Marrying George Clooney

This has been a really bad week. you know, bitter with a side of fries, kinda week.
I posted a blog about “sibling rivalry” a few days ago, and before you can say holy mother of god, my brother responded – commented – to my post. HOLY SHIT. we haven’t spoken in a while, almost a few years now, and so… what a shock. really. truly. it really threw me for a loop. he felt the need to defend himself about something i wrote, and proceeded to rip me a new asshole in the process. honestly, i didn’t need a new asshole. the thing about being menopausal, my ass grows at night. i go to bed a size eight, i wake up a size ten. a new asshole I DID NOT NEED. BUT in the process of being reamed and vilified and obliterated, the great news: my friends came to my defense… OMG. some, long time, wonderful amazing friends; years and years and years of friendship popping up in the comment section, and some brand new gorgeous extraordinary friends; holy moly stunning friends commenting. some friends didn’t want to take sides, some folks defended him and many sent me personal e-mails and called. and bless them all for being kind and generous and cool. so cool. so honest. so feisty and brave. boy oh boy.
and for a bit of time – on my blog – all hell broke lose.
i did not respond. i toyed with it, and decided no i don’t need to defend myself. i don’t need to jump in and write an entire thesis and rebuttal point by point. it feel much more dignified to just breathe in and out.

this (i believed) was my greatest fear: my brother would come out slugging & punching & rip me to shreds & pieces in a public forum.
and then it happened.
my worst fear manifested.
i took a breath. and i exhaled.
and, no i didn’t feel awful. i didn’t feel humiliated, or embarrassed. I didn’t feel like crawling into a ball and hiding. I didn’t feel like i needed to defend my life. defend who i am.
i felt sad, and felt hurt, but i didn’t need (or want) to react.
that is so fucking hard for me, to just sit back.
truly, deeply painfully hard for me.
i thought, OMG, this is my worst nightmare: being flogged openly in public.

BUT THEN something happened that completely & utterly made me realize it wasn’t exactly MY WORST FEAR.

i had a bigger fear.
a huge fear.
a consuming fear. a massive fucking fear and man did it rear it’s ugly little head.

i was in walmart yesterday when a tornado warning hit our county.
ONLY MY CLOSEST FRIENDS (IN PIKE COUNTY) KNOW: i am a secret walmart shopper.
just like i am a secret chocolate eater.

and let me just say for the record, in pike county we are real limited in terms of grocery stores, markets. i know, i know… i’m making excuses for my secret walmart life. and i know… i know, for many reasons ranging from political to personal i should not be shopping or stepping foot into a walmart or target or k-mart or starbucks. i know.

but…

there i was, in the ORGANIC (yes, organic) produce department buying some fruit when all of a sudden the sound of thunder pounded the crap out of the building. thunder, and pellets and then… all turned dark – and no one was able to leave walmart, not one person. not a soul. it was pouring, the wind was whipping, a tornado warning. it was rush hour. everyone and everyone who needed to do some shopping was at walmart. and there i was …. the cool chick girl from new york city who moved full time to the country a little over a year ago. a year ago i was shopping in barney’s and bergdorf’s. i was buying blahniks and louboutins. i was wearing armani and prada. my ass was growing on seventy first street, not on park road. now i was wearing keds and cotton panties that bunched. last year i was saying, “hey, want my takashima gold mani-pedi card?” now i was saying to the cashier: “want my root beer float points?”

“please, stay away from the doors. we don’t want any accidents.”

there i was, one of many.
women, men, babies, retirees, teens. young. old. tattooed. pierced. skinny, obese, black, white, latino, asian. gay, straight.
waiting for the tornado.
it was fucking bleak.
the rain was relentless. shit flying everywhere.
should i start a conversation, should i engage with the guy with a hundred and eighty seven tattoos? should i ask the girl with the nose rings and eyebrow piercing if she’s okay, and wow, how do you blow your nose?

should i call ken while he’s face down on a massage table and tell him i love him so much my heart is breaking?

this was my worst fear, hands down – no contest. dying in a walmart.

the rain was pounding. blackness and winds… people huddled.

right behind me was a couple – an elderly couple. she hadda be in her 80′s. he hadda be in his 80′s. she was squeezing his hand with every thing she had. she looked so scared. so scared. he stroked her hair. i asked her if she was okay and she said… get this… she said, “as long as i’m with him, i’m fine.”

