525,600 Minutes. Over 1,100 cups of coffee. 100’s of tears. Hours of laughter. 365 midnights.
In some ways, it feels likes it’s been years. At the same time, it feels like I just woke up to the new reality, a life without you in it. I’ve wanted to talk to you a thousand times. To tell you about the progress I’ve made, and the hits I’ve taken.
They say that the first year is the hardest. I can’t say for sure because I don’t have a frame of reference. But I know that this has been the hardest, and shortest, and longest year of the thirty-four years I’ve been on this floating rock.
Grief has been a tool for me. It has magnified the cracks and fissures in my life, and forced the eviction of the things in my life that no longer suited me.
I spent the year and a half since you left reflecting… reading your books, listening to music that reminds me of you. I wanted to know the man you never let me know.
I honored you. And I resented you.
I got to know grief. And I’d like to think I got a better understanding of you, and in effect, myself… and who I want to be.
At first I thought you are only supposed to think fondly on those you’ve lost, reflecting on them in the most pleasant light. But when I tried that, it made me resent you more.
The lessons I learned from you have fed my growth, they have hurt and healed, and ripped back open unexpectedly. Grief is funny that way, just when you think it’s a scar, you find out it’s still a wound.
I miss you terribly, even still. I love you and I hate you. And I would still give anything to help you.
As I make my way to the polling place to cast my vote in what has got to be the most fucked up election… possibly ever.
I feel like I am a bona fide grown-up. In all the ways that I don’t want to be.
Like many utopian millennial’s, I rooted for Bernie. And my little idealistic heart was broken when Hillary took the ticket. I thought there was no way we would end up with Trump as a real, viable, presidential candidate. But here we are. And for the last several months I have been struggling with coming to terms with “voting for the best OPTION” instead of “voting for who I want to be president” (full use of air quotes intended).
BUT I HAVE HAD AN EPIPHANY.
Like many of the utopian millennial’s I like to think that the world could be amazing and fair and balanced, that many of our society’s pitfalls could be changed and our country could be rad, I’m not the only one, a lot of my friends feel the same way. But what I have been missing up until this point- here. today. is the fact that it’s unrealistic.
I know that sounds harsh and I know that some of my homie’s are going to dispute that claim and that’s fair. But the truth is that as much as a utopian world would be better and would solve all the problems and in my mind would be the ideal situation, that is not the country nor the world that I live in. I do not have the luxury of voting for who I really “want” to be president. I have to vote for who I truly feel is the best option, out of the two options I have.
As I go to the polls to cast my vote for a woman that I have believed in since I was a little girl. But whom in the meantime has become a political power-house. Hillary has changed in the last 20 years as much as I have changed in the last 20 years. And mind you 20 years ago I was just beginning puberty. Yeah.
I respect Hillary. I know she will do a good job, and I like to think that she will be a great President. I love that my son is going with me to cast my vote in this ridiculous and historic election, and that he could see our first female President. But I still wish it was Bernie I was voting for.
Every time I tell someone I am renaming my blog to “Financial Failure to Money Maven” they make a sour face and say… (and they scrunch up the word)
“Failure?”
“Were you really a financial failure?”
Uh, well… yeah, I have had a house foreclosed on, I have had a car repossessed, if I didn’t hit the lottery with the most patient landlady ever I would have been homeless too.
But failure isn’texclusively bad, in my opinion it’s somewhat essential. You need to fail, to lose, if you never fail you’ve never tried… expect failure, don’t accept failure, overcome it. I feel like I’m just naming off quotes…. from posters…
with a kitten…
hanging from a telephone line.
Also, sometimes true. If your ship is sinking, you need to jump ship.
I’m not telling you to be reckless or a defeatist, small failures are good, large failures can be catastrophic, and avoiding the failures that happen due to poor planning is prefered. Failures are feedback. Failures show you how not to do …it.. whatever “it” is. BUT… even if you have bombed in life, in whatever way you bombed- it’s not the end of the world, either.
