No need to hide yourself (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I entered into the lifestyle, I couldn’t figure out why I was having so much trouble finding a Dominant that ‘fit’.  I did all the right things, I acted the right way, yet none of the Dominants I interacted with ‘clicked’, the few relationships I tried just weren’t working.  It wasn’t until I ran into a Dominant when I had no desire to find one that I realized what the problem had been all along; I’d been ‘acting’ like what I thought a submissive should be, instead of being the submissive I am.

Most people have a fairly uniform idea of what a D/s relationship is, but the D/s dynamic in individual relationships is so diverse I would venture to say that outside of the Dominant having the final say, almost everything else is on a case by case basis.  I believe a lot of newcomers into the BDSM scene don’t really understand this, so new Dominants and submissive try to act like what they think they should be, instead of being the Dominant or submissive they really are, and I believe that is the cause of so much turmoil when newcomers enter into a D/s relationship, why so many people call themselves ‘switch’, why so many think they’ve made a mistake and change their minds after a while on what side of the power dynamic they think they belong on, or leave the lifestyle altogether.  They can’t find what they’re looking for, and believe they were mistaken about where they belong.

If you interact with others the way you think you should act because of the label you have chosen, then you are misrepresenting yourself.  It will be impossible for you to find a partner that fits you because the partners you’re attracting aren’t attracted to the real you, they’re attracted to the persona you are projecting.

Now, I’m not advocating walking around wearing a sign that reads “I have trust issues” or “I’m overly-possessive”, but if these things are a part of you, you’re doing a disservice to potential partners as well as yourself by not being open and honest about it before things progress too far.  If they’re a part of you, then trust me, it will come out eventually.

By the submissive ‘standard’, I’m a terrible sub.  Most Dominants wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole for a relationship, although when I was single I was fairly popular as a play partner.  I have deep-seated trust issues, and as a result, I’m suspicious and overly-sensitive once I become emotionally invested.  I’d even go as far to say that on occasion my fear of betrayal causes me to cross the line from suspicious to paranoid.  While these aren’t things I would say outright to someone I just met, I would be remiss in keeping them from someone who expressed an interest in a relationship with me.   Not only is it not fair to them, it’s wasting their time and my own to pursue a relationship with someone who cannot handle dealing with those things in a partner.

New Dominants to the scene often suffer from the same misconception.  They have an idea in their head of what they ‘should be’, and do their best to project that image to those they meet in the lifestyle whether it is truly how they are or not, for fear that they will be seen as ‘fake’, ‘weak’ or some other unsavory reputation.

Kinkster, know thyself.  Once you do, you are better equipped to search for and recognize the partner that will compliment you and fulfill your needs.

There is no ‘real’ submissive or Dominant, no list of criteria that you must fulfill to be either.  Each person is an individual, with their own quirks and foibles, and the best we can hope for is to find someone who meets our own individual needs.  Pretending to be something or someone you’re not will not only make that impossible, but once you’re found out, you’re left with the exact same reputation you were trying to avoid in the first place.

There’s a place for everyone in this lifestyle who wants to be here, but if you hide who you are, you’ll never find yours.

Recently, I’ve jotted a few notes on the program while I sit in the dark. Shades of being a reviewer in college. I don’t think that’s so obtrusive as to bother people sitting around me. But I wonder how much that takes away from just sitting there and taking everything in. What if I miss something because I’m busy scribbling? So far, I’ve only done it for things that have pauses for applause (musicals and ballets). I don’t think I’d risk it during a fast-paced comedy, for example.

Anyway, there are a couple of things that I wanted to mention in a review, but there was too much time between the concert and the review, and I couldn’t remember which concert the comment applied to. In one case, I was sure I had scribbled something in a program, or had at least begun the review on the computer, but I can’t find it now. So I’m putting the comments down here. If I every figure out where they go, I’ll come back and update this.

The first one, that I thought I had scribbled something about, was a violin concerto. The cadenza the violinist played was not the usual one. The timpani played a constant roll for most of the cadenza, making large swells and fades in a couple of places. The timpany eventually dropped out, but shortly thereafter the strings made quite fugato entrances before the formal end of the cadenza. There was nothing in the program about whether the violinist had written the cadenza herself (I do remember that the violinist was a woman). It might have been the Beethoven, but this wasn’t an arrangement of the canenza with timpani that he wrote for his own piano transcription of the violin concerto. It was really effective, and I’m sorry not to be able to applaud the appropriate performer.

