Tag: writing

Being a Best Friend Means Feeling Jealous Sometimes, Sorry

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

Sweet love, I have a lesson that is hard learned. I see you feeling jealousy about your best friends making other best friends, especially now that you are at a new school. Dr. Bell quote, “the only person that loves change is a baby with a dirty diaper.” You really hate it.

I smile when you describe your feelings (which I love about you) because they echo many of mine, sometimes. If you didn’t have that jealous feeling when another best friend meets the immediate needs of your bestie? I’d wonder if you were my child.

How beautifully human. How pure your love is.

When I was in undergrad, I remember telling someone at my church that I had over a dozen best friends. She looked at me and said, “they’re not really best friends, if you have so many. It’s not about quantity, it’s about quality.”

Uh, wrong. The same woman, 20 years my senior, also told me that I turn my friends into family. Uh, correct.

Look, it’s not a statement of quantity being more important if you ever find yourself lucky enough to have many best friends.

As you know, Kermit and I have been best friends for almost 50 years. K&S have been my besties for a year. It’s not about quantity of years or friendships. DUH. DUH. DUH. It’s about finding these amazing people and understanding that the two of you are unbelievably lucky to know the good, the bad, and the ugly about each other. No, strike that – you love the good, the bad, and the ugly about each other. You’ve seen that person’s everything, so you gently ask/say, “should we ride at dawn” when battle needs to be done.

BUT, one thing that happens when you ferociously love, which you do, is that you want to be the one to hand hold. In person. You want to make sure that you see, with your eyeballs, your bestie is okay, their needs are being met, the situation is under control.

It’s human. It’s genetic. It’s understandable.

Ralph Waldo Emerson has a quote about friendship that impacted me years ago, “The condition which high friendship demands is ability to do without it.”

I want to tell you a short story about two of my friendships and they are with couples.

You know your name and where it comes from. Geography tried to separate me from that core friendship and I’d say, though I don’t want to speak for the Big One, God simply wouldn’t have it. Many times, there was pain and suffering on both sides of the ocean and that continues today. The best friendships the three of us have (as individuals and I have with them as a couple) have been battered, bruised, twisted, healed, tested again, and bent – not broken. I ached everytime Godmomma or Godpoppa had their needs met by someone “on the ground.” I wanted to be there, providing the help. It wasn’t selfish. It wasn’t because I wanted credit or a title. It was because I love them so deeply. I want to heal hurt, celebrate triumph, create joy.

I couldn’t, many times.

I had to remember that the most important thing was that they receive the in-person love, support, joy…on their terms, at that moment. My love for them is strong enough to push through the jealousy I feel (not really of another person, just of the unfortunate CURRENT reality that I’m not able to teleport) because it is stronger than any other emotion.

The other best friendship is the one with LL and JL–. Bärli, there are stories that literally go back to the moment I was called “LaLa” for the first time (your beloved Ch). We knew each other before we became parents, as we were becoming parents, and as we’ve attempted to deal with being parents (Newsflash: the only cure for all three stages’ difficulties is Mi Cocina). We rarely get to see each other, as you know, even more rarely get to talk. I abhor my inability to be in-person to jump in the air in celebration or wipe the tears of sorrow. I don’t hate many things, but I have long hated this reality of our lives. My love for these two besties is deep. Very deep.

I have, many times, felt jealousy someone else was present for their individual and collective ups and downs. Many times. Having been blessed by the ability to laugh with LL as he was on tour or high five JL after a TV interview, I genuinely struggled when I could no longer do that.

I prayed about these particular friendships (again the individual and collective – we were a pretty awesome Three Amigos, in the day).

Prayer reminded me that there’s something deep when you know the roots and the leaves. These “best friend”ships were the ones that taught me the importance of depth. See, I am connecting to the generations up and down, with my LL and JL. Guess what? They are connecting to my up and down, too. I know the grandparents names from the kids and I have seen the grandkids make LL and JL’s parents shine from the inside. And, same.

Don’t worry about other people being your bestie’s bestie, bud. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Healthy and beautiful and unconditional love? We are blessed when there are many relationships with boundless love, especially our best friendships. Our souls need and deserve as much of that as we can get.

We don’t just nurture those with in-person activities. We nurture them with texts, with prayers, with a care package, with a shout-out in a speech that they may not hear, or in a myriad of ways to keep that best friendship alive. We don’t just show up when there’s rain, though we do and the umbrella is on point, we show up on the every day. I have always loved to see the school drop off routine because it’s just the ho hum. I remember one of Chah’s because he didn’t know I was coming. Seeing the route to pick him up was almost as awesome to me as seeing his face light up because, well, that was the everyday. Remember when Smiff did that for you once? Just the everyday.

That’s where you’ll excel – the everyday – whether it’s a good everyday, a boring everyday, or a scary one. You are a quality bestie, dude.

Relax your grip. They know who you are…and where you are.

And, they love you just as you are…ability-to-rearrange-molecules deficient.