About two years years ago… if I was to speak on failure, it would have been a completely different narrative. I had reached a point where everything in my life was soggy, I was soggy, my marriage was soggy, my relationship with my kids was soggy, and I just felt stagnant and lame.
Sedentary.
I was afraid of failing (like most of us) until I was fortunate enough to be given an opportunity to explore crossfit. I was given a free membership (sponsored “athlete”), and with that gift I felt an obligation not to squander it.
So I went to the gym. a lot.
When I first started, I thought I was going to die, and I couldn’t do any of the things. In the workouts, they would say to do pull ups, and I couldn’t do a pull up. Do a handstand, I couldn’t do that, couldn’t do the box jumps, or the olympic lifts. So I had to change my mentality on failure, I had to adjust my paradigm. I had to embrace my failures as attempts at success.
I realized that in order to succeed at something, you HAVE TO TRY, like, that is the only real absolute requirement. And the first time you try, you’re going to fail, and if you don’t fail, you’re not pushing yourself enough or your goal is too low.
“In order to succeed at something, you HAVE TO TRY,
like, that is the only real absolute requirement”
This completely changed the way I perceive EVERYTHING. All the things.
This one little gym, this one crazy fitness trend, changed my life completely because I learned that failure is good.
That is where growth happens.
Growth happens within failure, you try something and it fails, so you re-assess the situation and you try it again…. and if it still fails you make any lingering, necessary changes and you see what worked and what didn’t work, and you learn and you grow, and you try really fucking hard. And this is the definition of self improvement! How do you improve without failing?
You don’t.
I mean, not really.
You won’t change and improve, if you only do things you know you can win. Well, actually, you will change- we are ever changing, whether we like it or not, but I doubt it will be the changes you are looking for. So, if you are afraid of failure… Afraid of trying, essentially, your progress will be limited. I’m not going to say you will or won’t make some progress, it could go either way. And if that’s good enough for you, right on.
But it is not enough for me.
I want progress, I want to learn and grow. I want to be the best version of me I can become, and I’m gonna fucking fail. probably a lot. I already have on an epic scale a couple times, (if you include marriages)… but fuck man, I’m learning. I am growing. I am improving.
Whatever you’re waiting on, that thing, that person, that lotto ticket, that promotion… whatever it is you are waiting to come save you. It’s not coming. Stop waiting.
Save Yourself.
This is a step-by-step series to get you moving in the right direction. Ready?
Step 1. Stop Waiting.
I read in some “How to be in your 30’s” bullshit article/list that once you are in your thirties you need to stop expecting anyone to fix your problems except yourself “Save Yourself” it said. And those two words have been ruminating in my brain ever since.
Save yourself, huh? Pretty simple, I suppose. But for me it’s a concept that at thirty two years old, I’m working to FINALLY absorb. It’s not like I sit around looking for someone to pair up that will pay my bills and give me a cush life. Not at all. I left that security when my husband and I split, and I came out. That said: I, like many of us, have found myself waiting on my magic ticket. Waiting on the promotion, or the new job/business opportunity that is going to make a fortune
…and maybe a little bit of hoping for that special someone who wants to split bills…
S A V E Y O U R S E L F …. Okay.
I get it. I hear it. I’m going to save myself!
Now what.
No. You cannot sit around. Get off your ass, get to work.
You want to save yourself… so the first step is creating action. What is it, Newton’s law of motion; “An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” It’s fucking right- called inertia bro. Make yourself that “unbalanced force” and propel yourself into motion. Once you gain momentum, getting to where you want to go becomes an adventure, enjoy the ride.
What is something that you always delay starting but once you get going hate stopping?
For me, it’s writing. I love to write, to get all of this out of my head and in letters and spaces, but every time I open my laptop I go directly to netflix, and I have to fight the urge to watch the newest netflix original addiction, and instead, close the window and make my brain work. But I tell you, once I get going it feels soooo good that I can’t remember why I was putting it off.
Your next step (Step 2) is to really evaluate your current state. See what the damage is, so to speak. And I have a killer post all about it coming very soon!
(Your comments and feedback are encouraged and appreciated more than you know.)
