The Advanced Degree of Life

For the last few days my husband has been walking around with really red eyes that make him look like he’s under the influence of something.  Today, he woke up and they hurt a little. I’ve been telling him that I think he has a cold in his eyes…a virus.  I said it again this morning.  For the 1,000th time he informed me that I am not a doctor.  I said, “I don’t need to be, I just know.”  He then said, “But you have no training,” to which I replied, “I have life experience, that’s my training.”

In order to be eligible to apply for my job, I had to go to college for 7 years full time to earn a degree for a career where I will never earn six digits. I have counseled and given advice to thousands of children and families in my tenure.  I have not walked in their shoes, nor do I truly know how they feel, but through experience of working with many, many different personalities with many, many concerns, I can see the behaviors for what they are and reason them out.  My advanced degree suggests that I am an expert, but a piece of quality cut paper and hours of sitting and staring at a professor did not make me an expert.  Talking, listening and helping people directly, as well as living my own life, makes me an expert.

I had no idea what I was doing when I had my first child.  I had never babysat a day in my life, never changed a diaper, never even had a dog.  In fact, I didn’t change my daughter’s diaper for the first week of her life thanks to my husband.  But then, like everything else, I had to figure it out.  Before I knew it, I was an expert at changing diapers, at calming a crying child, at nursing in public without it being awkward (or so I thought) and at loving another human being so much it was beyond quantitative measure.

Eight short years later, I am sure that no one knows my children better than me.  No one knows how one day they love broccoli and the next they consider it poison.  They don’t know the things that make them consistently belly laugh and where they can always be tickled. They don’t know how they have significant hearing loss when they detect I am speaking to them.  They don’t know how manipulative they are and how to read through their lies. They don’t know how sensitive they are and how to touch their compassion.  Not like I do.  Because of time spent, because of experience with them, when it comes to knowing and parenting my children, I am an expert.

Do I question myself and look to others to confirm what I think is right? Absolutely! Being an expert doesn’t mean we know everything, it just means we know more than most.  The more experience we have, the more we learn, the more competent we feel. We always have the answers, sometimes we just need help formulating the questions to know how to answer.

We all started out with a clean slate and retained the information we felt was important for us.  Through experience, we all become experts in our own right and our own life.  As we experience more, the good and the bad, we retain more information and sort out what we feel benefits us.  Even when we feel like we know nothing, we really know everything, we may just not know how to put it into words or are not confident in acknowledging what we do know.  When we ask for help or advice, it’s not because we can’t figure it out, but because someone else might know a shortcut that will get us there quicker or more efficiently, or can explain it in a way that puts reality into perspective for us. But we are the truest of experts when it comes to what is ours.

My husband might tell you I am overly confident in expressing what I know.  At times, this is true.  However, I know my limits. I will never try to fix my car, diagnose a rare disease, or renovate pretty much anything, but I know what I know what it comes to my own craft, experience and life.  And when/if he goes to the “doctor” and they tell him it’s a virus, I will not hold back my smile and the annoying, “I told you so.” My expertise earned it.

Cheers!

I wanted to write something today. I don’t know if it’s because it’s my birthday and I was feeling so inspired this morning when I purposefully got up before the household and spent some time on quiet reflection.  I always do this on my birthday–reflect. When I look at my path of where I’ve been, where I’m going and where I’m at today, I am amazed and pleased and proud.  Life can be hard, full of change and unknowns, but it is good.

I was feeling good, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to write about. I pondered throughout the morning on what inspires me and what makes me see clearly. What do I value? What creates meaning?  And then it came.  A summary of all that is good and true.  I received the best birthday card ever….

Fantastic, huh? I know.

As if the cover wasn’t enough, the card sings Halleluiah when you open it. Really loud, with a full chorus.  Seriously, awesome.

Who knows us better and what we value more than our friends? No one. Who could offer us meaning and understanding in the simplest form of expression more than our friends? No one.

My friends are amazing. Amazing! They are my inspiration and sounding board when I feel like the worst mother in the world.  When I can’t stand my own reflection in the mirror, they point out that the mirror is cracked and doesn’t reflect what is real.   When I can’t see where I’m going, they hand me a flashlight with extra batteries.  They are the ones who make fun of me when the lettuce is stuck in my teeth…again, and give me the courtesy laugh when my jokes aren’t as good as they could be.  And they know, more than anyone, that I love beer.

