The Truth Is Also This...

Hi!


First point. Being a kid is hard. There is an overwhelming amount of information to process, things to discover, lessons to learn, tools to develop.


Second point. We are all kids.



One of the toughest phases of humanhood is the one that drags us through the teenage years.


Some sail through, others feel as though they are being dragged naked, feet first, and spread-eagle through a carpet of poisonous cacti.


There are so many cliches out there, so many inspirational quotes, so many phrases lifted from textbooks put forth with the best of intentions. Although most, if not all, hold truth and help a ton of people, I find myself unable to simply spew well-intentioned platitudes.


If you are filled with so much pain that you find yourself cutting as a release, or have come to believe that it's all too much, and the only way out is suicide, platitudes, and cliches just become more noise.


Please hear me.


There are no magic words to make your pain go away. You aren't going to find real relief at the bottom of a bottle of booze or in a needle, or a bong. The answers don't live on the edge of a razor blade.

The truth is, there are so many things that make you feel shitty.

Maybe it's other kids. They want you to feel hated for not being tall enough, short enough, small enough, big enough, rich enough, poor enough, wearing expensive enough, wearing cheap enough, smart enough, pretty enough, jock enough, enough, enough, enough...


Maybe it's the adults in your life. Your marks aren't good enough, you're not respectful enough, not popular enough, don't clean your room enough, enough, enough...

Maybe it's both, maybe it's all.


The truth is also this.

When you cut, drink, or otherwise try to disappear, all you are doing is punishing yourself further for the fictional transgressions others have forced upon you.

Throughout your life, you will encounter again and again people who feel the need to make you feel smaller. Those who will try to shrink who you are. Don't help them.

You will find your people. The people that get you. The people that embrace and love you for, not in spite of, your specific brand of weird. They may not attend your school or even live in your house, but they are out there waiting for you. Don't deprive yourself of an incredible life because of a group of adolescent asshats who, at this moment in time, are completely incapable of empathy, or a family that, at least at this moment, doesn't fit.


This hollow darkness that wants to consume you is not infinite. It has a shelf life. It has edges. It's not some mystical thing. It has causes, effects, and resolutions.


This is also true.

Life is hard. It's okay to ask for help and okay to accept it. Help looks different for everyone.



For those who seem to live carrying out a mission of hate...


Just know this...


We all know the real reasons for your behavior. You vomit insults to make yourself feel more than, bigger than, better than.

We all know the only reason people do this. Fear.

Fear of people finding out you aren't really the person you portray. Fear that people will see the insecurities that lurk behind and beneath your insults. The fear of the fact that your persona doesn't even come close to matching who you really are, and this will come to light. If you keep the light on those you can get others to see as "less than," you can keep it off of you.

You don't need to step on others to lift yourself.

Life is hard. It's okay to ask for help and okay to accept it. Help looks different for everyone.



Life leaves scars. Some left by others, some self-inflicted. Scars don't make us victims, they make us warriors.


We are all more than worthy of a fantastic life. A life that fits who we are, and who we want to be. It's there for the making, it's there for the taking, in spite of the asshats of the world.




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May you, if not in this minute, soon, see yourself as the unicorn you are.
May you see, if you just let yourself, that at your core, you're a star.

May you know that you are the one who writes the script of your life's odyssey.
May you understand that you, the author, decide where the spotlight lingers, do so with honesty.

May you see the asshats that cross your path for the broken humans they truly are.
May you see through the bravado and witness the fear, they don't deserve your power, after all, you're the star.



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The Angel With The Devilish Grin....

Hi,




Today, it's with a heavy heart I write.


The world will be a bit duller now, as this bright light leaves.

She leaves behind a loving husband, kids, grandkids, siblings, sibs-in-law, and nieces and nephews who now carry the heaviness of grief.


Her smile was always genuine, her laugh, contagious, and her hugs, explicitly real.


Although I didn't see her often, especially once I left home, she had a profound impact on who I've become.

It isn't something either she nor my uncle would likely remember, as it wasn't anything that was blatantly said or done. I wish I would have thanked her in person, I hope she's hearing me now.


Thirty plus years ago, I was pregnant with our second child, my now husband and I were not yet married and scratching to keep flesh and bone together. Directly and indirectly, intentionally and unintentionally things were strained with my parents. They were hurt and disappointed in me and the choices I was making.  It felt like I was looked at differently, treated differently, not cruel or obvious, just 'less than'.

During this time, through my husband's job, we were presented with the impromptu opportunity to stop in and visit this particular Auntie and Uncle. From the second we crossed the threshold, I felt it.
The utter 'sameness.'  There it was, the big grin and even bigger hug.

We visited, we ate, we laughed. They had no idea, but that night, through their 'sameness.' they gave me permission to be happy, to be okay with where my life was headed and the profound understanding that none of it made me 'less than.'


Her ever-genuine smile and absolute hugs had the power to heal more than she would ever understand.

Time has healed wounds and relationships, as time tends to do, but the first steps of that healing began with a hug from you.

Thank you, Auntie Carole, for your generous heart, beautiful soul, devilish grin and your tendency toward just enough mischief to keep life interesting.



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I know your hearts are broken, shattered at the thought of containing this loss. I wish I could find the words that could magically lighten the load. Until such a time, just know, if you need, we are here. All of us. Arms open, shoulders ready.


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Until next time...

May you love each other through this murky fog of grief.
May you know we are there for whatever you need, however long, however brief.