Many of you may know hope as being a great motivator, driving people to push boundaries, grow, and excel. And while I am familiar with that side of hope, that is not what I am going to talk with you about… I want to speak on the other side of hope, the side attached to expectations… “The hope trap”.
So…. Hope and I go way back. We’ve had our ups and downs. When I was a kid, I thought HOPE was the BEST! Lets all be HOPEFUL!!! My understanding of hope was an overwhelmingly positive, and unquestioned belief that if I “hoped” and prayed I could get what I wanted. Whether that was passing a test, a love interest talking to me, or resolutions to family hardships. Even though ‘hope’ was always expressed as a positive word, it always led to a let down.
I like words. I like learning random facts about words and music. They’re things I’m into, so naturally, when I was asked to speak about HOPE I turned to google to define the word, and I found:
Short Definition: hope, expectation-
Long Definition: hope, expectation, trust, confidence.”
And I thought to myself… Are “expectations” good?
…Then I looked up the etymology of the word.
Old English hopian “have the theological virtue of Hope; hope for (salvation, mercy), trust in (God’s word),”
Some suggest a connection with hop (v.) on the notion of “leaping in expectation”
“Expectations”… There’s that word again, a continuing theme… and I can’t help but ask myself if “leaping to expectations” has ever been a “positive” thing.
I mentioned before that “hope” and I go way back… I was a wife & mother by the tender age of 19. I hadn’t planned to be a mother, but as Ani Difranco said it…
"i didn’t really want a baby
and i guess that i had a choice
but i just let it grow inside me
that persistent little voice"
I struggled to connect with her from the time she was an infant. I wanted it so bad, and I tried desperately to connect with her, but nothing worked.
And when Sophia was 3 she was diagnosed with Autism. This is when my relationship with Hope really changed. I hoped for a cure. I hoped for her to get “better” to be “healed” but basically I wanted her “fixed” …
I wanted a cure so bad I could taste it. I would have signed my soul to the devil if it meant curing her Autism. I wanted to hear her talk to me. I wanted her to tell me she loved me. I spent precious years of her life thinking that it was my job to work towards realizing that hope.
You may think, “of course it is! help find a cure!” but Hope is not always a solo traveler, hope can bring her homie “expectations” with her. And expectations lead to Disappointments… Let downs.
In that mental cage of “hope” I was really stuck in my own expectations, missing out on my child. I focused so much on what I wanted to help her become I didn’t recognise her for who she is. Other people would tell me how amazing she is and I would think
“why doesn’t Sophia show me that sweet person everyone else sees”
But it wasn’t HER, it was ME.
I always had expectations for her, to talk, to listen and respond, to “behave”, to meet my agenda. Those fucking expectations, disguised as ‘Hope’.
I look back at that and I me feel ashamed for wanting to change her.
Some people think of hope as being this endless optimism. And I think that’s bullshit.
Hope can be a beautiful thing, but be wary, be skeptical. I don’t believe anything is inherently good or bad. Life is entirely too dementional to be so over-simplified. I think “hope” can be a trap. It can suck you into its expectation vortex and your “hope” just becomes disappointment.
I believe happiness comes from acceptance, and it’s better to be optimistic than to be hopeful.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I live by The Law of Attraction, The Karmic Law-The Great Law- Whatever you put into the universe will come back to you. It is in my nature to be kind to the world. Mostly because I am selfish. That is how I want people to treat me, so that is how I treat the world (most of the time- no one’s perfect). And you know what? It has taken care of me for years. All that positive energy sometimes cashes in just when I think I’m going to break.
The last couple of weeks have been brutal… But my family, as fucked up as we can be to each other, we really do stand strong together when we need each other. Them, along with my amazing friends… have ensured I don’t go naked, hungry or without reprieves. This kind of generosity is abundant around me, all the time. The last several weeks I have had things gifted/bartered to me everyday, including a plane ticket to California where I now sit, next to my dad, whom is very ill. Holy Shit- I am fortunate. This is hard. But there is no place else I would rather be.