HOLY SHIT.

“as long as i’m with him, i’m fine.”

it’s all about LOVE, people.
i don’t give a shit where you are – walmart or barney’s ny – it’s about LOVE.

my heart made it’s way back down to my chest.
i could breathe again.

i thank you ALL – each of you – for holding – squeezing – my hand this week.
it gave me the courage to face my fear and walk through a storm.

i wanted a cigarette.

holy mother of god, i wanted a cigarette yesterday. it’s been almost ten years now, and i swear, i wanted a cigarette. a newport light woulda been swell.

i wanted to light up and inhale and exhale and sit at a bar with some perfect strangers. i wanted to smoke & drink & watch reality television because holy shit REALITY TELEVISION would have made me feel better because all this crap that’s been circulating online has made me, you know, flip the fuck out. i even brought ken into my fear bubble, and he said, “oh, amy, the entire dialogue is gonna to be plastered all over the news tonight… no escaping it.”

uh oh.

but and this is a big fucking BUT – if i lit up, i would have completely fallen off. it wouldn’t have been just one cigarette. it would have been two, three… then a pack. so, i didn’t light up.

willpower rocks.

holy shit. what a huge hot button topic. huge. everyone and i mean everyone has something to say about it and… rightfully so. rightfully so. why not? this effects so many people. most people. most people i know, anyway.

and, i mean, everywhere i looked, turned… were these quotes:

“CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?”
“THIS IS KILLING US!”
“EXPOSE THE TRUTH, WHY DON’T YA?”
“HOW DO YOU SPELL RELIEF?”
“IT’S TIME TO JOIN A CHRISTIAN GROUP NOW.”
“THIS IS JUST LIKE JERRY SPRINGER, BUT MEANER”
“SURVIVAL OF THE SHITTIEST.”
“HELL HATH NO FURY…”
“STOP THE CRAZINESS!!!!!!!”
“WELCOME TO THE MOTHER (FUCKING) LODE.”

“HOW WILL IT FEEL TO LOSE ALL CREDIBILITY?”

boy did i want a cigarette.
omfg.
but i held my ground. and shut off my computer. well, that’s NOT true, i put it to sleep. (sorta like we both take an ambien.)
and we both – along with myKen, iKen – went to bed.

but this is what i woke up to first thing this morning when i turned on my computer. this – THIS – was in the subject line of an email to me:

AMY FERRIS, IF THIS DOESN’T END SOON…

okay, so… my opinion. my 2 cents. my feelings:

THIS WHOLE FUCKED UP DEBT-CEILING CRISIS… “HE SAID, SHE SAID, I’M RIGHT, YOU’RE SO WRONG; FUCK YOU, NO, NO FUCK YOU… is yes JUST LIKE JERRY SPRINGER BUT MEANER, AND HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A FEW TEA PARTY BROADS NAMED MICHELLE AND SARAH, AND HOLY SHIT, YOU BET YOUR ASS THIS IS KILLING US AND WE ARE LOSING OUR CREDIBILITY AND MAN OH MAN IT BETTER END SOON, and HOPEFULLY HOPEFULLY we will ALL get some relief from the craziness.”

republicans & democrats.
you’d think they were blood related.

i gotta say, i’m pretty much in awe of siblings that actually truly get along. it seems there’s a small group out there – somewhere up north, closer to Vermont – i’m told.  in my age group – mid 50′s plus – i have heard some pretty awful, and profoundly sad stories between siblings: brothers and sisters; sisters and brothers, brothers and brothers, sisters and sisters. i’ve heard horror stories. maybe it’s a generational thing, maybe it’s an age difference thing, maybe it’s the competitive collective that’s thrown together.