The next is a pianist, playing a piano concerto (I’m pretty sure, and not a recital), who sat on a stool that was a couple of inches higher than the standard piano bench. I was particularly struck by this, because this is the way I was taught to play. My piano teacher in middle school and high school had been a pupil of E. Robert Schmitz, who wrote a treatise on piano playing. He advocated sitting high enough that the arm sloped down continually from shoulder to fingers, which rested with the full weight of the arm on the keyboard, without any break in the wrist. This greatly lessens the possibility of carpal tunnel issues. I’m not comfortable sitting on a regular bench. And I wondered where this pianist picked this up. Did he have a teacher who, somewhere along the line, had studied with a student of Schmitz? (Schmitz died in 1949, so I’m guessing there had to be at least two generations in between, because my impression was that this was a youngish pianist.) Again, there wasn’t anything in the program that addressed this (unlike the usual comments about Awadagin Pratt’s peculiar preference for benches that aren’t much higher than a footstool).

I just got the trailer yesterday and didn’t have time to test it on my bike until this morning, before the market. I wasn’t sure exactly how it attached to the bike, but any way I tried, it just didn’t fit. Might be the size of my bike frame, or the tires. I tried to Google it at the last minute before abandoning the issue for the morning, and packing up what I could carry to the market, and walking. The wind was fierce today, blowing strong and knocking down signs and umbrellas and stirring everyone’s nerves. It was also the best market day so far of the season, probably due to it being Memorial Day Weekend. The tourists (and locals alike) really love the Fort Bragg Bakery’s cookies.

After the market, I was generously offered a ride home with four of the heaviest signs that are used to close the street. I came home to rest from the wind, do the farmers’ market accounting and work for a couple hours before dealing with the rest of the signs. My dog was cagey from being in all day, so i decided to walk her and pull the bike trailer by hand to see what we could haul on foot. I was hoping she would actually pull the thing for me, but she was immediately frightened and skeptical of the new bright yellow & red contraption and was trying to run away from it instead. As we started walking through the village, I noticed people looking at me and my trailer and my adorable pitbull like I was either homeless, or with amusement. At some point I will eventually laugh about this.

After picking up and loading the first wooden sign, I realized I wouldn’t be able to fit many into the trailer, and also realized that my physical therapist nor my masseuse would approve of this endeavor. I was a clunky scene trying to navigate Mendocino’s non ADA approved sidewalks. I stopped to let some tourists pass and my dog licked their hands as if to say, “please adopt me, she’s gone mad.” I picked up two more signs, and then trudged home. My arms began to ache and my lower back was protesting. I am home now, awaiting Gowan’s arrival. We’re going to make dinner and I will bribe her with dessert to help me pick up the last few signs with her truck. I am wondering why sometimes the simplest things can be the most confounding and the most challenging. I don’t want a car, but I am pretty exasperated by the alternatives as well.

Once again I am left feeling that all of my problems would be solved by having a horse.  And ice cream, with fresh peaches.

Once upon a time over-confidence was considered adorable and you were fearless –at least more so than now. It was almost as if we were expected to have big dreams as children. We were able to write about what we wanted to be and who we thought we were with little to no consequences. That was back when making mistakes was still socially acceptable.

Everything has changed since we were children. Our fearlessness gone, our childhood dreams dead. 

Think about every aspect of your current lifestyle, then think about your dreams and ambitions as an adult. Because taking a chance to be creative meant colouring hearts black on your handmade Valentine’s Day card when you were five. What is the adult version of chasing the dream? Your dream? You could be losing out on some big bucks, so suddenly you’re fearful and unwilling to chase the dream. I don’t blame you.

While we all physically grew larger in size… our level of courage has shriveled up to nothing. The possibility of finding success in chasing a dream from trial-and-error and making mistakes no longer exists. When was it that you changed your mind and decided living safely without ever having to make risks was ideal? The truth of the matter is, as the responsibilities grew and your days became consumed by work, you’ve placed a stranglehold on yourself –you’re threatening to drag yourself back to the comfortable position you’ve deemed to be safe. 

I’m not saying we don’t have to grow up. No, definitely not. When we first discovered what it was like to feel disappointed after a failure it hit us hard. We were fearless as children because we didn’t know this feeling yet. As a form of self-defense and as a result of growing up, the only way we know how to protect ourselves from disappointment after a failure is: to not chase the dream.