As a woman, in a second marriage, when I realized that I wanted out of the relationship/marriage, I also had to acknowledge the fact that I might be sending myself and my kids back into the poor house. I had been a single mom before. And to be completely honest- it was awful. The worst. But it’s kind of like pregnancy in the way that you forget how much it sucked and just remember the freedom, the control, and the fun. At the time I had complete confidence that I could do it. I didn’t need any ones help. “I’ve got this”
I have been accused of having a “lone wolf” attitude. After my second divorce, abandoning an amazing man, who loved me and my kids more that I could reciprocate, my sister called me and scolded me. She pleaded with me, asking why I have to be the “lone wolf” and…
“Why do you have to make thing harder for yourself, Angelique?”
Fuck man, isn’t that a question for the gods? It’s not just in my failed marriages, it’s a general mentality I have that when I see two paths, I think, “that one looks safe, practical, secure… but, fuck it- I’m a do the other one- the one that looks like it will probably murder me. Perfect.”
I had spent most of my life up to this point, trying to be what the world around me told me I should be, look the part, play the part and everyone will like me. In my second marriage, I conceded myself into the comfort of love and perceived acceptance. I know that I was me at the beginning. I don’t know the exact point that I faded into my surroundings. Eighteen months into my marriage, and 5 years into my relationship I realized I had painted myself into a facade. I was unhappy, and I knew I had to escape it, but also knew that once I climbed out I was going to break the rest of the facade around me, and I did. The whole thing crumbled, and it was all my fault.
My family was pissed, most of my friends (majority of which were his friends) had a hard time understanding, those friendships disintegrated. I found myself feeling very alone. I sought romantic relationships to fill that void. The wish that if I could find a partner to shoulder the burden of life with that I would be happy. Broken cycle breakdown. A bad habit of adopting someone else’s life instead of building my own. I know that I do it, and I don’t like it. The one place where I have been choosing the easy path, and then realizing I’m on the wrong path, walking back to the beginning, and then starting up the wrong path again.
I am aware of what is happening. And I am working to break this broken cycle that I have been stuck in. I am building that life that I’ve been postponing. A life that is mine, not someone else’s. With friends who love and accept me, challenge me to be better while loving my ridiculous, bat shit, honest and open self. I have shifted my focus from sexual relationships to friendships. And in the last 15 months I have invested in some incredible friendships, with the most amazing people. And it’s making me a better person.
“Last night I woke the fuck up, realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah.” – Jon Bellion
I’m learning that it is not a weakness to need people. To build relationships where the love and support is symbiotic. In death it takes several men to carry an empty body to it’s final resting place. Why did I think that I could carry a body full of love and ambition, stress and setbacks, all on my own. Turns out it is great to have friends. And when you find/build your tribe- you hold each other up, right where you need to be.
You breath, eat, love, smoke weed, laugh with neighbors…
walk on the ground, breath in the air, soak up the sun and love.
Love so much. As much as you can possibly send into the universe.
My parents are rad. They are two insanely interesting people who could both pen autobiographies that would make cult classics. All the necessary ingredients are there, pickers, grinners, lovers, sinners, jokers, smokers, midnight tokers too. Not forgetting, crime, drama, suspense, motorcycles, near death experiences…
hero’s… villains…
My father is the dude that taught me how to be cool, actually- that’s assuming I am cool, which is has yet to be determined by a jury of my peers. So I’ll say that he played a major role in shaping what I consider cool. Old leather jackets worn by dudes with beards and long hair. Motorcycles, middle fingers. My dad’s stories include things like Hell’s Angels, the carni (yup, the traveling carnival), Iron work, the unions, love, as well as –CAH says it best– “some really fucked up shit” I am pretty sure all my cool comes from my dad’s side. You can ask any of my (20+) cousins who their favorite uncle is and they will say Uncle Rein. Even his name is cool.