So upon reflection of where I am, was and will be, I realize I would not be where I am and where I’m going without them…and maybe beer.

Cheers to friends (especially my super awesome friend Jeannie who gave me the best card ever) for being so inspirational, supportive and understanding.  And cheers to God and beer. You rock.

Once Upon A Time

We all have a story.  A story where we experienced something painful, something difficult, something meaningful and learned a great lesson about ourselves and our place in the world.  Usually those stories start off hard and sometimes devastating.  Whether it was a loss of someone we loved, abuse, unkind words we owned about ourselves, dreams we believed could never be realized, or any situation that feels unbearably painful while in the middle of it.  It feels awful, energy draining, and never ending.  And then something incredible happens…sometimes slowly, sometimes right when we think it never will.  Our wounds start to heal and the pain starts to dissipate.  Our thinking becomes clearer and our vision more focused and we begin to see our pain for what it was, a lesson in life, living and love.

The lesson is different for everyone, as is the pain, but the end result is similar, a gift in the form of growth.  It’s what we choose to do with the result that helps us define ourselves and learn. Survival, knowledge, power in knowing we can face challenges, even when we don’t want to. Learning to love ourselves, others and life, no matter what it brings us. We have all been challenged, every one of us, and will continue to be.

When I think of my own stories, and I have a few, I am thankful for all of them. Honestly, I am.  If it weren’t for my stories, hardships, challenges, down times and can’t imagine peeling myself off the ground lows, I wouldn’t be who I am, and have the skills and knowledge to help others the way I’d like to. If I didn’t feel how hard life can be, how would I know the difference to appreciate its beauty and ease?  It always seems to come full circle for me. And for that, I am grateful.

I often wonder what my children’s stories will be.  What will they say about their childhood? What will they tell their therapist as adults, because we all assume our children will need one, right? Please say yes.

What pains will they have and losses will they incur?  What experiences will hurt them the most? Where will I be when they are hurting? Will they tell me? How will I respond? I will want to support them, as they are my children, but will I want to shield them? Instinctually yes, I don’t want them to feel pain, but intellectually and spiritually, I know they need to.  They will each have a story to tell, most likely many stories.  And I want them to.  I want them to grow strength from pain, knowledge through experience, and know what love is by feeling it.  Love is a risk. A worthwhile risk. So is hope and faith.  And how do you really know the value of love, hope and faith until you experience its absence?

When their heart is truly broken for the first time, when they are penalized for making a bad decision, when they realize that people can be incredibly heartless and condescending, when they acknowledge injustice and inequality in their world, I will be there.  I can not fix or change those lessons, but I can teach them how to prevail in the face of sorrow and anger and model what it looks like to feel pain, but release bitterness.

The best part of stories is that the structure is consistent.  There’s always a beginning, a middle and an end.  We may not be able to choose the introduction and the climax, but the ending is all ours.  As the Buddhists say, pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.  When it comes to my children’s stories, my goal is to let them write their own story, but to help them edit it along the way and teach them a happy ending is always an option. Our script is our own and the words that we choose will determine just how well our story is lived and how prepared we are for the next class.

Q&A My Perspective: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Words…

QUESTION:

My daughter is in 4th grade and it is already clear that young girls can be very cruel to each other.  I don’t see that with boys.  Why is that?

MY PERSPECTIVE:

Since this is a general question, I’m going to give a general response, while acknowledging that every situation and child is different.  However, our general societal norms and stereotypes remain the same.

I actually don’t believe that girls are any more cruel to each other than boys are, they just express themselves differently and are socially driven to do so.

From birth on, gender differences are made clear.  Girl babies are described as pretty, sweet, angelic, and dainty.  Boy babies are described as handsome, strong, tough and solid.  Before they even understand the words, they are being taught their social place in the world. As they grow, we often reinforce these roles encouraging our girls to stay sweet and kind and our boys to be rugged and tough and use words and actions to tell them so.

As infants and toddlers they cry when they are angry, or throw temper tantrums or have those really exaggerated pouts.  These expressions are okay with us because they are young and they don’t know how to express themselves in a more mature fashion to get what they want.  At some point, and the cut off varies for every child, we expect a different response from them and tell them so. When a little girl cries from anger, we will ask her what’s wrong and try to reason it out.  When a little boy cries from anger, we are more likely to want him to just suck it up and may respond with a consequence if he doesn’t do so.