I think we’ve been mistaken. Just because you’re clinging onto the bottom of the mountain refusing to climb it doesn’t mean you’re anymore safe than the person making their way up. Being an adult really doesn’t have to mean putting a halt to your journey up to the peak. I’m not sure when being happy became replaceable by comfortableness but we should look to learning from our former fearless selves. Don’t let the teacher who made you colour your hearts pink and perfectly within the lines in order to attain full marks dictate your personality and create a fearful individual bound by rules.

One of these days I hope we all find our former fearless selves and pursue not only our childhood dreams, but the failures as well. At the end of the day, no matter what the outcome… wouldn’t it still be freaking awesome to have arrived at the mountain-top to with a few bumps and bruises? I thought so.

Maybe you’re still skeptical. Yes, we’re talking about real money and not Monopoly money anymore. Yes, we now have more responsibilities to fulfill and much less vivid imaginations. But get this: What you didn’t have as a child but have now is control. You have control over your own life now.

Cheers to our big dreams being revived!

– itsfruitcakeweather.

]]> http://daveimagines.wordpress.com/2013/05/25/why-your-30s-is-not-the-new-20s/ Sat, 25 May 2013 02:32:53 +0000 dave http://daveimagines.wordpress.com/2013/05/25/why-your-30s-is-not-the-new-20s/ http://hansiriley.wordpress.com/2013/05/25/the-gift-of-time/ Sat, 25 May 2013 02:29:59 +0000 A page off the shelf http://hansiriley.wordpress.com/2013/05/25/the-gift-of-time/

 
I am in the sun sheltered from a brisk breeze.  The sun is pleasantly warming.  I am thinking I need to add grass seed in several places – last year’s hot and dry weather did some damage.  I also need to add dirt to several holes/depressions in the lawn.  Having feet twist and turn every which way when walking on the lawn is asking for more hurt. Damned rabbits, etc.  We should plant that garden too.  I need rabbit fencing this year.  For some reason the rabbits have been extra troublesome the past few years.

 
As I sit soaking in the rays, I start dozing off.  It really is comfortable out here.  All of a sudden, I am rudely brought out of that heavenly state of dozing when I hear a racket from above. Squealing and squawking and screeching, that sound pissed-off birds make … about 20-30 small birds in pursuit of a hawk.  Where’s the camera?  Inside.  It doesn’t matter. There was no time for a photograph, just a memory of what I heard and saw. Amazing spectacle. I couldn’t see what made the birds mad at the hawk.  I think of  Google Glass, that I have been reading about.  I wonder if I would have had the time to catch the hawk-chasing episode with those.  Probably not.  I think of all the times I wish I had a camera in my forehead, to catch a snapshot of something I saw.  Then my mind wanders to less nice thoughts about Google Glass.   I’m not too sure about these glasses and privacy.  Would you see them in public restrooms and locker rooms?  My health club has a no cellphone policy in the locker room and that is always being abused.  Although I have never seen anyone actually take a photo, it wouldn’t be hard to do surreptitiously.  If you saw someone wearing these glasses, would you say something?

I am also thinking about some industrious robins and my battle with them.  I have been watching a nest be built in the rose bush just outside the front door.  Previous experience: do not let a robin build a nest near any place you want to be left alone.  It becomes a real issue when the chicks hatch.  Robins are quite protective,  I check the almost completely built nest, find nothing in it, and knock it down. There was one really unhappy robin swearing at me, I am sure.  The squawking was loud and clear.  For the robin, it is better to knock a nest down now, before any eggs are lain; for the robin and I,  before the chicks hatch.  Now, a day later the robins are rebuilding.  Another day and this nest will also hit the ground.  Sorry robins, but you might be better off picking a bush, any bush not near my front stoop.

As someone who has worked in education for a number of years now, I find that I am becoming more and more cynical about my purpose as a teacher. With the on-going demands in the classroom when it comes to testing, modifications, and accommodations, I have often found myself wondering just what it is that we are REALLY teaching today’s youth.

