Category Archives: Inspirational
The wonderful ladies at The Indie Chicks have invited me back in for some double shot coffee to talk about Bloggers for Movember, and this time, I am not just blabbering about how I want to pet all men with facial hair. This year, I wanted to explain why I find Bloggers for Movember to be a positively impacting cause by writing about an experience that wasn’t so positively impacting.
Just a reminder, if you haven’t already joined in for the Movember efforts, you still have a good solid five days. You can share your own dealings with loss, cancer, men’s physical or mental health, funny or scary doctor stories on your blogs, or you can simply donate to the team, the network, or me personally (donations to any of the three pages will count towards BFM). Any bit helps, even until the last minute. And don’t forget that in doing so, you will also be bidding to win some amazing art and other MOrrific prizes from some special bloggers.
In yesterday’s post, I revealed a secret about my disdain for sharing my music preferences with other drivers on the road, specifically at red lights. In the comments, there were a few others who expressed secrets involving music. Jillian was educating people at the same red lights, Amber was performing accidental serenades, and TBM revealed his faux music career. Sam also sings T-swift better than me, but that’s okay because much more people show interest in hearing me spit some Eminem.
Me and Slim go way back.
I vividly remember the period in my life when I was first introduced to the exquisitely crude lyrics of one of my favorite rappers. I can still smell my old 5th grade classroom and hear the sounds of me cracking pencils out of frustration over those logic puzzles. Isabella, Amy, Tony, and Michael can figure out their own damn class schedules or which gifts they gave to whom for Valentine’s Day. Shit. But this isn’t about them. This is about my favorite rapper, Mr. Marshall Mathers himself. You will be okay with this once you understand our history.
When Eminem came out with My Name Is, I remember being scared and delighted all at the same time. Scared, because I knew if I got caught singing the lyrics, “I don’t give a fuck, god sent me to piss the world off” at the impressionable age of ten, I would surely be put in jail and condemned to hell. My delight came from Eminem being my first true taste of secret rebellion. It was a simple infatuation that I couldn’t fully understand. It wouldn’t be long, however, before I was able to start understanding and appreciating the verses I was performing for the hair ribbons and stuffed animals in my closet. Read the rest of this entry
Some things happened yesterday while I was practicing all of my rebellious apocalyptic antics. Terrifying things, then hilarious things, then sheer miraculous things. The world gave me what I assumed were three parting gifts.
I could have used my words to describe this present. I could have eloquently explained the horror upon horror I
stepped in found awaiting me around every corner of my apartment yesterday. But instead, I took photos of it for you.
Why would this happen? Why would Ace or Jack or both of them have a vomit marathon? I wanted to be furious. I wanted to stop gagging. I wanted to quit cleaning it up. After all, the world was supposed to end, so I thought, “what’s the point”. That’s when I realized it. The felines must have read my post from yesterday and decided to give all of their fucks away… on every surface of my apartment. It was my own fault.
Gift # 2
Once I successfully scraped up all of that plastered puke, I needed to get out in the fresh air and find dinner. But, the first step to anything is checking Facebook. So that is what I did. There he was. Le Clown again, being all savior like. He successfully saved me from my kitty bile induced melancholy with one of his masterly constructed and equally hilarious secular Xmas cards.
If cancer isn’t real, then where did all that Movember money go? Busted, Le Clown! I know you used that nice chunk of change to stock up on Astroglide. Alas, I can never stay mad at you. Thank you for being you, Jesus Clown Super Star On Fire.
Gift # 3 Read the rest of this entry
If you follow my blog regularly, you know I don’t get serious too often. Ever, really. A lot of bloggers are naturals at this stuff, but it is actually a real challenge for me to write about something serious, especially when it is about me. Humor is safe for me, while anything outside of that realm makes me feel extremely vulnerable. But, with everything going on during the week of a Becca on Fire, I not only have a little extra confidence in my fingertips, but I also feel that it is the perfect opportunity to open up a bit to my readers. So, here goes my attempt to inspire.
Before I began writing this post, I sat with a blinking cursor on the left side of my screen and the “about me” page of my blog on the right side of the screen.
I’m only good at funny. That’s what I do. It is easy to be funny. For me. Shit, this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I can’t even inspire Jack to poop inside the litter box, so what can I possibly have to write about inspiration? Oh well, just write.
After all of that staring, I noticed something about how I describe myself. Take a look at my “about me” page. I begin by proudly acknowledging a very important part of what makes me Becca. I was a dancer.