Boys like to be physical and so do girls, but we often view girls as physically weaker so we don’t support it as much. When boys wrestle and fight, we say “boys will be boys” and view it as a normal form of expression.  If girls wrestle and fight, we hold our breath hoping that they won’t get hurt or tell them to use their words to work it out because we are not comfortable with this physical form of expression.

In both kid and grown up world, when we’re angry at someone, our immediate reaction is to want them to feel the same, if not more, pain than we do. Since it’s not “lady like” to raise a fist, girls are encouraged to use their words more to express their anger and work it out.  Girls are more likely taught to communicate using words and identify their feelings and how to work through them.  Boys are more often taught to push down their frustrations and deal with them independently, because it’s not viewed as “strong” to talk about your feelings. They may be feeling the same frustrations, but will express it differently.  Because of this girls will more likely use words to hurt those that upset them which can often be cruel.  Whereas boys are more likely to get into a physical altercation to create the pain they want to inflict. In both cases, it’s the way they’ve been socialized to respond.  But let’s be honest, boys can use their words to be cruel too, especially towards girls because they’ve also likely been taught to “never hit girls.” It creates the desired pain and you get in less trouble for doing it.

As a side note, with the new bullying laws in place, this form of aggression will have stronger consequences, so teaching our children how to express their anger and jealousy in non threatening and hurtful ways will become increasingly more important (even though it should be already).

As parents, it’s our job to acknowledge and teach our children that words can hurt and need to be carefully chosen.  They have a lasting impact that wounds us for much longer than a bruise on the arm.  As their role models, we need to show them that it’s okay to be angry, but to use behaviors and tactics that help you calm yourself down and get what you want in a constructive and non threatening way. And damn, sometimes that’s ridiculously hard!  But if you think of it in terms of all the therapy you’ll save them, totally worth it!

My Gift to You…A Clear Mind

My gift to you….

As a wannabe regular mediator, I value the time I do spend alone, quiet, not thinking. But I also know how hard it is to quiet the mind.  I frequently use guided mediation in the groups I run for adolescents.  They enjoy the opportunity to be still, but need a little help on the mind clearing piece.  The meditation below was written for my daughter, my “what if” child.  She and the older kids I work with enjoy it.  Please share with whoever can benefit from a little mind release.  Coupled with a rock you choose, the reminder of calm is long lasting.  From my family to yours…Happy Holidays.

The Worry Rock

It is a beautiful sunny day and you are walking down the edge of a small rambling brook.  The water glistens and sparkles in the sunlight as the tiny waves seem to dance over brood rocks in the middle of the stream.  The sun on your back feels warm and relaxing.  You feel safe and calm.

As you walk on the edge of the water you look down and see a small rock and pick it up.  It fits in the palm of your hand.  The rock is smooth and clean and seems to glow as you look at it.

You are drawn to its beauty and hold it tight.  The rock seems to be speaking to you in your mind.  It asks you gently to share with it your fears.  It wants you to tell it what scares you the most, but lets you know that you are safe and there is nothing to fear at this time.

You think about it for a minute… and then tell the rock in your mind what it is that scares you.  The rock listens to what you have to say patiently. You share your thoughts, your fears, your worries.  As you explain your concerns to the rock, you begin to feel your body relax even more.

When you are finished, the rock glows radiantly and thanks you for sharing yourself.  It then tells you that since you have told it your fears, they are no longer hiding inside you.  You have released them and they no longer belong to you.

The rock then asks that you please throw it into the stream so it can wash all your fears away.

You trust the rock and choose to throw it into the water as it asks.  You watch it soar through the air, and gently splash into the stream making small ripples in the water.

As you continue to watch it, you see the glimmer start to fade.  You notice a bright blue light shines from within it and seems to be releasing light all around it.

It has let go of all your worries and fears and the thoughts that scare you and it has been cleansed by the water of the brook.  Your fears are gone.  They can’t hurt you anymore.

You feel relieved…and relaxed…and hopeful.   The sun seems to shine a little brighter and the colors around you are vivid and dazzling.  You feel calm and comfortably relaxed.  Enjoy the feelings it brings to you and thank the rock for its help.

Need More Time

With the risk of being very cliche and a bit cheesy, I give to you my latest thoughts to the tune of Jingle Bells.

Dashing through my house,

Laundry everywhere,

Crafts strewn on the floor,

Dust bunnies on the stairs,

I just need one more hour,

Maybe two or three,

To just get through my giant list,

With print I can barely see.