In his book Dumbing Down our Kids by educator Charles Sykes, the author presents us with “The 11 Rules of Life.” These witty and hard-hitting rules are often attributed to a speech that Bill Gates once gave to a graduating class at a California High School, but the original content comes from this text. Rule 8 states:

Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life
has not. In some schools they have abolished
failing grades and
they’ll give you as many times as
you want to get the right answer. This doesn’t bear the
slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. In today’s educational system, children are given so many “outs” when it comes to personal responsibility and self-discipline. Are we creating a culture of n’er-do-wells? Let’s consider some examples. On a state-supported and federally-mandated test, students are told in the initial instructions that they will have 150 minutes to complete the test. The test will be divided into three 50-minute segments, with two 2-minute breaks. HOWEVER, if students need MORE time at the “end” of the test, they can have as much as needed. Woah. Hold on. I have a question. So, do they REALLY have 150 minutes or …….not?

Let’s look at another example. We now have created modifications and accommodations that go far beyond extra time on a difficult standardized test. Some students are labeled as “504,” which designates that they aren’t considered in the low-performing area according to aptitude, but may have “other,” or “non-specified” issues. Like showing up on time. Yes, a child can NOW get a 504 Plan that enables them to be late to class, or even school. Again. I have a question. Some kids are expected to attend school at regular times and others are allowed to opt out due to “non-specified” issues? And further more, how DO we determine WHO should get accomodations like these and who should NOT?

I truly love my job. I also love working with kids. But I am beginning to wonder, in our mad dash to try and be so politically correct and attentive to “those in need,” are we really hurting the majority? By telling students that they only have a set amount of time to complete a task, or turn in an assignment, and then allowing MORE time, aren’t we nullifying the idea of time limits? Does that mean when the child grows up and must pay a bill in full by June 5th, that they will then be given the “modification” of waiting until July 5th or August 5th or basically whenever they feel ready to pay it? In modifying a child’s requirement to come to class on time, aren’t we throwing out the idea of becoming a functional member of a group? Does this mean that I no longer have to show up to work at 8:00am, but, since I have a “plan” in place, can drift in at 8:30, 9:00, hell, 11:00?

How about this: let’s say I am at a stop-light. It is red, but I really want to go. And ever since I was a young child, the rules have never, ever applied to me. I want that light to be green…..NOW. But it’s not. What are the chances that I am going to wait? What are the chances that I am simply going to slip through that light, risking my life as well as the lives of other drivers and pedestrians around me?

Everyone is a unique and special snowflake, but in all honestly, what do snowflakes melt down to? A mass of water. One big, liquid puddle that is devoid of individuality and exception. When we treat certain children with such deference and no longer hold them to set standards, what kind of adults do we create?

Ask yourself some hard questions. What does it take to secure and maintain a job? What does it take to find a good, fuctional relationship and keep it going for a length of time? What does it take to pay bills on time? What does it take to own a pet? What does it take to be an excellent parent, friend, co-worker, or member of society? Are we teaching these qualities in our school, or are we preparing children to face a world where they expect things to go their way? Where they cannot conform to necessary standards that promote a cohesive society, but instead, are totally focused on individual needs? I’m not advocating an Anthem Approach, because it is important to cultivate individuality. But what about when that individuality encroaches on the limits of society? When it pushes past the boundary?

How do we pull in the reigns on this nationwide issue and create young adults who are ready, willing, and able to contribute to society? Can our society TRULY honor EVERY single individual’s needs, wants, and desires with accommodations and modifications, or will that simply cause us to implode? Could we support that amount of “special circumstances” that would arise if we focused on EVERYONE individually- or can we be honest and say that isn’t truly possible?

When do we say “150 minutes means 150 minutes. Late means late.” How do we define limits for our children? By taking away “first place”, and finish “on time”, and “be responsible”, what are we teaching instead?

beautiful!

“We all have a hungry heart, and one of the things we hunger for is happiness. So as much as I possibly could, I stayed where I was happy.
I spent a great deal of time in my younger years just writing and reading, walking around the woods…”
Mary Oliver

Next thing I knew, I was in my old apartment in Texas. The one where I was first honest and truly independent. No room-mates, no help with expenses, and no one to talk to after long days attempting to teach teens about literature or grammar.  I was sitting on the hand-me-down couch, in front of the first real stereo I’d ever bought. The one with the AM-FM receiver, turntable, a new-fangled CD player, and a dual tape deck.

A tape was playing. A mix tape to be precise, but not just any mix tape.  This was The Mix Tape from the man who was wooing me from half a continent away, first with witty banter across the dial-up internet made possible by AOL, then tales of travel told on regular old phone lines.  The tape was a tour of the music that had shaped his life.

