Happiness

I came across a quote that I thought was very accurate and appropriate, especially during this time of year:


"We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.
~ Frederick Koenig


Happiness is very often a struggle in my life.  I realized long ago that happiness is a conscientious choice, and not necessarily simply a state of being.  It can be very easy to spend a great deal of time focusing on those things that we believe could or would make us happy if we only had them in our lives, rather than the things that we already do have in our lives that already make us happy.  However, realizing and recognizing that, and putting it into practice are very different things.


It can take great effort to set your mind in this direction.  Waking up and instantly making the decision to be happy about your life and your choices and the consequences of those choices can be rough (and I've found that it is impossible on Mondays and/or without caffeine).  Taking a few minutes to think about the blessings in my life, the people in it that bring me joy, and the beauty of my surroundings, often helps me overlook things that are hurtful or weighing on my mind.  While I may miss certain aspects and individuals that are not in my life, I am grateful for the friends and family that do have a place.  Concentrating on the missing or the lacking only intensifies a feeling of loss or unhappiness that cannot or will not be assuaged by thinking about what you don't have or dreaming about things you think you need.     


Happiness is a choice.  Often it is a difficult choice. Choosing to be happy does not mean you are overlooking your problems or your struggles in life, just that you are tackling them with a different frame of mind and perspective.  Sometimes this is far more productive than the opposite.  What have you got to lose by trying?

Be Who You Are.....

I recently started reading an online blog that I find very interesting (GOOP.com).  It has all kinds of different information and articles about food, recipes, activities, travel, fashion, etc.  As I was reading along today, I came across an article that cited the following quote:

Be who you are, and say what you feel, because those that mind don’t matter and those that matter don’t mind.  - Dr. Seuss

I found myself spending some deep thinking moments about how true this statement actually is.  Sometimes I feel like I have spent the majority of my life wasting time worrying about what other people think of me, and how I appear to others.  I worry about what I have on when I leave the house, if my hair looks okay and my makeup isn't too dark, how my house looks when someone knocks on the door, how my children behave and what horrible and embarrassing thing they might say in front of someone, how my food tastes when anyone else is going to eat it....  Well, you get the idea. 
 
As a child, I was raised by a mother who spent a great deal of time doing just this herself.  I was trained to think this way and react this way, just as my mother was by her mother, and my grandmother was by her mother.  My mother took this to extremes at times, occasionally starving herself to the point of losing her hair so that she didn't appear to be overweight.  Our house was always clean and vacuumed, our rooms were always picked up, we wore clothing appropriate to the situation, and knew we had to behave.  Whenever company was stopping by, there was always a dessert prepared, but of course, I was not to eat it because young ladies need to watch their food intake.  My childhood tended to be difficult at times as my strong-willed personality warred with my need to please my mother. 
 
When I married, I crazily enough attempted to have the same type of household.  I got up at 4:00 a.m. to make my husband's lunch in exactly the manner that he wanted, with the sandwich pointed the correct direction in the baggie, something I had been corrected on.  I had a thermos of coffee prepared by the time he walked out the door, exactly as he liked.  I made the foods he liked for dinner.  I worried about my appearance to the point of anxiety when we went to any work functions for him.  And I did all of this while working full time, and running two children around to their activities, leaving no time for myself whatsoever.

 

It took me quite a while and some drastic life changes to realize that making a little time for myself should not be considered selfish.  Taking a few minutes to soak in a bubble bath, or sneaking away to get my toes done was not neglectful to my family,  In the long run, taking that time to do something for myself, even if it was just 10 minutes in a quiet room with a book, helped my mood, increased my energy level, and left me with more patience.  The hardest part though was getting past worrying what other people thought when I took this time.  My mother never took time like that, and was very often overwhelmed by the self-imposed responsibility of making sure that her children were involved in numerous activities and were well behaved and that her home was presentable at all times.  She frequently overreacted to the smallest things, and yelled often.  These were behaviors that I did not want to duplicate in my own life, but often found myself slipping towards.

 

Recently, I've had quite a few setbacks when it comes to remembering the quote by Dr. Seuss listed above.  I found myself putting everything I had and every part of me into melding a new family.  Not long ago, my mother made several written comments about how selfish of a person I was because I took piano lessons and had tried to learn to scuba dive, spending both time and money on myself.  I stopped doing things I loved to do, and stopped making time to be with people I enjoy being with because of this.  I forgot my promise to myself to be someone who was more open and available to my children because I wasn't as obsessed with worrying about what other people thought of my life or my choices.

