Harrison Bergeron on the Yellow Brick Road: Let's stop sabotaging our own happiness, ok?

I was a little bit down this week while trying to write, and I started pondering some important questions. Primarily, who originally laid all those golden pavers down throughout Oz and created the Yellow Brick Road? Construction munchkins? (Wait, are we allowed to say “munchkins?” Is that frowned upon? Apologies if so.) If you think about it, the yellow brick road was really just Dorothy’s highway to happiness. A golden road to unlimited… discovery. Really, I suppose, it was actually just her path to gaining an appreciation of the happiness she already had- but had taken for granted. But how did a bunch of little OzDOT workers literally know the way to a girl’s heart? (Side note: Never under-estimate the soulful depth of a blue-collar man... Wait, what were we talking about? Sorry.)

Hold up, munchkins. I gotta know: Do you even believe in happiness? I guess that depends on whether or not you define happiness as “perfection.” If you don’t, you must see happiness as attainable. Great! So are you there yet yourself?

Then again, if you do feel like happiness and perfection have to go hand in hand, then do you enjoy your life? Or is your every achievement just another centimeter-sized stepping stone to an unreachable goal?

The lesson we learn from Dorothy and the tiny OzDOT munchkins is that maybe, just freaking maybe, the only thing sabotaging us from being happy is… us. Hmmm. Sounds plausible. However, I feel like it’s naïve to think that happiness could be self-contained. Few people just hate everything about themselves and are miserable. Even if you don’t like yourself, that probably came less from you and more from other people’s treatment of you or reactions to you. Which reminds me…

Toto: "I miss the rains down in Africa."  (BRB. Crying tears of hilarity.)

In high school, you might have read a short story called Harrison Bergeron, written by the ever-brilliant Kurt Vonnegut. It’s one of those thought-provoking satirical dystopian reads in the vein of today’s popular Hunger Games series. Harrison Bergeron was set in 2081 in an extreme socialistic society where everyone was equalized by the government. The beautiful were required to wear a grotesque mask. Athletic talents had to lug around weights, calibrated to counteract the exact amount of physical proclivity the person had. Worst of all, the more intelligent people were made to wear a device in their ears that would blast them with loud noises, radio static and disturbing messages every time they had an original thought or a rebellious idea. These handicaps were assigned to each person by a government official, the Handicapper General. I won’t spoil the story for you, but things didn’t go real well for Harrison Bergeron in the end when he tried to rise above this injustice. I don’t know about you, but I relate.  

Harrison Bergeron. Dorothy Gale. (Did you ever think about the fact that her last name literally means “strong wind?” Even as kid, I’m like, Good one, Baum! Clever, clever! Digressing again.) What do these two have in common, and what does any of it have to do with us or the bummed out mood giving me writer’s block? Welp, I have a theory, guys.

Imagine you’re Harrison Bergeron and you’re following the Yellow Brick Road. Why? Because you actually are exactly that, really. Everyday we trudge down the only apparent paths of our lives, weighted down by mental, physical and emotional handicaps (most of which were put upon us by other people), and we try to find happiness. There are lots of wicked witches along the way. A couple of really good friends. And, if we’re lucky, a few good witches, too.

Maybe Oz is like that big dream we want. It looks so promising, so enticing, so sparkly from afar. We’re certain we’ll never be happy until we reach it. Then we break into two factions: the people who won’t stop until they get there (ya’ll can be Harrison Dorothys) and the people who are too overwhelmed or lost to even try to get to their Oz (like the Harrison Lions, Scarecrows and Tin Mans who were wandering along the way, dig?). So which are you? I’m a Dorothy. I KILL myself to chase down my dreams and own them, and I’ve face-planted into my Yellow Brick Road too many times to count. Bloody. Not cute. I get so busy trying to achieve that I forget to admire the scenery along the way. After all, Oz is beautiful and, like, I have some really cute shoes, too… and, guys, life is short. Really short. The song didn’t say, “Quick, get your ass to Oz!” it said, “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