May you take the time you need to cry, to swear, to rail against the utterly unfair.
May you understand there are no rules for grieving, no timekeeper, just take care.

May you, on the other side of this, find a way for the healing to begin.
May you do so in loving memory of this Angel with the devilish grin.


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Freedom By Any Other Name....

Hi!


This weekend will mark a day in our Country that we have named "Remembrance Day." Other Countries have other names for it, but for all, it's an opportunity to take a day to honour those who sacrificed everything to afford us the freedoms we live every day to celebrate.


Freedom.


Defined as the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants. The absence of subjection to foreign domination.


I would further define it as the power to determine our own fate, without the hindrance or suppression of others whilst not hindering or suppressing the fate of another.


In other words, I have the freedom to act, speak and think as I wish, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else.

Pretty basic stuff.


Why does something that should be so fundamental require such sacrifice to hold on to?


Why are people of colour still having to fight so hard for things that they should, at this point, be taking completely for granted? Things like having bar-b-ques, studying, driving, walking, voting, or standing in their living room.

Why are indigenous people still having to fight so hard to protect their culture? We came in, told them their culture made them savages and proceeded to force our way of thinking upon them. Then we have the audacity to wonder why generations of First Nations people struggle.


Why do we treat freedom as though it is a possession that should only live in the hands of a very lucky few? Why do we treat freedom as though it is a finite resource? As though if the proverbial "they" acquire more freedom, ours will somehow diminish.


As I'm writing this, I am listening to a sheriff in California answer questions about yet another mass shooting. Another person has justified his actions by convincing himself of the fact that his right and freedom to have and shoot a gun somehow trumps the right and freedom of those he shot at, wounded, and killed. Those who had and have the right and freedom to live unencumbered, the right and freedom to not be victimized. More people have been senselessly killed, more thoughts and prayers will be tossed around like paper towel after a hurricane, and likely, nothing substantial will happen to help prevent this from happening again next week.

Freedom isn't freedom when lived in fear.


Are these the freedoms our militaries have sacrificed their lives for? Are these the freedoms they continue to put their lives on the line for? How is this honouring their memories?

You can host a million ceremonies, have every pomp and circumstance, it means nothing if the freedoms they sacrificed for are they themselves sacrificed.


To determine our own fate without the hindrance or suppression of others whilst not hindering or suppressing the fate of another.


Pretty simple stuff.

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For those who have fought tirelessly for our freedoms, for those who sacrificed the beat of your own heart so ours can carry on, my hope is that we will eventually honour you in a way that really matters.

We have to do better at proving ourselves worthy of your sacrifice.

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Until next time...


May we, this time, take real action to prove we deserve your sacrifice.
May the missed hugs and kisses not be in vain, for our freedom you've paid the ultimate price.

May this go far beyond the well-intentioned, feckless thoughts and prayers.
May this be the one that effects change, be the last one, the buck stops at the biggest chair.



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www.margyreidbooks.com

All We Need To Do Is Go For A Drive...

Hi!




All we need to do is go for a bit of a drive, take in some scenery, and listen to a few people we don't really know.




These are three little things that can show us a lot.


Going for a drive...


I find that taking even a short road trip down an unfamiliar road has a way of adjusting perspective. Taking a bit of a trip absorbing the view others see every day, a way of figuratively and literally broadening a horizon. Making an effort to see the world from someone else's point of view is always worth the trip. Not everyone has the means to travel the world, but we all have the ability to really take in the part of it in which we live.


Taking in some scenery...


It's pretty amazing how the landscape can change in a matter of a few miles. One moment you can barely see the horizon for the trees, in another, you can see for miles, in yet another you are surrounded by lights, heading down a freeway. Somehow, when looking up you are instantly reminded of what connects all of it. We may live separately, encompassed by our unique landscapes, but we share the sky. We wish upon the same stars, see shapes in the same clouds,  get romanced by the same moon, warmed by the same sun.  No one person's position under that sun of more value than another.


Listening to a few people...


In this digital age, there is definitely no lack of voices. There are loud blustering boomers who do their best to demand attention, that get petulant when the spotlight has the audacity to land anywhere but squarely upon their shoulders. On the other end of the spectrum, there are those with no voice at all. Their fates lie in the hands of the blusterers, afraid of the spotlight because they inherently know that attention leads to heartache. If we take the time to connect and truly listen to a few of these voices, both the whispers and the booms, we can hear what lives beneath the surface of the words.  Fear. The difference? Blustering boomers lack the courage of the voiceless. Boomers rise stepping on the souls of the voiceless. The voiceless rise by lifting others upon their shoulders.



Give a voice to the voiceless. Help them be less afraid of the light. Show the blusterers that we won't stand idly by as they step upon the souls of those who can only whisper.


No one person's position under the sun holds more value than that of another.


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Thank you for taking the time to read these ramblings. Each week, a new country or two pops up on my "Top Ten Countries Reading This Week" list. Each week I have to remind myself that this is, indeed, real. Thank you.



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Our neighbours to the south are making some big decisions on Tuesday.

For them...

May you vote, vote for the values, vote for the character, vote for conscience.
May you vote for the truth speakers, not those who spout fear-mongering nonsense.

May you vote, for your voice matters, it makes a difference, many whispers become a booming choir.
May you vote for those who live in fact, free from the thumbprint of a perpetual liar.

May you vote.
May you vote.



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And let the trolling commence....



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