Quitters

Aha, there I am.  You didn't think I'd be gone forever did you?  No, I couldn't.  This blog is a part of me and I am part of everyone who reads it....unless of course that freaks you out and then; never mind.  It is sort of like that movie Phenomenon where the guy is talking to the kids about dying, and about energy never being lost.  I can't be lost because you might be reading this and if you read it then it becomes part of you and therefore I live on.  Deep, huh?

That brings me to something completely different.  Quitters.  I have a friend who calls sweatpants; quitters.  It's sort of funny if you think about it.  You put them on and you've quit.  Maybe you just quit working for the day or perhaps you've quit giving a shit about anything.  It is the second idea that has been marinating in my brain for the last few days.  Believe it or not, I write many of my blog posts while I'm making the bed, while I'm in the shower, and sometimes even smack dab in the middle of a conversation with my friends.

I don't know quit.  Let me just throw that out there again and see if it sticks.  I don't know quit.  I know me as well as anybody and although I own sweatpants, I don't quit.  I have seen people who quit.  I have seen something knock them down in the third round and they don't get up.  Tragedy.  Tragedy has won and they quit.  Like the woman who finds out her husband cheated and she doesn't rebound, not ever.  She suddenly doesn't think she's beautiful.  She stops putting on makeup.  She walks with her head down.  She becomes pale, blending into the background.  She gives away her power instead of stabbing the hand that's trying to grab it from her.  She doesn't see that it isn't about what he did, it's about how she reacts.  She puts on her quitters and drives herself to the grocery store unable to find that thing that made her strong and beautiful.  She is unable to see herself beyond the burn.  I don't understand that.

Now, this might be the part where you judge me.  You may be tempted to say that they only reason I feel this way is because I have never had anything tragic happen.  Oh contrare'.  I  have had my fair share of tragedy and in my lifetime I know I'll have more.  It's coming like a freight train, a moment of pain that is unavoidable and yet I know I will persevere.  I don't put on my quitters.  I don't. (Except for family movie night but that sooo doesn't count.)

I require myself to not give up, give in, or let anyone take my power away for very long.  It comes from knowing who I am and what I'm worth.  Cocky? Arrogant? No.....merely a powerful woman who won't let anyone or anything knock her down for very long.  There is that thing inside of me that is unbreakable and it isn't my heart; it's my spirit.  I cannot understand when I see women go from beautiful, strong, and smart to sad, broken, and grey because of a moment in their life.  I think women should mourn and grieve and then they get up, they should shower, they should put on a pretty dress and makeup and go kick some ass.

Courage.  Conviction.  Power.

It makes me sad when I see people who have put on their quitters and decided that it is the best they can do.  That they are not valuable enough to have better.  They have let the world and their own mind tell them that it won't get better.  That they can't have better.  They lie to themselves and let tragedy win.  Maybe tragedy isn't even that tragic.  Perhaps it's less of a road block and more of a speed bump and yet they sit, in their quitters, next to the speed bump just sure they can't clear it.

I don't get that.  I understand being pissed that someone put a speed bump on my race track, but I don't understand not just plowing over it.  Put your car of life in four wheel drive and keep moving.  You don't stand in front of your closet and take the quitters out.  You don't.  You look at the hot, red dress and tell yourself, "Hell yeah, I can rock that."  I know, I know, mixed metaphors, what else is new?  Anyhow, so I've crawled up on my soapbox for the day and now I will crawl back down because my hot, red dress is waiting.  Time to kick some ass.

Make a nice day!