My dad lived life. Like fuckin LIVED it! Back in his hay day he had some epic adventures, and I have always LOVED his stories. Most of his stories I have heard hundreds of times, but they never get old. I will always love his stories. It wasn’t until a couple of years ago when my dad came out to visit me here in CO- where the weed is legal, and he smoked with my *then* husband. I didn’t smoke at the time, so I just listened. To the stories he had never told me before, the stories that, he later told me he had never had the intention of sharing with his daughter. But I am so overwhelmingly grateful for that experience, for that precious memory.
My dad taught me that being a parent means lots of things. He taught me that parents are people. They are sometimes broken. They make mistakes. Sometimes they are leaving more than they are coming. He taught me that everyone has tramas… breaks. Some are deeper than others, and you hear a lot about fight or flight, but rarely do you hear about the third response, FREEZE (and then proceed to build a wall in a circle around yourself to protect yourself from all the things, and then just paint yourself on the front.) He was alway *kind of* available, but never actually there. Because he couldn’t be. He didn’t know how to be.
….. I wrote the previous part of this several months ago. Before my dad lost his long battle with Lung Cancer. And as I read it now, for the first time since he passed. I am so grateful to have it here to read. I loved my dad so much. And I miss his voice. I miss his advice. I didn’t always take it, but it was always good advice.
I love you dad. And I am missing the fuck out of you. But I am so comforted in the knowledge that you aren’t in pain anymore. Rest In Peace Dad.
“One minute you’re up half a million in soybeans and the next, boom, your kids don’t go to college and they’ve repossessed your Bentley.” –Louis Winthorpe III (Dan Aykroyd) Trading Places
I find it easy to feel down when I don’t know when I’m going to be able to pay my rent. My car payment is 3 months behind and I just did my grocery shopping at the fucking food bank (that was a first ). But there is something that I have come to realize. Everyone has some shit that is bringing them down, some of it is legitimately heavy, some is not… if you’re looking for shit to feel down about- you WILL find it. Same goes, if you’re looking for the good shit.
Mental health bro. Fuck.
I’m looking down as I write this, watching the L-O-V-E-L-I-F-E bounce up and down on my fingers as I type. Getting tattoo’s on one’s fingers is a bold statement. A “fuck you” to the man. A promise to myself to be myself.
LOVE LIFE is a reminder to keep perspective, when life hurts, when even breathing hurts, when all the noise in my head is so loud that my vision blurs, when I suddenly feel adrenaline surging through my body as if I had a gun being held against my head… but I’m just driving to work, no traffic…
LOVE LIFE reminds me that even though there are hurdles in my life that I have been fighting to overcome for over a decade, hurdles that have yet to go away, there is also a ton of good, and sometimes what looks like a hurdle form one angle, looks like an opportunity from another. I choose to focus on more of the good shit than bad shit. Don’t get me wrong, I see the bad shit, and I SHOULD see the bad shit. You can’t change it, or improve it if you don’t acknowledge that it’s there. Can’t be a fucking ostridge about it.
I started this blog, not as an advice column, I’m not the best person to provide advice (clearly). And not to teach people how to be poor either. Being poor blows, and I don’t plan on being poor any longer than necessary. I write this blog because everyone has some shit they are dealing with, whether it’s an addiction, a disability, being poor, being unable to budget, an inability to maintain a healthy relationship, whatever it is your secret, your shame-everyone has some shit they are dealing with that they AREN’T talking about! Nobody likes to talks about this stuff. The shit. The dirt. The ugly underbelly of our facades that we all wear. This is about learning to accept the current situation, and then adjust accordingly to create a better situation.
This is my happy place, where I can be open and transparent about my struggles. Where I hope to inspire someone else who is in the thick of it, to not only see the good, the light at the end of the tunnel and all that smiley fluff- but to also appreciate the struggle. Feel it, and learn from it. And please know that even though you may feel like you’re the only one, the lone wolf- you’re not that special.We all feel it. We just don’t talk about it.
I want to change that.
You breath, eat, love, smoke weed, laugh with neighbors…
Walk on the ground, breath in the air, soak up the sun, and love.
Love so much. As much as you can possibly send into the universe.
Angelique Dagger 