The vying for attention, the need to obliterate each other, compete with each other… and then, in my case, the ‘add on’ of a mother who quite enjoyed pitting us against each other. it gave her a sense of power, being in control. she would tell my brother all sorts of nasty mean ugly shit about me, and then tell me all sorts of nasty mean ugly shit about my brother. and then she would deny that she said it, or … she would laugh, saying it was a joke, funny. it’s a miracle we spoke to each other at all. my therapist said she didn’t want us to like each other because if we did, we’d probably not like her.

profound shit.

calculating. and yes, limited. and while she – my mother – was generous, it was my father who was all for fairness. if one child got, then both got. my mom certainly played ball differently. she wasn’t fair. she wanted to be loved, to be the center of attention – which is much different than being kind and generous.

i am in awe of women – mom’s – who want their children to like each other, love each other, become friends. what a huge massive gorgeous blessing.

i have toyed with writing about this – sibling rivalry – for a few months. every time i start to write about it, i stop. it’s dark down there, much lurks – shame, guilt, sorrow, and sadness. and so i stop and push it under the rug, along with that relationship.

but just recently a good friend of  mine went through a horrible and nasty  experience with his older brother – when all was said and done, the brother decided (he was the executor, had power of attorney and … their mother lived with him and his family) that my friend would only get a small (teeny) gesture of a memory of his mother: three of his mom’s cookbooks and his father’s perry como sweater, packed (and arriving) in a small crushed carton. all the good jewelry and beautiful art work and bulk of the estate went to … his brother, his sister-in-law and their three children. my friend had no children. the phone calls and email exchanges between his brother and him were classic rivalry, to the point where he – my friend – was told in an e-mail that his mother “didn’t really like him very much, he was the black sheep of the family, and caused more hurt than joy.” How awful those words were. How painful and devastating to my friend, his brother’s need to cut & dig deeper and hurt more and open a wound that had healed over the years. all because my friend had asked for ‘some tokens of the memory of mom.’ Fortunately, my friend had a letter, written a few years prior from his mother. He had just opened in a play in new york, and his mother was so proud, so filled with great joy that her son – the one who could’ve ended up in the correctional center – had made such a spectacular name for himself, he cherished that letter. She wrote, “… You found your way out of the darkness, you found your joy. I am so deeply proud of you and your talent. Be proud of yourself, pat yourself on the back, and lift your head high. I am so proud to be your mother.”

had he not had that letter, he would have believed his brother’s words. he would have felt like shit, tormented. he would have asked himself: what did i do? what could i have done? how should i fix it? it would have eaten away at him, this whole hideous sibling rivalry thing.

through yoga and meditation and therapy, and some good friends, he realized he was trying to get his brother to like him, to love him and that was never gonna happen. never. and the more he wanted it, the more obliging he was … kind, and generous and giving, “here, you want this…take it… it’s yours… here…here … more…” and the more he gave, the more his brother took. and the more that circulated just like bad air.

so, at the end of his mother’s life he ended up with a few of her cookbooks, and his father’s perry como sweater.

right then and there, he decided to just stop, it was time to move on. close the door, that chapter … and embrace his gorgeous life, and the goodness that was right in front of him. there are days, he says, that he still wonders why his brother hates him so much. was it because he didn’t visit enough? call enough? was it because promises were made on all sides that were broken?because he chose to not have children? to follow his own path. to be his own person?

there are days he wants to hire a lawyer and go for the jugular.

there are days he misses his family.

when all of that comes up… and it does … he breathes, he feels sorry for himself for a moment or two, and then pushes on.

a couple of months ago i got a box in the mail – a KEEN shoe box. i hadn’t ordered anything from KEEN, nor had ken. on closer examination – at the return address – it was from my brother.

our relationship (or what was left of it) disappeared in the horror and messiness as my mom’s dementia took hold; everything – everything “her life” related – was moved, packed, shipped, reorganized, and redistributed.

there were, just like my friend, only a few significant things i wanted, asked for.

emails were exchanged, emotions were tested. i would like… no you can’t have. my mom’s wedding band, along with all other jewelry (except for the pearls, which i had) went to my niece, and sister-in-law. the two small wood (metal) cuts that i wanted were withheld for monetary evaluation, as they might be worth something.

and that was that. i threw my hands up, gave up, stopped asking, and stopped begging. i felt dirty. and shameful. and to be really blatantly honest, brutally honest, i felt as if i was being told: she was not your mother. we took care of her at the end of her life, so therefore nothing of hers can be yours. you – amy – you don’t matter.

that was two years ago.

what i have found out recently is that i am not alone in this experience. there is a boatload of folks out there who are in the midst of sibling hell/rivalry. a gigantic huge massive CNN poll of people….

okay, back to the KEEN box.