49 -> 50!

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

I turn 50 tomorrow. If “everyone has the face he deserves” at age 50, per Orwell, I deserve the “Sehnsucht Sunshine.” Befreckled by it (better or worse), marked with the lines of laughter and a forehead of staff lines, I have been criticized as “having a smile too big for her face” and someone who “looks better in color.” So, I suppose I’ll take it. All of it.

There are so many things that were b**s**t, in the first part of my life. Yesterday, for example, we were looking at the clouds and I remembered, very vaguely, having to learn the different types of clouds. I mean, come on now. I did not need to see (and smell) the inside of a frog or attempt to sing coloratura repertoire or clean up chunks of your puke in my car. Twice. I knew the horrors of the Holocaust before the visual trauma of Schindler’s List, I knew cancer was brutal before losing Katie at the ripe old age of couldn’t-even-get-a-grey-hair, I felt the terror of public school safety before Uvalde happened hours away from us.

I learned things that made me rough around the edges and I’m thrilled about them. I learned hard lessons about what love is not (it is not what I have had when a man told me he loved me). I learned hard lessons about what family means to me. I also learned hard lessons about what personal responsibility feels like (news flash: exhausting, humbling, and thankless).

Some of the most important things I’ve learned came from two conversations about my singing / who I would or could be. One came from The Grant. He spent an entire lesson with me discussing chiaroscuro, encouraging me to find my perfect balance. I remember, vividly, asking him what my “balance” needed to be and he shook his head. He told me that he’d help me find my way, but I had to commit to being myself. In one of my first lessons with her, Pat Misslin told me I didn’t need to be anything someone told me to be. She said I could sing what I wanted, the way I wanted to, and make my own path. She said the only way I’d fail is if I pretended to be someone in the chorus because that wasn’t my voice.

I suppose my face reflects these lessons and so many others. I rarely wear darkness (literally or figuratively) because the world is dark enough, without my help, and usually appears brighter when I bring my sunshine. So many allowed me the grace to find my real voice, but it wasn’t until you made me your mother that I really found it, my sweet love. I think The Grant and Pat are both thrilled. I get lost sometimes, but not often. I am myself when I remember what they taught me.

I think the next part of my life is learning even more about who I can be, in this crazy world, as a mother, a daughter, a LaLa, a friend, a data privacy geek, an AI Responsible Use drummer, a Sehnsucht feeler, a light bringer, and God knows what else is coming my way.

I’ve always felt I’d make an excellent recruit…https://youtu.be/cG2JDiZFG0o?si=NmgwLtLGJDRMNHF2

Momma: the most phenomenal woman i know (iwd 2024)

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Yesterday, I was too busy trying to support other phenomenal women to support the most phenomenal woman I know: my mom. In my busy-ness and rush, she stepped in and took my son for a celebratory Spring Break dinner. Again, stepping in to make my life easier.

People dream of the life my mom has had. She was raised in a loving home, with both parents and two siblings. I’m sure it was a typical home with some laughter, some tears, some lovely chats, some screaming. My grandfather was ideally-suited to be in a home with four women because he was always attracted to knowledge and brilliance. In 2024, the typically “male” figure we refer to as a champion for women in the workplace? That was my grandfather. They grew up with a champion and a brilliant mother. My grandmothers were both creative, smart, and good. Just the place you want to grow up, if you are a girl because most girls around this globe do not have that start.

Mom went to good schools, she met a good guy, she had good kids, and a good home. Her adult life looked good to everyone. She helped EVERYWHERE for free: church, school, Bluebirds, Cub Scouts, providing snacks for practices & games, Dad’s social functions, charitable organizations. She was constantly helping. That’s what I saw, as a kid. But, looking back on it? She was rarely getting “thank you”s from anyone or feeling as phenomenal as she was, yet she persisted.

Then, she had teenagers and a husband that was in a very demanding career. She was one of those women that had to juggle different schools (at one point, three kids in three schools one of which was about 25 minutes from our house), a pretty substantial house (though Mom would hire a “housekeeper,” she has always befriended the housekeeper, and been unable to get actual house keeping because the housekeeper was never that great at, well, keeping the house). I have no idea how many mornings Mom cried, after we were in school. As a mom? I’d imagine quite a few. She would put breakfast out for us and I don’t remember a single morning that I wasn’t a raving nightmare. I cannot imagine how she endured it all. This must have been a time in her life when she was feeling very lost in all the “I’m not myself” roles and very far from an awareness of how phenomenal all she was doing was, yet she persisted.

When we were all in college and grad schools, Mom started to finally do some things for herself. She joined a non-profit (because she cannot NOT help others) and quickly rose to the head of that group. She was finally, at last, starting to receive some “thank you”s in her communities. It was wonderful to see. She was getting elevated by these, mostly female, people to positions of leadership and agency to make meaningful changes and recommendations. She was doing really well and I know her peers were championing her phenomenal. She still couldn’t see it, yet she persisted.

