier Trish is our COI (Center of Influence) in the LA region. Below find a thought provoking article on the implications of “using what you got – to get”…that sparks a discussion about how much does the way we look really influence our success, and our perception in the business community & playing field?As a businesswoman who has a passionate palate for entrepreneurialism, I am fascinated by the turning tide of how women in business are perceived during these times.It used to be taboo to make any sort of sideways comment related to a woman’s appearance and/or physical makeup in the workplace… prime fodder for a legal battle.  Not the case anymore.  Men and women alike seem to partake in suggestive-talk when referencing business dealings and/or decisions.  It seems in the quest to carve out a sector of respect, women have come to terms with the fact that there is a strategic angle within a defeating topic.To “take one for the team” is now a common joke among the sexes… openly.  The conversations surrounding what women wear and the reactions that equate to ‘potential associated dollars’ is commonplace.  The whole notion of a woman “thinking like a man” while maintaining an outer feminine shell is relatively mainstream and, the source of many a bestselling books these days.I can speak to this topic because I live it on a daily basis.  Where does a woman draw the line for herself now?  Is it easy or cunning for us to dress for the occasion, knowing very clearly who our audience is and what outcome we desire?  Maybe… but how about when we’re frank about our intentions when called out?  That is precisely the difference I am fascinated with in the current climate.  It seems as if there is no sacred element to what one can and will do to achieve their goals.  And we’re bouncing the ideas back and forth between the sexes in a rather lighthearted manner, in all sorts of industries, using all sorts of language.Despite the jokey tendencies, it is an issue that can cut us open, if and when we allow it to.  You have to be able to sit with, and face yourself, at the end of your day.  And only you will know if you’re compromising integrity for the sake of climbing the proverbial ladder.  I know it sounds trite, but balance is critical to character defining decisions such as these.  So if you cannot accept your own reputation based on decisions you made for yourself, then something is wrong… and it’s okay to make it right.I believe this topic is more a testament to how difficult it is in these times, even prior to the economic downturn, to carve out a rightful, successful place for women in general.  No matter the expertise, nor the intelligence of the individual behind the master plan, there still seems to lie a “Hollywood vibe” mentality beneath the surface… which could loosely be translated into “it’s all in who you know and what they can do for you, and most certainly, the package it is delivered in”.The morale of the story… hmmm.  A woman holds a great deal of power, simply by what is intrinsically hers.  She can choose to dole out her power in small bites, or she can pull out the big guns, and she can certainly offer a combination platter, but the best and most important thing she can do is respect herself.  If she can truly achieve this, that is the most attractive and attracting thing she can do to cultivate success.Check these out for your continued reading pleasure:An informative definition of “gender differences” on Wikipedia (click here.)General overview of sexual harassment  on Workplacefairness.org (click here.)More information on sexual harassment (click here.)Microsoft Small Business resources article on if women make better managers (click here.) Tags: advice for women in business, businesswomen, dress codes at work, gender differences, microsoft small business resources, sexual harassment, trishdozier.com, wikipedia.org, women in business LA, workplacefairness.org
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something borrowed

Time… what a necessary waste. I used to see the meaning of ‘genuine’ in humanity, however removed from my own little life, and that is over and done.  A clean exit. I also used to believe in love more than I do now, despite the fact that I still do, more than ever.  It could be a far-fetched mini-series, but it exists fully and I have an inordinate amount of joy for those that have managed to harvest it. And the way we spend this precious commodity of Time through and through and through it all…  We wake up and fight through another day that we wish would just remain dormant.  And then we try not to end that same day ruminating on all that we could’ve handled better or more effectively.  And in between, we desperately try to smell the roses… which often translates into manure. Time is a measure of something that is well beyond our means, even the best of us control freaks… a mere function of that which supersedes our best intentions and well-laid plans.   Yet, we all seem to be acquainted with Time that drips by in the most obnoxious manner, reminding us of how mundane and lethargic our choices can be.  And ironically, the same lot of us complains about aging while openly cursing Time, wondering where it all went and why it did us ‘this way.’ This tricky bastard is indeed borrowed, and from where, what, and whom just adds an additional layer of complexity.  But at the end of our days, it truly doesn’t matter, despite being irreplaceable.   And when we wake up, at whatever age or juncture, we’re reminded of the fact that we’ve borrowed this from some undefined entity and hopefully we’re invigorated… to a level that reminds us how valuable the steps of Life hopscotch really is. 

Jeanette Winterson is my hero

‘I love you’ he said.

‘You don’t know me.’

‘I recognise you.’

I nodded. Love is recognition. Love is re-cognition; a re-thinking of all we know, and all we are, because someone stands in front of us like a mirror.

D took out his binoculars and scanned the red horizon. He passed them to me, pointing. A long line of US tanks was moving slowly towards our position.

‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘Are you afraid?’

I shook my head and took his hand. I had hardly seen him before today, and I would not see him tomorrow. But this moment had years wrapped inside it, time before and time after. If there is a parallel world lying next to ours, perhaps it is at peace, and I will find you there.

taking stock

It shouldn’t be such a task to remember how good I have it.   As I pant my way up a treacherous hill, I should take a lot more joy in the cottontails that flutter around my feet and that horse that greeted me with more enthusiasm than I’ve seen in a long time.  Even the mean raccoons are interesting to look at and a lot more eventful than a desolate pavement devoid of life. It should be a no brainer to wake up in the morning happy that I have hair that must’ve been made for a reject cabbage patch kid, particularly when I just gave myself yet another self-exam for cancer.  I mean, the disconnect should smack me silly. I shouldn’t be too busy to tell someone how much they mean to me.  I just spent a half hour with my best friend bitching about how underappreciated I am by “him or her,” whomever that is at the moment, yet I have every open opportunity to tell one of the people I have leaned on in the past how much I am grateful to have them in my life.  Allocation of time is free and ours for the taking. God I despise people who are so shallow and out of touch with how lucky they are.  But I woke up dreading going to work, and I spent far too much time contemplating a ‘different’ life.  But how arrogant can I be to think that if the grass is indeed greener on the other side of my life that I even like the color green?  What if it was blue all along? I am so good at dispensing advice to others in the most complicated scenarios, but did I really just stand before my closet and sweat over what I am wearing today, because of who might see me, and trip out over my own style?   

If I cried again over someone that stayed for either a short or long while in my life, did I forget that there is joy in that too?

taking stock