I open the box and in the box are the two wood (metal) cuts and a post card:

Verbatim:

We were unable to find any significant ‘value’ for these other then the sentimental value they have for you….so here they are, down the road, if you do discover otherwise, i certainly hope you will think of  your niece and nephew (i’m leaving out names)!!!

hmm.

what does that mean? significant value?

i think about how we (you know, THE BIG COLLECTIVE WE) treat each other badly. we are often cruel & nasty and we wonder why the world at large is so fucking cruel and nasty. we are often greedy, and unkind and batter each other emotionally & physically and we wonder why the world is filled with so much hatred and violence. we would rather make someone feel unwanted & insignificant so that we can feel bigger and better and more powerful. we treat each other with contempt, and punish each other over and over and over again – a reminder that growth & possibility & evolution is unattainable – and we wonder why there is so much bullying. we wonder why people feel small and unloved. we judge people, criticize people, and we wonder why people feel god awful about themselves.

we can be very unkind.

and good god, we can be so very unforgiving.

significant value, what does that mean?

for me it means declaring my life is invaluable.

Recently, as in a few days ago, I looked through the help wanted ads in my area. There are days, more than not, that I think I should get a job. Like a real job. Like a 9 to 5, or a 10 to 6 … or an 11 to 7 kinda job. Make steady money. Contribute to our household on a weekly basis. Being a freelance person means insecurity – in every which way – emotionally, financially. It’s scary. It seems my line of work – writing – isn’t very popular in a small community. It’s hard to get work. A job. A real job, with benefits. Or without benefits. A paycheck.

I have always believed that nothing is impossible. I left home when I was a teenager and had the power of rebellion carrying me through. If someone said I couldn’t do something, I set out to prove them wrong. If someone said I wasn’t capable, I showed them I was, if someone said I wasn’t good enough… well, then… by God, I was gonna be good enough.

I think about this often these days. Getting older, feeling less vital. It all feels a bit impossible. Some days I feel completely invisible. Not knowing whether to turn left or right.

Folks are out of work.
Tons and tons of women are out of work. Women my age.

For many years being a writer felt like – and was – the coolest job/gig in the world. I WAS A WRITER. A paid writer. I had a couple of books under my belt, all published by big-wig major cool Publishers. I had written two movies, both made by big-wig major cool Studios, I had written for two TV series on big-wig network television, I had co-created & co-edited an all women’s issue of a Buddhist Magazine (which is now in it’s 10th year), and I was a contributing Editor (with my own column) at the glossy & fabulous Urban Refugee Magazine. And I was the guest Editor-in-chief for the WOMEN’S ISSUE at Milford Magazine. All women, all the time.

And the kicker, the OMFG moment: I did it all without a degree. I didn’t finish school. I had hopes and dreams and faith. I had determination and passion and a deep desire to create value and work. I had balls and chutzpah. And a waistline.

And now it isn’t as easy as it used to be. It’s difficult to get a job, a gig writing, editing. You send an e-mail, and no one gets back to you. You’re one in a million, but not in the good, cool sense. Maybe you went into spam, or the Mailer Daemon file, or just plain lost in the ether. Boy, to even think I would one day long for a rejection letter.

Now it feels harder. Less encouraging.

And I realized as I went through the want ads, that I was not qualified for one thing. Not one. Maybe I could categorize myself as “semi-qualified,” but even that’s iffy at best. I look back on my body of work and think, HOLY MOLY, look what i’ve done, created — without a degree. i did that. Me. I wrote that. I edited that. HOLY SHIT.

Now, I couldn’t get a job – a real job – at a Magazine or a newspaper to save my life, because … I don’t have a degree.

But then I think about everything I did do, everything I set out to do, accomplished, everything I did because I had something to say, something to create, a need to express myself, a desire to help another person find their way. I did it because it wasn’t just the only thing I was qualified for, I did it, reached in for it, grabbed it, took hold of it, pulled it up and out of me BECAUSE I HAD NO CHOICE. I am a firm believer that once we determine to achieve something, accomplish something, reach for something – and no, not because we are told to, or someone wants us to – that’s when we create and awaken to our MISSION in life.