 

With more life changes occurring, I am again taking the time to review my life and my effectiveness as a mother.  I am reaffirming my promise to myself to be who I want to be and say what I want to say, without worrying about offending others.  I am an adult.  I am a mother.  I am a hard worker.  I am a good friend.  I am a fantastic sister and daughter, and a wonderful Auntie.  I have gotten this way in the past few years on my own, making the choices that I think are best for my little family and for myself.  I am not always right, but that's okay.  Life is about making choices and, if those choices end up being bad, moving on and making different and better ones.  Spending my time worrying about mistakes that I have made in the past or what other people think of my choices or my words will not help me make it so those mistakes never happened or even to be a better person.  That will only drag me down, which isn't going to help anyone.
 
Focusing on my children, focusing on myself, and doing so without constantly worrying about what I might say or do in the process of this is my new and worthy goal.  This doesn't mean I won't be embarrassed if someone stops by my home and it's not picked up.  Just that I won't spend the time they are there, and the hour after they leave, stressed and worried about what that person is thinking about me.   

Family: A Year of Change

Having realized that it has been almost two full years since I posted any sort of blog whatsoever, I decided to bite the bullet and just go ahead. There are so many things that have actually happened and changed in that time period, and I just don't think that there is the time or the space to talk about them all. However, the main thing that has changed has been my family.

Over the course of the past few years, I have really come to the realization that family is what you make of it. Family isn't necessarily those who you're born to or those you grow up living with. For me, family is made up of those people that know you and are with you, through thick and thin, through life's ups and downs, and all the happiness and sadness that comes along with that. For some, referring to Christy or Janice or Sheri as my sister would only result in some strange looks from people who know that I grew up in a family of boys. The people that I refer to as Mom and Dad, had absolutely nothing to do with my birth. I have an Auntie Sharon and an Auntie Viv, and a few extra grandmas and grandpas around too. These are all people that I value in my life just as much as one would someone that was born into this position. My family has now grown and expanded, and I wanted to share a little bit of that.

I thought I'd post a picture from our Spring Break Seattle trip. We had originally intended to try the Great Wolf Lodge, but due to a cut open leg, couldn't go to a water park and have everyone be able to participate. I was, of course, taking said picture, so I am unfortunately not in it (other than the shadow of my head, which is very lovely if I do say so myself). This was kind of a goofy pose for everyone, which was taken across the street from our hotel, while we were waiting to catch the S.L.U.T. (South Lake Union Transit, which may or may not have had it's name changed due to the unfortunate initials that came from this name). We were headed to Hooters to eat wings for dinner. Obviously there had been a great deal of sugar consumption on the car ride to Seattle. This picture has my fiance Bob, his daughter Bryleigh (18), my daughter Katelyn (16), his daughter Jourdyn (12), my son Colton (9), and his son Jacob (8).

It has been a complicated year. The process of blending two families into one, and combining all those personalities under one roof and trying to come up with something that works for everyone is difficult. It's taken a lot of patience, and a few episodes where I locked myself into the bathroom for several hours. However, we're reaching a point where our weeks together are more relaxed and comfortable, and usually enjoyable. Okay, sometimes enjoyable. We've also had to blend together the distinct personalities of Bob's dog, Odus, whom I believe is part horse, my dog, Annabelle, who is a 5 lb diva, and my cat, Jose Cuervo, who has since taken up residence outside of the house. The fish and the frog are now mere memories......R.I.P. Mr. Bubbles and Liberace.

The Saga of the Liberace Christmas Tree and My Resulting Blood Loss

Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. Not only do I enjoy celebrating the meaning of the season, spending time with friends and relatives, and giving heartfelt gifts to others, I LOVE to decorate for Christmas.

I remember my excitement after we built our house several years ago. Decorating the outside of the house with lights, hanging up lighted shapes of trees and snowmen in the windows, and wrapping greenery and lights around the doorways. Inside, I wrapped the banister with greenery and lights, hung little decorations in it, hung up pictures and decorations on the walls, and set out candles and snow globes. I made sure that we always went on a family outing to cut down a big tree, which I would then decorate with matching ornaments and white lights and bows I tied myself. During the last couple of years since I've divorced and lived in an apartment, the entire process has not been as fun and I really haven't been able to motivate myself into going all out, or even part way out, like I used to.