Oh, need more time,

Need more time,

It seems to never end.

All the chores and endless stuff,

Is there time that I can bend?

Need more time,

Need more time,

To make the madness stop.

Will I ever get it all done,

Before my brain just pops?

I thought I’d take a ride,

To pick up a few more things.

Forgot my list at home,

“Are you freakin kidding me?” I would sing.

I don’t have time for this,

Who can remember all to do?

I need another day,

Or start this one anew!

Oh, need more time,

Need more time,

It’s just never enough.

All the chores and endless tasks,

It shouldn’t be this tough.

Need more time,

Need more time,

I’m asking nicely, please.

As much as I like the Holidays,

My sanity it has seized.

Our Family Tree

I love my Christmas tree.  Really and truly love it.  I remember as a child, how excited I was to put up our fake tree every year.  In retrospect, it was really cheesy.  It didn’t look real, or smell real, but it was ours.  Filled with the ornaments we were given or made at home or in school. Colored lights and tinsel garland.  It was very shiny. I remember reminiscing with my brother on each ornament we hung, special and filled with memories of joy.

After college, I moved across the country with my boyfriend who was in the Navy (now my husband) for a year. At Christmastime, we had very little money, but that would not stop me from getting a tree and enjoying every moment of it.  We had a beautiful tree, filled with inexpensive bulbs from Target, white lights and one special ornament I bought that would begin our tradition.  A Precious Moments boy and girl with the boy holding mistletoe over the girl’s head, putting the moves on her, as only a Precious Moments figurine can.  I prominently displayed it in the front so I could see it when I stared at the tree each night.

After my husband and I married, we received more ornaments from friends and family, symbolic of memories we shared or interests we had.  Each chosen with thoughtfulness and consideration.  When our own family expanded with the birth of our daughter, the ornament collection did as well.  Baby’s First Christmas, ornaments with her name, and the tradition I started with giving her angels each year which symbolized how she showed me the way to my heart when she came into my life.  For my son, it was stars, which symbolized the bright and hopeful glow he shines that helps me clearly see my path.

Each year, a new star and angel adorn my tree.  Each year a new craft makes its way as well.  Homemade ornaments made at daycare, school or at home, which represent the children’s development and creativity.  Hand prints made into antlers, turkeys or wreathes.  Glitter, paint and crayon decorating both inside and outside the lines.  Beautiful…every single one.  Ornaments from Disney World, the Outer Banks and Santa’s Village, New York Jets bulbs, framed mini pictures, silly moose, Santa in various forms and the dog angel as a reminder of a pet no longer with us.

Our tree is a decoration, symbolic of the Christmas season, but to me, it is the scrapbook of our life as a family.  A Family Tree.  Memories hang on each branch.  Reminders of our life together, of moments that blend our hopes, dreams and the experiences which keep us united. Always changing, always growing, it looks a little different each year, yet at the core, it is exactly the same.  As we decorate, we tell stories of each one.

“Remember my teacher gave me this gingerbread man? I was out sick that day.”

“I made this at Miss Susan’s. Isn’t it cute? I had so much fun there.”

“This was my little drummer boy from when I was a little boy that hung on my family’s tree.”

“This was from one of my former students who apparently thought I resemble a crazy monkey.”

They have different places on the tree each year, some high, some low, depending on how likely I think my son will break it.  But their stories remain the same, as does their value.  Except for the Precious Moments little boy and girl.  It is hung front and center on the tree, its placement special and pronounced.  As my favorite ornament, the first page of our scrapbook, it is the one that I hold most dear.

Always before I am ready, its time for the scrapbook to be put away.  Wrap up the memories and preserve them for next year’s display.  But for today, I will stare at the tree, relish in my gratitude, and appreciate its reminders of our joy, our changes, our core and our unity. Our Family Tree.

Traditional Bliss

It seems a little early in my blogging career for a re-post, but this just felt timely.

Boots, hats & mittens…check. Camera…check. Dunkin Donuts hot chocolate…check.  Super Excited Can’t Wait to Do This Attitude…check. Remind my husband that the weekend after Thanksgiving is absolutely the best time to get your Christmas tree and it really won’t fall down on you three times this year after we decorate it…check.  Buy a new, improved tree stand to replace last year’s…damn, I knew I’d forget something.