What is it you wanna reach for?
Create?
Grab hold of?

What is it?

Go for it.

for Hollye Dexter’s amazing companion piece, please read:

http://hollyedexter.blogspot.com/2011/07/im-not-qualified-for-anything-but-i-do.html

It would creep up on me at the most inopportune times.
While I was driving in my car, walking down the street, making love with my husband, writing a screenplay, writing my book – it would start to churn away, slowly by surely, that little tiny voice that says “I’m not good enough,” “It’s impossible,” “Who are you kidding?” “You’re a sham, a complete sham,” and on and on. That little voice that got louder and louder with each step I took, with each word I wrote, with each road I traveled, with each kiss my husband planted on my lips. The unending voice of doom. For many years that voice – that insidious voice – had complete control and power over me. It owned me, lock, stock and barrel. It often felt like an unwanted friend. You know the type I’m talking about. Someone who calls incessantly, who never asks how you are, but just rattles on and on and drains you of all your energy. You try – sometimes in the most obvious way – to say, “I just can’t talk now,” or “Listen, can I call you back?” As if they don’t hear a word you say, they come back, draining you of energy and life force and act as if they are entitled to your time and space. That’s what my self-doubt, and low self-esteem began to feel like. An unwanted friend that no matter what I did, it just wouldn’t go away. I even tried a recipe to overcompensate for it: a sprinkle of animality, a dash of anger, a pinch of hunger, and then to top it all off, a garnish of arrogance – all tossed together. And you want to know where that got me? Feeling worse about myself. The voice came back louder and more belligerent, “YOU WILL NOT ACCOMPLISH THIS,” “THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN.”
I decided a few years back that this was no longer acceptable. I equated this lack of self- esteem with all the clothing hanging in my closet that no longer fit me, and for whatever reason, I refused to get rid of. It was just hanging there – useless, unattractive and most definitely out of style. But none the less, every day I would open my closet and see with my own two eyes what I no longer needed or wanted, what no longer fit me and yet, resisting; deeply afraid of tossing it all away, I would simply close the closet door and act as if it didn’t exist. On the days when my self-esteem rose above water level, I would fantasize about tossing everything, having all this space to buy new sassy clothing – and of course, in that fantasy world, everything is in it’s place, all matching hangars, shoes lined up on the floor – color coordinated no less – and always something fabulous to wear. To put it another way, it would be uncluttered. Those fearless fantasy moments came and went in a snap.
Until one day – taking a coffee break from writing my memoir, I was walking down the street, sipping a hot and foamy cappuccino – when all of a sudden I heard this voice, “Who’s going to even want to publish this book?” “Why am I writing this book?” “It’s crap, everything I’m writing is crap.” “You’re such a sham, your whole life is a sham.” I stopped dead in my tracks and thought to myself, “This negativity, this self-loathing is cluttering my heart.” I decided right then and there to tackle this – from the inside out.
I have been a practicing Buddhist for 37 years. And while self-doubt and self-esteem has been etched inside of me this entire lifetime, I have been unbelievably fortunate in so many other ways. I have come to realize on the most fundamental level that life is in fact a journey – and only truly when we are ready to conquer something, overcome something, accomplish something – does the opportunity present itself. Although, in my impatience, I have often tried to fit a round peg in a square hole – not only doesn’t it ever fit properly, it often feels just plain wrong. In my wisdom, I have come to see the value of letting things unfold. I had never been ready to deal with the issue of self-doubt, self-esteem. I was so very comfortable in trying to manipulate the environment, that the mere notion of doing exploratory surgery on myself felt passive. As long as there was someone to blame, I could muster aggression – which I mistook for passion. I had a bookshelf filled with self help books, and while I would get a real charge out of reading a chapter that matched perfectly with my personality – it always felt like a band-aid, and for a brief moment I would be encouraged that others experienced the same self loathing as I did. Nothing like a group of people bemoaning their lack of fortune, and feelings of victimization.