This year, I decided things would be different! I got out my ornaments and scoped out the situation. They were pretty pitiful honestly. My ex husband had been the one to split them up and I'm not certain what his decorating ideas were at the time. Several were broken or falling apart, there were various colors from different tree schemes I'd used in the past, etc. After I really looked at my options, I discussed the situation with my friend Leslie.

As I have mentioned in past blogs, Leslie is everything I want to be when I grow up. One of the things I admire about her is her fabulous decorating sense. Throughout the year, Leslie's house always looks very, very nice. Classy but not intimidating. But at Christmas time? Leslie's house is beyond marvelous. For example, this year Leslie went with a tuxedo type theme. She used black and silver and white. Her tree really could have been picked up and dropped into the White House and there would be no problem.

Upon discussing my Christmas decorating issues and ideas with Leslie, she informed me that not only did she have an extra tree she would let me use, she was also going through her Christmas decorations, of which she had many, and getting rid of some. She told me that she thought there was probably some things that I would like and could use. When I arrived at Leslie's house to go through them, in the shadow of her gorgeous tree, there was all kinds of beautiful things. I took as many as I could without seeming greedy (all right, I took all of it) and went home to try to make my tree into everything I knew it could be!

First, I set up the tree. This fake tree was not like the fake tree I had used in the past. It was bigger and the lights came on the tree. However, it had a stand that had to be put together first, with each hole lining up carefully and eye bolts that screwed into the holes, which would not work if everything wasn't exactly in place. I started out sitting on the floor, trying to get everything in line. Pretty soon I was laying on the floor, attempting to eyeball the stand and see if it was sitting flat and even (NOT). When I thought everything looked sufficient, I slid the bottom third of the tree into the stand. It was fairly heavy actually, and would not stand up straight. Evidence that my stand was not put together right. I yanked out the tree part and took the stand apart again. And again. And again. Switching the pieces around to see if one way worked better than another. Upon hearing my grunts and muffled curses, Katelyn came to investigate. She found me laying on my stomach on the floor with a level and a hammer, banging on the tree stand in various places, and calling it names. All of a sudden, I heard her ask, "Um, mom? Why are you bleeding all over the floor?" I jumped up and looked down at myself. Somehow in the process of tree stand building, I had cut my forearm open. Not just a little scratch, but a bright red, 7" cut that was bleeding all over the carpet and my shirt.

After cleaning myself up and scrubbing the stains out of the carpet, I re-evaluated the situation. How important was a completely upright tree anyway? I mean, after I put the wondrous decorations on the tree, who would notice if it was standing perfectly straight? Nobody! They would be much too busy basking in the glory of my fabulous tree! After two and a half hours, I finally finished putting the tree together and making sure that all of the lights worked. Then, I turned to the boxes and the bags that I had gotten from Leslie. I carefully went through each one, in awe at the beautiful decorations. I began slowly putting things onto the tree: small groupings of greenery with gold pine cones and leaves, glittery golden fruit, gold ting ting. Before long, the tree was becoming full. I decided it was time to step back and marvel at my work. Bask in the masterpiece I surely had created. When all of a sudden from behind me I heard the dulcet tones of my daughter ........."What the hell is that?!"

Turning, I scolded my teenager for her language. "But mom, have you looked at it?" I shook my head and turned, prepared to be stunned by the beauty of my tree. It was hideous! The glitter and sparkle resembled a costume Elvis would have worn in his later years. My tree would have looked at home in the front room at Liberace's house. Had a flaming gay man taken over my body and done this in my stead? Perhaps one with severe mental health disorders that desperately needed medication! I backed up further. Maybe in the right light? Or from the correct angle? And further still I stepped. If I added a bow? What if I turned the tree slightly to the left? No. No. And no.

Slowly I began to pull the beautiful gold decorations off the tree one at a time. How could this have happened? These visions of loveliness belonged to Leslie. I did not understand how they could fail! My tree should have been perfection! But instead it was a sparkly ball of frou frou that belonged at Graceland. I packed most of the decorations I had gotten from Leslie away, and got out the silver and white ones I'd used the year before. My excitement over going "all out" in my Christmas decorating swiftly fading.

Eventually, the tree was decorated. My friend Janice came over and artistically threaded white poinsettia blooms throughout the tree and at the top. I shopped for a few more interesting decorations to give it some life. I added some large clear globes to it to fill in a couple of spaces between the branches. I even added some ting ting in silver to give it "added fullness" upon Janice's advice. The finished product was actually very beautiful. While nowhere close to the magnificence of Leslie's tree, I don't look at it and wonder which personality might have risen above the others and commandeered decorating duties.