Traditions.  We all have them, need them, live for them.  They are the moments we recall from childhood of the hopefully warm memories spent with family or friends doing the same activity or celebration each year.  I love tradition.  It makes me feel safe, comfortable and in a life full of continuous changes, like something may actually stay the same if I can hold on to it in my head.  I also love building traditions for my children.  My favorites include trick or treating with our cousins, Thanksgiving in an overcrowded dining room so we can all be together, decorating the kitchen the night before the kids’ birthdays and leaving a trail of gifts in their bedroom.  Vacationing on “our” lake in Maine with our extended family and playing Monopoly until late night (which is 9 pm in Maine).  And of course, cutting down our Christmas tree.

Now there are some traditions I could live without.  Wondering what the going rate of the Tooth Fairy is at the time of the lost tooth.  There is just no consistency there.  And the crazy Elf on the Shelf I started last year.  Hiding that little guy is a commitment.  And then forgetting you put him in a bowl for safe keeping in the back of your cupboard and mindlessly taking him out in the summer when using the bowl and having your kids be traumatized by the sight of him sitting on the refrigerator.  “I thought he lived in the North Pole!” they exclaimed.  “Well, just like Santa he’s always watching for good behavior and he stops by to visit every now and then. You never know when he’s around,” I explain.  A bit creepy and they were over it and back to their normal behavior in less than an hour.  Not sure if it’s worth the commitment.

There’s something amazing that occurs when we create traditions for our children. Besides the fact that it gives us something to look forward to, it reminds them that no matter how crazy life can get, we always have some semblance of “normal” to rely on.  It may be a special dinner to celebrate the little things or love notes in their backpack. Or the same book they read once a year or songs sung on certain occasions.  Maybe it’s the way you tell them you adore them that no one else can recreate. No matter what they are, traditions offer comfort and consistency that we may not get anywhere else.

There’s also something amazing that occurs when we follow the traditions we create.  It reminds us of the past years and how much our children have grown and either how much we appreciate them or how quickly they are growing up and how desperately we want it to slow down. We recall the past memories and laugh at the folly or cry when we miss someone who is no longer experiencing it with us. Retelling stories and reliving memories in the here and now of togetherness and musing over what will happen next year. Traditions reflect where we’ve been, where we are and where we hope to be.

As time goes on, I hope to continually be creating more traditions with and for my children.  Partially for them, but mostly for me.  Miniature glimpses of time and space I will hold on to, to keep the fast paced life seem a bit slower, fuller and with reason to remember the little events which make our days meaningful.  And with any luck, I will remember to buy that new, improved tree stand to make next year’s memories just that much better.

Update: My husband bought the new tree stand last year, apparently after the fourth time the tree fell, but never used it.  This year, so far, so good.

The “What If” Child

Every one of us has experienced some form of anxiety. It is a normal physiological reaction which stems from the days our ancestors were faced with the likes of prehistoric lions and bears while they hunted among them and had to choose to fight or flee.  It is when we visual our prehistoric predators or anything that produces fear within us, which creates the real problem and annoyance.

Some people are predisposed to anxiety concerns by their genetic makeup while many develop it through experiences which create fear and uncertainty.  Often times, those who regularly experience anxiety also typically had caregivers who role modeled their worrisome thoughts to create an automatic reaction of continuous concern.  In children, anxiety presents itself in the form of frequent nightmares, not being able to fall asleep alone, racing thoughts they can’t identify, but view as scary, not wanting to try new things, obsessive, compulsive behaviors and worrisome, what if questions, thoughts and comments.  The anxious child may ask a lot of questions looking for reassurance.  They want to ensure their environment is safe.  They may feel sick often, avoid trying new things without assistance, or use behaviors that distance them from people.

Anxiety, plain and simple, is a negative habitual thought pattern.  Instead of saying positive, uplifting thoughts to ourselves, we are continuously expressing negative, fearful thoughts to ourselves and our bodies and minds react accordingly.  If someone gives us a compliment and we buy into it, we may have a feeling of joy and excitement and increased energy.  If someone tells us we’ve done something poorly and we own it, we feel sad, angry, embarrassed and have decreased energy.  Our anxiety or joy comes from the same thoughts we tell ourselves.  So if our negative thinking is a bad habit, how do we fix it? By creating a new habit that replaces the old. And how can we help our children? By teaching them new habits that work for them.

I have a “what if” child.  Every time she “what if’s” the next catastrophe, I “what if” the opposite.