I decided to review my life. My entire life. As I dug deep inside – I saw, much to my amazement – a continuing thread of self-doubt, a deep lack of self-confidence that stretched along with me from childhood, to adolescence to womanhood. Those feelings of not being good enough, not belonging, the need to please, the need to be loved and liked, the need to feel important, to feel wanted, to be accepted, to be validated, to be approved of. I had knotted that thread for 50 odd years. Along with looking at my fundamental darkness, I also gazed upon the fortune that surrounded me. My home, my husband, my career (a very successful career, I might add) as a writer, my friends, my material wealth and possessions. I had achieved and accomplished so very much, but at the end of the day – when I would lie in bed at night, and everything was still and quiet, I would think about how undeserving I felt. I could feel it in the core of my being. My solar-plexus, as my acupuncturist would say. For years and years, I would think, if I just had this I would be happy, if I just had that, I would be happy. Well, I was surrounded by “this and that” and still felt unworthy, undeserving – and more importantly, unhappy. What struck me was despite these feelings of unworthiness – I still had fulfilled my dreams. And more than that – while fulfilling my dreams – I still felt that I wasn’t good enough. A catch 22 if ever there was one. I decided it wasn’t about filling my life with more ‘stuff’ – it was about getting to the root of this suffering and pain; the human revolution of one person – revolutionizing our own lives and thereby transforming our environment. That seemed like a perfect – albeit difficult – place to start. To start with me — to change how I felt about myself. If this pain and suffering was inside of me, well then, it was up to me to change my opinion of myself.
Let me share with you ‘the’ defining moment in my life. The woe is me pity party I was throwing for myself was in full gear. I was most definitely scared and filled with doubt. I decided it was time to seek some encouragement. I went to see a friend of mine. A spiritual advisor. I had long admired his passion; his determination and the opportunity had presented itself for me to sit down with him one on one. My eyes filled with tears, I gave him a blow by blow of all the obstacles and challenges; doubts and fears that were consuming me. He listened patiently as I rambled on. Then he took my hand, and said, “Please become a woman of unlimited self-esteem.” It sounded so poetic. So simple. So perfect. I started to pray and meditate with that one thought in mind: to become a woman of unlimited self-esteem. Within 24 hours every fear; every doubt, every single feeling came to the surface, right up to the nerve ending. I had two choices – to either give in to this self-slander; self doubt, or challenge and transform these feelings that were lodged in my soul. I chose to challenge myself. And to be quite honest, it felt like do or die. For two weeks I entered a battle – an internal battle. There were days when all I could do is cry, feeling sorry for myself. There were days when I was amazed at my determination, feeling proud of myself. There were days when I felt nothing. There were days when I felt powerful. There were days when I felt shame and guilt, and there were days when I felt appreciation and humble. There were days when I felt like a sham, and days when I felt authentic. And there were days when I didn’t think I could go another inch. Then, after two weeks, I felt a sudden shift take place from deep inside me – it dawned on me that I had viewed my doubt as an effect, rather than the cause. It became crystal clear to me that the environment was merely reflecting how I felt about myself. For so many years my thought pattern was, “So and so doesn’t like my work, so I guess it’s not good,” or “She (or he) is saying it can’t happen, it’s impossible, so I guess I should just give up.” I allowed my environment to chose my life for me, to decide the outcome. I never once thought that the negativity that was coming at me was a reflection of how I truly felt about myself. The minute I understood that in my soul, it was liberating. That’s when I truly understood what self-esteem isn’t and finally able to understand with my life what it is. It is: courage, the courage of ones conviction, it is confidence, the confidence to stand in your own shoes and own your dreams, every bit of them, it is respect, respecting each and every feeling that may come up in the process of fulfilling that dream, it is honoring one’s life, honoring the struggle, the challenge, the ability to take one more step on a road that feels unbelievably long and winding, and it is faith – from the time we make up our mind to accomplish something to seeing the result of that determination – that in between time, when the doubt and the self loathing and the fear creeps in, when we feel like giving up, when it feels as if everything is falling away — that’s when we get to see what we’re made of – and that is faith in ones self.

Ones self.

And faith in ones self manifests in unlimited self-esteem.