Late that night, I sat on the couch in the light of my tree. The children were in bed asleep. We'd hung their stockings up, and put some greenery on top of the piano and armoire, threaded with little white lights. I carefully sat washing the crusted blood from my arm, rubbing some neosporin into my decorating battle wounds, my tree no longer resembling one that Siegfried and Roy might have in their home. Was my tree perfection? No. Would my children look back in later years, marveling over the tree that their mother decorated for Christmas 2008? Probably not. However, as I sat watching my cat systematically begin to destroy the bottom 2' of my tree, I realized that while I might have enjoyed having a wondrous tree that would be looked at by others as if it were a piece of art, that wasn't what was truly the most important thing. My tree, though not a masterpiece, was up. It was pointed in a generally upward direction. There were many white lights upon it. It was covered in ornaments and other items that were similar in color and meshed well together from an artistic standpoint. Barring serious infection, I still had my arm, and hopefully the scar will fade at some point. And next year, I will know to plan far enough in advance to invite Leslie over to decorate my tree for me.

My Value Is Not Based On the Number of Hours I Work Each Week

I sometimes wonder when I came to believe that my value as a person rose and fell with the number of hours I worked each week. As I sit here tonight, at 12:24 a.m., writing this blog, I have just finished working for the day. Today's work schedule consisted of approximately 16 hours, minus commuting time. This is the third night I have worked at home this week, although this one is the latest by a couple of hours, making the grand total number of hours that I have put in this week in four days at 58.

Some might say that the financial compensation is what does it for me. Well, no. That's not it exactly as I'm not an hourly employee. Others might wonder if it's the glory in the accomplishment that drives me to do it. Yeah, that's not it either. As a paralegal, I'm very much behind the scenes in my job. No glory here, sorry. Fame? Nope. Not a center stage kind of girl and definitely not the area to seek fame regardless.

On one hand, I do feel better and more in control of life when I have my desk and my work responsibilities firmly in hand. It's calming to me to know exactly what I have to do and when I have to do it by. No surprises. No wild excitement. No last minute hoopla. However, anyone that has dabbled in law, family law in particular, knows that despite what may appear to be a fact based, clear, formula driven kind of field, it's extremely emotional. The range from anger, bitterness, fear, resentment, and sadness that accompany these types of issues, combined with the greed and tight fistedness, can really make for a day full of highs and lows. Having made my way in the minefield that is family law over the course of the past eight years, I have become numb to emotions my clients exhibit. As an emotion-based individual myself, the numbness is the protective layer that gets me through the day. The numbness, though, does not stop me from seeing or being privy to the aforementioned emotions of my clients.

On the other hand, it does make me feel better and more accomplished to have succeeded in meeting my deadlines and goals, whether self imposed or set by statute or boss. I enjoy the 'pats on the back' that I occasionally get for a job well done. The occasional bonuses to thank me for my hard work. The comments containing praise for foregoing sleep to keep a client happy or to get a seemingly impossible deadline met.

So tonight, in order to keep everything right in part of my little world, I arrived home, briefly greeted my children, ordered pizza to be delivered, and parked them in front of the television with a movie and threats of early bedtimes with any instances of bad behavior or arguing. I believe that there may have even been a threat or two regarding bodily harm or limb removal if hands weren't kept to themselves. I completely avoided mothering for the most part, until the movie was done, when I paused from my work, looked up from my computer, and tossed my children into their respective beds with a quick kiss, hug and 'I love you', placing more value on the work to be completed than the young lives I'm raising. I wonder though if this is the example I want to set for my children.

I think back to when I was little, probably around 5 or 6. My father was the Bishop of our church, and was also in business for himself, running a Sears catalog store. He was gone in the morning long before I woke up for the day, and often came home after we were in bed. A lot of the memories that I have of spending time with my father were those of sneaking downstairs when I heard him come in, and sitting on his lap for a few minutes while he ate warmed up dinner. While trying to provide for his family in the way that he deemed suitable, he removed himself from participating in his family in any way except peripherally. I don't want this for my children.