“What if my tooth falls out and I swallow it?’ She’ll say.  “What if your tooth comes out while your in school and you get one of those little treasure chests and you get to give it to the tooth fairy that night?”  I’ll respond.  Feels much better.

“What if I never get to play with Jenny again because she’ll be mad that I didn’t call her back?”  She’ll ask.  “What if you see Jenny in school and let her know that you were unable to call her back, but you’d like to play soon and will ask your mom to set up a play date?”  I’ll answer.

Those are the little ones.  A few weeks ago it was the racing thoughts before bed. She has never been a good self soother going to sleep.  “What if someone comes in the house while we’re sleeping and kills all of us? What if I die a painful death? What if I knock over a candle and burn the house down and you don’t want me in the family anymore?”  So sad that she has these thoughts.  This time, I asked her to write them down and then rewrite new, more positive thoughts so she could do it on her own.

She wrote, “If someone comes in our house and tries to kill us, my mom and dad will protect us and call the police. I will die a peaceful death. And if I knock over the candle and burn down the house, I will still be loved and allowed to be part of the family.”  Progress.

Just like every other skill we want to improve on, the best way to alter our thoughts and help our children to do the same is to practice.  It took practice to create the negative habit and will take practice to create the positive ones.

If your child is afraid of the dark, try sitting with them in the dark, hold their hand and talk about their fears.  Help them combat their own thoughts and redirect them to ones that make them feel better.  Ask what is the worst thing that can happen and play it out. I like to use humor as often as possible to make light of what is generally untrue.

If your child is afraid to talk to other adults or children they don’t know, create situations where they will be exposed to new people and role model the conversations for them to show and feel what its like to engage in new relationships. Self advocacy and communication are life long skills that if practiced early will take your child anywhere they want to go.

If your child is a perfectionist or has unreasonably high expectations for themselves, help them understand that perfection does not exist and if they were perfect, no one would to hang out with them anyway.  Have them set goals for themselves that are high enough to keep them motivated, but low enough to be achievable.  Perfectionism is stressful! Especially when it’s impossible to keep up with.

I could probably give 10,000 examples of the different anxieties I have seen in my child, worked with in adolescents and experienced myself.  The common denominator remains the same, its all what we say to ourselves.  Our thoughts create a physiological reaction that either lifts us up, makes us nervous or jittery, or drains the energy right out of us.  Over time, the thought process feels completely natural if that’s how you’ve learned to think.  When we identify it in our children, it is so important to acknowledge how they are thinking and help them retrain what they are saying to themselves.  If they start to avoid things, it may be even better to get them help with a professional to teach them skills you may be unaware of.  Anxiety is normal, we all experience it. But when it starts to control your life, its time to work a little harder to find ways to manage.

I always tell my children and the adolescents I work with that you can tell the difference between a negative thought about yourself and a positive one by the way they make you feel.  A negative thought feels awful because it’s a lie and a positive one feels great, because it’s true.  The more you lie to yourself, the worse you feel.  The more you are honest with yourself, the better you feel.

And just for the record, changing the way we think is not an easy task, but neither is staying stagnant and uncomfortable.  At the end of the day, you and your child, have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

What works for you?

If you have any situations that you could use another perspective on, please feel free to email me.  There are always options and different ways to view a situation and I’m happy to share my experience with you.

In the Land of No Judgement

In the land of no judgment,

The people won’t stare,

At the lettuce stuck in my teeth,

Or the mess called my hair.

In the land of no judgment,

The people will smile,

When my child ignores me in public,

And the obscenities fly.

In the land of no judgment,

When I trip over my feet,

The people will say,

“Don’t be so discreet!”

In the land of no judgment,

I will drink wine every night.

And relish in the enjoyment,

Whether it’s red or it’s white.

In the land of  no judgment,

I will never shave.

I would probably stay warmer,

And oh, the time I’d save!

In the land of no judgment,

I wouldn’t pretend to follow the news.

I’d only watch mindless sitcoms,

So I’d stay less confused.

In the land of no judgment,

I’d wear last season’s clothes,

White after labor day,

And sweaters with holes.

In the land of no judgment,

I wouldn’t be skeeved out by the grunter at the gym,

We would all sweat in harmony,

And no one would care if we’re slim.

In the land of no judgment,

The people will see,

There is joy in the freedom,

When it’s okay to be me.