So there I was, sitting in the coffee shop, completely unable to focus on my work, once Neil Young’s Harvest Moon caught my ear. Sometimes it’s Lou Reed or Warren Zevon, the Boss or The Pretenders… Any of the songs on that little tape can do it – make my heart flutter and remember those sweet tender moments of discovering this person who was so very different from me, so far away from me, and yet suddenly so dear to me.

I picked up my cell phone, sitting in front of a computer that finds the internet with no cables or squealing modems, longing to hear that voice.  The voice that made me smile with anticipation then, and after 20 years is equally, wondrously able to make me fall in love all over again.

“Cracked,” a Canadian police drama became available on Netflix earlier this month, and I ended up watching the whole first season over the course of a few days. I am very picky about what television series I watch for a variety of reasons. I may tune in for a couple of episodes then find neither the characters or the development of the story are compelling enough to keep me tuned in.

“Cracked” is a Canadian police drama that offers the viewer something very different. Aiden Black, played by David Sutcliffe, is a very interesting character as he is both a cop and coping with post traumatic stress disorder. Over the course of the series you watch how he copes with trauma that he has experienced, as well as the effects, it has on his relationships, career, and the way that he approaches cases. He is one member of a team that specializes in investigating crimes of a psychological nature. The other characters of Leo Beckett, Dr. Daniella Ripley, Poppy Winsett, and Inspector Diane Caligra all have a depth to them, which makes them very interesting.

The cast in this video discusses a bit more about the series, and tells a little bit about their characters. “Cracked” is worth watching episodes on Netflix Canada, or if you are located in Canada via:

http://www.cbc.ca/player/Shows/Shows/Cracked/

Hope that you will check out the television series if you have an interest in something unique or enjoy psychology.

Amanda

Last week marked the very special one year anniversary of me moving into my house. To celebrate this occasion my housemate-who also owns the house- decided to let me in on a potentially bad aspect to the house. We were walking down the street talking about robberies when the topic of our house came up. She started the story the same as any she did before ‘Stop me if I told you this before…’ she paused for a moment, ‘…but did I ever tell you about the time a junkie tried to break into this house?’

I laughed. ‘God this area is crap. Was this a few years ago?’ I asked.

‘No. Not quite’

I stopped laughing quickly.

‘When?’

She fumbled in her bag looking for her missing glove and began walking so slowly we almost came to a stop.

‘Well actually the weekend after you moved in’

‘What? You never told me that!’

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried you would move out’.

The area we lived in was not the best area in Dublin. It was populated by more than its fair share of drunks and druggies. Many of the shops in the area besides the huge multinational supermarkets had closed down. The only businesses that were still open where- tellingly- the local pubs and the takeaways. There weren’t many police on the streets. It seemed more like the streets were run by the gangs of children and young adults that roamed the streets. Their gang style was to wear trousers that hung below their underpants and no matter the weather they went around without any tops on. And that’s just the girls. The area also had a job centre situated directly in the middle of the main street. It had been there for years but remained almost untouched by the locals.

‘So what happened with this robbery?’ I asked.

‘He was a bit of a comedy thief to be honest. He never actually make it into the house. I was sitting in the kitchen reading a magazine when I noticed this guy hoping over the wall. He was wearing a ski mask and had a torch in his mouth’

The only thing he was missing was a sack with a dollar sign on it and he would have looked pretty much like the hamburglar. The end of our garden had a tall wall which was topped with broken glass to stop people from climbing over it from the alleyway that was at the rear of the house. This did not stop the burglar.

‘So he hopped the wall but he got stuck’

‘Because of the glass?’ I asked.

‘Partly, it was kinda obvious that he was off his face on something. He got caught and sorta just lay there. On the glass’.

‘Then what?’

‘I went outside and told him to get down and leave or I’ll call the police. He attempted to get down but he was a real slow mover. He just stopped moving so I got the ladder from the garage and started poking him with it until he started to slide off the wall. But then he just got caught in the glass again and lay dangling from the wall. Thats when he began to cry’.

‘He cried? What did you do?’

‘The only thing I could. I went back inside the house and locked the doors’.

‘How long was he there for?’

‘Oh, while I was walking back into the house I could hear this loud thud so he fell down pretty much straight away. It was followed by his sobbing. Thats when I close the door. The next day, when I was walking to work I found his trousers still dangling from the glass. I feel kinda sorry for him…’