I think that, as a single parent, it's very difficult to reach the point where you're able to keep all of the balls in the air. I probably manage to keep at least three out of four in the air for the most part, only occasionally dropping those that I can afford to drop. If the balls were apples though, they'd probably be pretty severely bruised. It's hard for me to be the kind of person that leans on others, although I have no problem allowing others to lean on me, thus adding balls to the mix that I can ill afford. In the couple of years since my divorce, I have tried hard to become independent. Perhaps in a misguided belief that dependence on someone only leads to hurt and disappointment down the road. But tonight, independence is exhausting.

And so the struggle for balance continues. One day I hope it is something I manage to find. But tonight, at 1:09 a.m., as I get up to do just one more load of laundry before laying down to read until my eyes burn with fatigue, I wonder; have I earned my keep today?

Is There an Appropriate Answer When Your Child Asks to Dye Her Hair Green and Black?

I am the mother of two children: Colton, who is 7, and Katelyn, who is 14. My children have very different personalities, likes and dislikes. In fact, at this point, pretty much the only thing that they have in common is their distinct dislike of each other. Katelyn firmly believes that Colton was put here on this earth solely to cause her pain, misery and discontent. Colton does everything in his power to further this belief. This results only in pain, misery and discontent for me.

Katelyn has begun her freshman year of highschool this year. Over the course of the past year, as she matured a bit, her tastes in music and clothing have changed. No longer can I go shopping for her and pick out cute little skirts or tops in pink or purple with bows and lace. I am now forced to look in popular clothing stores for items that are black and contain depictions of skulls and crossbones, earrings and jewelry that has little skulls, and ugly black pants covered with useless zippers that zip nothing or large safety pins that do not hold anything together. (Am I raising a pirate??) Musically, she has drifted into listening to bands like Disturbed, Seether, and Linkin Park. I am uncertain where the cute little girl I once took to see Britney Spears (when she performed fully dressed) went.

However, the most frequently requested change has had to do with her hair. The summer prior to beginning 8th grade, Katelyn's second cousin Chelsea was set to start beauty school. Katelyn spent some time with Chelsea and I received a call late one night asking me if she could put a teeny tiny bit of pink in her hair. I was assured that her father had been consulted and had granted his permission contingent on mine, and that this was not going to be permanent color, but more of a wash that would fade out fairly quickly. As it was during the summer and I had no real objection to this, I consented. When I next saw my daughter, this tiny bit of pink had turned in to half of her head. The top layers of her hair had actually been pulled up, the bottom layers bleached out to blond, and a bright pink dye applied to the bottom. While you might not think this would be overly concerning given that it was applied to the underside of her hair, the problem became when the wash began to fade out, leaving behind bright blond hair underneath.

Several weeks later, Katelyn showed up at my home with a new color: purple. Apparently, there was an assumption that if I had said yes once, I would say it again, so why bother to ask the question at all?? At first, this was not so bad. It was not as bright a color as the pink had been, and I had adjusted to the fact that my daughter had unnaturally colored hair on her head. Plus, it was still summer time. However, when this color began to fade, it faded into a lighter, blueberry color, and then to gray, and finally then to the ugly blond, which at this point was completely fried hair. It took three hair dying sessions with medium brown hair dye to get all of the hair on her head close to the same color, and several hair cuts to get rid of the five inches of dead ends on her hair.

For several months after this, Katelyn was content with her medium brown hair. And then the questions and requests started again. Could she please just dye it a little bit darker? Because Katelyn has the same boring and mousey brown color of hair that I have, I relented to a warmer shade. And then a shade a bit darker, and a bit darker, and a bit darker. I now am able to look back and see that she was really shooting for black, and just sucking me in closer and closer because she knew that I wouldn't agree.

However, now that she is in highschool, she is back to adding unnatural color requests to the mix, the most recent being green and black. Could she please have black hair and green highlights? Or black hair with green tips? Or black hair with green underneath? Of course, being the strict and horribly mean mother that I am, I said, "Yeah, um, no." This really means that I am out of touch with today's teenager, that I have no concern for her deepest desires, that I don't care if she fits in with her friends, and that I just don't understand her at all. Oh, the horror.

I just cannot see anything close to beauty when I think about green hair. The green hair that I have seen in the past was usually related to people that were bleached blond and spent too much time in chlorinated water. Do people actually purposefully want to look like this? Does anyone other than people that poke all sorts of extra holes in their bodies find this attractive? Would I want my daughter dating someone that did find this attractive? And how does one say to their child, who is asking to do this because she sincerely believes this to be a good look, "No. You may not dye your hair green and black. Green and black hair would be hideous. You would look like an ugly freak. I do not want to parent an ugly freak." Something tells me that this would violate several parenting rules, as well as established guidelines dealing with teenage self esteem. However, did this stop me from saying that to my daughter? Nope. Not in the slightest. Bring it Dr. Spock!