And, I’ve been thinking, if we’re going to get anywhere, here’s the rest of the task. First of all, Harrisons, we need to take off all the handicaps- the ones that were placed on us and the ones we've placed on ourselves. What bogs you down? Whatever it is, it's time to flip the perspective. Maybe someone hurt you irrevocably. That’s the hardest weight to bear in my opinion. Let's stop carrying them and their awful actions and words around on our shoulders like a handicap. Instead, let's make a list of all the people who make us feel strong and loved and proud. Post the damn list. Tattoo it if you must. Keep it visible though and remember that if all the people who tried to hurt you were placed on one side of a see-saw, and all those who love you and have tried to help you throughout your life were placed on the other, well, the weight of good would send the Wicked Witch(es) of your life into outer space. Maybe you were wronged, accused, betrayed, cheated on, gossiped about, fired, abused. It’s awful. I know. Let's let go. Let's focus on our gifts! You’ve been loved, admired, complimented, celebrated, befriended, valued and cherished as well. Look at your insanely cool shoes. You’re amazing, and people know it. The time has come: Forget your hang-ups, your addictions, your mistakes, your failures. Celebrate the lessons you’ve learned in your great brain, the love you’ve given and received in your precious heart and the bravery you’ve shown in all your adversity along the way. Let's commit to taking the weights, the mask and the distractions off and being the best version of ourselves.

Next. Oz was pretty great. I love emeralds and makeovers, too. But that wizard. He… wasn’t a real wizard. And they travelled all that way and fought so hard to get to him! And he couldn’t even make their dreams come true! Then again, they had already achieved everything they were going to ask him for on the way there. That made me think, what’s MY Oz? What wizardry am I waiting for? What can someone or something else give me that I can’t give myself. Because GUESS WHAT? Intelligence isn’t a diploma. Success isn’t a wad of cash. Love isn’t a ring. Maybe the goal isn’t the magic, maybe the magic is the road. Not a stairway to heaven as much as a heavenly stairway. Once I thought this through, my mind cleared a bit. What did I do to make that stick? Well, tonight when you go to sleep, try to reflect on something you learned or someone you helped or something that made you grow instead of wallowing in the anxiety of the things you dislike or everything that went wrong. Whether you’re Harrison or Dorothy and Company, don’t wait- someday is now. And I realized, they were right with that whole “You’ve had the power all along,” thing. If we work to free ourselves from that which handicaps us, maybe we’ll realize that happiness can be as simple as a stroll down our own yellow brick roads.                  –Kelly

Oh, don't get me started. I've wondered that all my life...

Gum Graveyards and Peeling Ceilings: There's inspiration in sentimentality

Possessions mean nothing to me. And yet. Possessions mean everything to me. Let me explain. I’ve never been the kind of person who needs a lot of stuff. That’s not to say I don’t have a lot of stuff, because I do. And it’s because some of that stuff means a great deal to me. And I’m notorious for hanging on to the past, for better or worse.

When I was a teenager, I, like most teenagers, chewed a lot of gum. I would always find that I happened to be chewing a piece of gum during important events that unfolded. (For the record, it was not the cinnamon kinds [too burny] and NOT, if I could help it, mint. I hate mint. Why couldn’t dentistry have chosen any other herb? Rosemary toothpaste? Delightfully woody. Thyme? Freaking parsley? Sign me up. They went with mint. Now my mouth has to be cold. Sigh.) My personal favorite was the grape Bubblelicious, oh my. Such a wad, so much juice. Anyway. Sometimes while chewing this gum I met a new friend. Or something lucky happened, like I found five bucks on the ground. Or it was my birthday. Or… and this was my favorite… I kissed a boy. These were pivotal moments. This gum could not be thrown out! In the trash! Like… like… trash! No, this fossil of memory must be carefully preserved!

You know that flip-up drawer on the fridge door that had those little built-in egg holder things? Each piece of different colored gum was nestled into its own little egg-thingy spot, in the order of incident occurrence –safe from harm, my memories cherished and protected.

I would visit my gum museum sometimes… Look at those teeth marks. I made those on my 15th birthday! This purple piece. I kissed *whomever* that night after the football game and then we dated for four whole months! Is his spit in there? His soul? Cool. (Oh hush, you were a weird teenager once, too.) Gum. It was my thing. Until my mother found it one day and lost her mind.

            “Kel, come in here. What is this? Like... what even is this?”

            “Gum. I like to keep it. Because it’s lucky. It’s memories, mom!”

            “That’s disgusting. You don’t go back and chew it again ever, do you?”

            “No.” (Yes.)

            “Good. Well, how long do we have to keep it in here?”

I think she could tell by the look on my face that “forever” was the answer. My mom knows me though. And I think she knew why it was important to me. My dad had just passed away a year or so before, and when she let me keep that gum, crazy as it sounds, it was a gesture that showed me she understood me. I was terrified to lose things, memories, people, important moments and milestones. And I was also desperately trying to convince myself that I was safe by safe-keeping the things around me. Nothing got thrown away for a few years there, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. To be honest, I’m not ashamed about the gum drawer either. Disturbing as it is, it speaks to who I was then, and who I still am today, in large part. And I like myself. And even if I didn't, I'd still only know how to be me anyway. 