Her whole person changed that day I saw her with my eldest nephew. It was as if the dreams she’d had as a child were finally realized and it told me so much about this beautiful mother of mine, who has no idea how beautiful she is. It was a turning point for me because I saw, again, her acknowledge the phenomenal in a child that literally ate, pooped, slept on repeat and did nothing else. But she couldn’t see it in herself? She couldn’t see what I saw every time she got him to stop crying or sang him a lullaby or read him a book. (I remember Momma reading to him when he was like 3 months old and I didn’t get it. When she taught my son to read, years later, she told me that children need to start hearing big words, even if they can’t understand them yet, to be able to understand them later. See? She’s phenomal.)

The women of my generation are very different. We talk openly about needing reminders of our fabulocity because, well, kids. As a child, you don’t realize the damage you do to your mother. Children have to have someone that is “on my side” and that usually falls to the mom, which means I gave her holy hell on a regular basis. So, I’d like to be public and very clear about something that has benefitted our family, her friends, our communities, and many corners of this world for a couple of decades (love you, Momma).

Momma, you are phenomenal and you always have been. I look back at all these stages in your life when you were looking for something and I wish someone, I wish it could have been me, had whispered, “you are truly phenomenal.” I think you needed to have others say it more often and I KNOW you deserved to others say it more often.

So much of what I do these days wears me out and guess why? Because I am phenomenal, like my mom. I am modeled to help others, to care for my family, to create womens’ groups to support women literally everywhere I go, to do well in any job I am given. Because YOU showed me how to be phenomenal by being phenomenal yourself.

You really should start every day looking in the mirror and reminding yourself because you have chosen a life of service and those you serve certainly do not remind you often! When no one else is listening, I mean…God help us all if someone hears Linda compliment herself…just hear my voice reminding you, “you can do it” and whisper those words to yourself, “I am a truly phenomenal woman.”

Because you are the most phenomenal woman I know.

I cannot wait to get dressed and go to her house, where my son has had a sleepover with his grandmuddew, and read these words to her. She deserves it. Every woman does.

Writers, Fakers, Authors, Ghostwriters…cue Mark Twain rolling over in his grave

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I had a chat with an author this week – Diccon Bewes, author of various books (http://www.dicconbewes.com/). As we munched on rather lousy fish and a rather juicy burger, I asked Diccon his opinion about the debate over “writer” vs. “author.” I didn’t need to ask his opinion about “faker” vs. “author” because I’ve read his well-researched, carefully-crafted words.

He’s not judgmental about all the terms (like most are), but one of the questions really stuck with me. Are you a “writer” if you write emails?

I’m a writer. The book I wrote is a great book and I wrote every word, but I’m not an author. Diccon is an author. Diccon’s books are not riddled with blind-eyed grammar mistakes. As I freely admit, I wrote my book in three weeks (and revised many times after). Diccon painstakingly researches, interviews, crafts. I have an album of original songs that accompanies my book, which I co-wrote with my buddy, Jackson. I’m an opera singer. Diccon might have sung “Toreador” in the shower, but I doubt he’d claim he’s an opera singer. I think we’re both okay with being who we are.

Look, there are major differences (an English major, come to think of it) involved in many of these “titles.” There are also, for me, fundamental dangers and failures in using them in a flexible way. You are not an author if someone wrote your words for you. You are not a writer if someone wrote your words for you. You are a storyteller, even if it’s your own story, and that is fantastic. And enough.

I blame ghostwriters for some of this. They are doing wonderful, creative, expressive things…and enabling a falsehood to be promulgated. Ghostwriters have penned truly exceptional works that have been primarily attributed to people with name recognition/money. I do some translation work for a website that features ads asking writers to write entire books for 400USD. They must relinquish all claim and legal right to the work after the obligatory “here’s 2 months of paid electricity bills” given as a fee for surrendering their intellectual property. The “owner” of this slaps his or her fat cat name on the book and no one knows that someone else wrote the book.

Goethe wrote an entire book about a theory of colors. I’m fairly certain if I googled “books written by Honey Poo Poo” something would pop up. Ghostwriter/editor/person that does everything for me, please google Honey’s Christian name. Geez, welcome to 2014.

I know it’s hard to make a decent income from writing. Guess what? It’s really hard to make a decent income after you’ve sold your integrity.

For all of the writers who actually put pen to paper for a full 400+ pages, my hat is off to each of you. I’ve done it twice now and it wasn’t exactly easy.

For all of the ghostwriters who consciously allow people to slap a celebrity name on expressions, turns of phrases, research, beautiful dialogue, etc.? Honor your education, your talent, the gift you have with words…and be brave.

For those of you who think writing an email makes you a writer? Well, okay. I did hear the University of Fantasy Land Bachelor degrees are lovely. Covered in glitter, isn’t that write?

For the authors who challenge my brain to see, hear, smell, think, explore, examine…I have only gratitude.