My Talent or Lack Thereof

I've always wanted to be really good at something. To have a talent or skill that is valid and perhaps enviable. When I was growing up, my parents were always very encouraging as far as learning various skills. I was always signed up for at least two different kinds of lessons. I think part of this was to get me out of the house and give my mother a break from the chaos of five children. But the other part was an attempt to round out my education and provide me with an outlet to investigate extracurricular activities I might become enthusiastic about. Thus, as part of my pursuit to find something I not only enjoyed doing but also excelled at, I tried NUMEROUS different things.

The following is a list of those I remember: ballet, tap, jazz, gymnastics, western riding, english riding, english jumping, swimming, diving, synchronized swimming, piano, flute, baton twirling, skiing, crocheting, knitting, sewing, cooking, computer programming, singing, and tennis. Furthermore, I was in band. I was on the drill team. I tried track. I tried drama. I played softball. I played soccer. I tried choir. I was in the Spanish club. I was on the school paper. I tried a lot of things. I was just never fabulous at any one of them.

Now, I have to admit, I perhaps did not try HARD at a lot of these aforementioned activities. I was one of those rebellous children that when encouraged to do something by my parents, tended to move away from whatever that thing was. It was also a bit frustrating to want to do well at something, and really not succeed, but have siblings that did excel in various areas. My older brother Matthew was and is very successful with computers. When we got our first computer, he very quickly learned everything about it, took it apart, put it back together, and hacked into places he shouldn't have. My oldest younger brother, Taylor, was very tall and coordinated. He did well at sports, particularly soccer and basketball. The younger brother under him, Carson, did well in soccer and also became a fabulous drummer. And my youngest brother, Jordan, is a black belt in Taekwando and can draw extremely well. And then there was me......Too short for basketball; in possession of bad electrical equipment karma; unable to play soccer after a horrible soccer experience when on the Mother Goose team; no discernable artistic skills; and only mediocre musical ability.

I remember in college, having to take a speech class. Our very first speech assignment was to give a speech about one of our hobbies and to also utilize a visual aid in our speech. Boy, did I have to sit and think about that one. It took me quite a while to figure out exactly what to speak on. Finally, I loaded up a big wicker laundry basket. In it I put ski gloves and goggles, a swim cap, a picture of me riding a horse, some knitting needles stuck through a ball of yarn, a half finished cross stitch, a tennis racket, my flute, and some piano music. I then proceeded to give a three minute speech on how my hobby was finding different hobbies to try.

As an adult, I have continued in my quest to master or at least be moderately adequate at something. First of all, I re-started piano lessons. This time around, being the one that is paying for them, I practice harder than I did before. However, given that my fingers are very short and my hands small, I have no future plans to become a concert pianist. Plus, I refuse to do any work in my theory book, much to my piano teacher's dismay.

I've also tried SCUBA diving. After a bad start to the class due to illness, I completed the written test and mastered the necessary skills in the pool. I was spot on! It was fun. Yeah, well, attempting to demonstrate the skills in the ocean was another matter. I had no idea I was claustrophobic until about 15 minutes after I was strapped into the suit and 20' down. Thank you Janice for mastering your rescue diver skills.

While not a hobby, I sometimes feel that I'm fairly decent at my job. But then I wonder, is it a good thing to excel at helping people get divorced? I really have no answer for that. I actually think that being good at my job has much more to do with the fact that I do have good listening skills and I enjoy helping people and solving problems. But I honestly have no desire to make divorce a hobby or talent.

And so I'll continue on in my quest to find a skill. I'm fairly certain that I can rule out mountain climbing and long distance cross country running. Probably building model airplanes or racing dirt bikes can be crossed off the list as well. I really don't see myself taking up oil painting or any other crafty and artistic sorts of activities, although I do occasionally get talked in to trying those things the results are often disasterous. There's a big world out there to discover though. Full of all sorts of exciting hobbies. Maybe I'd be good at tattooing? Poetry? Bull fighting? Underwater basket weaving? There's always herb gardening, french pastry baking, or ceramics. Macrame, kayaking, deep sea fishing, metel detecting, bungee jumping...........