I’m a fiercely sentimental person. I have a coaster that a cherished friend wrote on in a bar one night over a decade ago. It says, "You are too!" No idea what that meant in that moment ten years ago, but it's been in my nightstand ever since. I have every little trinket that every student I ever taught made me, bought me, colored me, drew me, etc. and I remember who every single one came from. They created it for me and their hearts are inside there... too precious to let go. I save birthday and Christmas cards. In fact, my birthday card from my mom two years ago, on my 32 and most horrible birthday to date, is still in the passenger door of my car right now, because her words were so comforting that I carry them for protection like a seatbelt or another airbag. You might say it sounds like idolatry; but it’s not. It’s not the object I value. It’s the connection to the person that still lives vividly and unceasingly in my possessions.

And here’s the reason for this crazy blog topic. When I write, I sometimes like to write in the presence of objects that hold memories- both for me and for others. This sounds nutty, but sometimes I feel like I can tell the story of an object- the things it saw, the life it lived. I was in tears once in a market in Charleston, SC, because there was an artisan selling old ceiling panels from historic buildings. Courthouses and churches and old plantations and a million other kinds of buildings. I felt so connected to them! They were worn and chipped and each a different color and material. I thought, Imagine the things these panels have seen! And right there, (or should I say, “write” there) much of the conception for my second book, The American Locket, was born.

 I hate to shop. I don’t need fancy things. Jewelry, who cares. Cars, who cares. I have never bought one article of clothing or shoes that cost over $50 in my life, and most of my stuff is $20 or less to be honest. But I’ll tell you, I almost dropped a couple hundred bucks on the spot that day on old, peeling pieces of ceiling because to me, they were history; they represented the people who had lived and died and laughed and cried and loved and hated beneath them, and I thought that was a story worth telling.

 So, it’s not that I advocate hoarding junk or anything- but I am someone who keeps real, organic “life souvenirs,” and I’ve given up apologizing for it. Being sentimental and nostalgic is a good thing. It inspires my writing and shows the world how much I care about the people in my life and how loyal I am to them. To my family, my friends, my past, my respect for history… and, of course, my gum.   

                                                                                                -Kelly

RIP

Update:  Five minutes after the completion of this post, I watched as one of my favorite things smashed to a million pieces. Rest in peace, My Favorite Wine Glass Jr., replacement of My (previously smashed) Favorite Wine Glass Sr. This is why we can't have nice things. I'm distraught. Who's got some gum? 

Welcome! Let's go on an adventure...

Journey Into The Locket

There's just something about "firsts." First days, first experiences, first kisses. And for me, there was no better day in my life than the day I got to hold my first published book for the very first time. I will always be so proud of The Green Locket and the positive messages that it delivered to my readers. If you didn't know, I wrote it when I was teaching middle school and some of the very kids that sat in my classes each day inspired the traits, the stories and the characterization of the book's young heroes and heroines. I even chose to do 13 stories because the kids I was teaching were 13 years old that year. :) 

These days those kiddos are off in college living their own adventures, and it's a beautiful thing to see. And just as they've grown and evolved, so have I...  and my writing has as well. Guys, I cannot tell you all how excited I am for The American Locket to come out. I'm working hard on the writing, revising, editing and art that is going into it, and I can say with full confidence that it is my best work. I've given out a few sneak peeks to some of my friends and family, and the response has been really encouraging. It's incredible to be able to have the chance to do something like this. 

There is so much of "me" peppered into these stories and these characters. The story of my own life can be found within the pages if you just look close enough. And there are other stories in there, too. I find that some people have been such powerful sources of inspiration in my life that it's difficult to keep their influence out of my writing. That's not to say they're all influential in the most basic sense of the word. Some of my hardest days and biggest heartbreaks are portrayed in these pages through the characters' journeys. Some of my most joyful moments and greatest blessings are, too. I really hope this book manifests as a catalyst for reflection with you. I also hope it makes you laugh and cry and think really hard about the things in life that are really important. Mostly, I hope it helps you appreciate your own journey to where ever you are- the happiness and hardships and the people who sacrificed for you. We all have a list of ancestors a mile long and they fought and scraped and survived so that you could be alive today and able to live your life and fulfill your own dreams. The American Locket is my imagining of all the colorful characters that have come together to make me who I am. And I hope when you read it, it makes you imagine yours. Your ancestors. The faces whose photos are kept inside your own locket. All the pieces of your heart. 

If you want more details about The American Locket, click on the CONTACT tab and drop me a line. I'm excited to bring you along on my journey. Thank you all for your amazing support.  -KMD