For seventeen years, I was first and foremost, a dancer. Make that a great dancer. A passion that consumes you for such a long period of time is hard to shake and even harder to accept that you must shake, which was apparent by the blurb I’d written. So, I guess I should more accurately say that what I was looking at was a statement about what used to make me Becca.
Before anyone ever put the notion in my head that making a profession of performing arts was “impractical,” I never thought twice about any other course for my life. I entered college as a dance major, was an important member of the college dance team, and had every intention of performing until my age got the best of me (at which point I planned to teach). Everyone knew me as the dancer even if they didn’t know me at all. That is how integral it was to my identity.
After about a year in college, I began to realize that the performing arts program I was in was not up to par with my experience level. This is not a case of my comedic ego either, the program was simply a joke. A cop-out for lazy freshmen who would rather mock an art form than write an essay. On top of that, my parents continually dropped not-so-subtle hints that I may want to consider a different calling. Something more lucrative.
It infuriated me that they didn’t get it. Get me. It infuriated me even more that I pretty much had no other option but to drop the program because of its lack in advancement. It was holding me back as a dancer. It infuriated me, because everyone would think I gave up on my passion to become an office drone (at the thought of which nauseated me).
Before I knew it, I was a performing arts drop-out and a month from being another indifferent graduate of the school of business. What happened? I over analyzed every incoming external influence telling me to cash out before I lost big, that’s what happened. That, stirred together with my own doubts and insecurities as a dancer. I didn’t want to start over at a new university, but I also couldn’t stay enrolled in the Ballet 101 classes that I took when I was three years old.
I had become the one thing that I had almost forgotten I’d sworn not to be, Miss play-it-safe. Sure, I’d find a job. That job would pay well enough for me to live as comfortably as I always have. People would see me as “successful”, but I wouldn’t stop thinking, “Is this it?”. I would eventually become that forty-year-old woman still bragging about how many pirouettes she could do twenty years ago while shamefully dodging conversation about her soul draining day job.
So, back to my “about me” page. Obviously, even five years since I have laced a pointe shoe, I am still coming to terms with “dancer” no longer being my main identifier. While I still have strong emotions associated with that time in my life, l do not regret the way everything panned out. I’ll tell you why. Then you can forget that I ever wrote anything so comically disappointing and go back to envisioning me in my underwear.
You see, had I not experienced this loss, I wouldn’t be here writing this. That’s right, I am tying this into writing, because that wasn’t predictable at all. The fact of it all, is that I could have made a career out of dance, but then I would have never known the dispassionate alternative that I experienced for several years after stepping out of that studio for the last time.
It is my strong belief that I would have eventually become complacent and dropped my dancing career out of pure inability to truly appreciate my love for it. I have been writing again for almost a year now, and because of this, I have the appreciation for writing that I never knew how to have for dance. And now I know what it is like to lose it.
So, while I no longer see dance in my future, what I do see in my future is a passion that is equally as important to me in a different way. Think of it in terms of relationships. You love and you lose. Those losses teach you to appreciate love for what it is. You then find love again in places that you never expected. You become enthralled again when you thought you never would. This time, you know to hold on to it. You know not to abandon it or take it for granted. And you won’t.
- A Red-Headed Woman (clownonfire.wordpress.com)
The prize: I flirted with Tim over at SecondLunch until he agreed to illustrate a new banner for my blog. The banner will be an illustration of me and the lucky four winning bloggers doing something spiffy (with mustaches of course). Other details of the banner are a secret, but I assure you, you will want to be on it. You already know this if you are familiar with Tim’s work (I mean, who isn’t?). The winners’ blog names will be visible on the banner which I will keep up until January, and I will add a page link at the top of my blog showcasing the winners (letting their blogs forever live in infamy on 25tofly). Be on the look out for the banner teaser coming soon.
NOTE: If you “Like” the Bloggers for Movember Facebook page your name will be entered twice in the drawing for the banner position. Just be sure to send me a message or e-mail letting me know you did both so that I don’t miss it.
NOTE #102,937,821: Be sure to leave your blog link in a message with your donation or somewhere on your team member page so I can check you out.
Ready set Mo!
- Bloggers for Movember – Official Kickoff! (clownonfire.wordpress.com)
- Remember Remember the start of Movember (different-uk.typepad.com)
- A moustache-grower’s style guide to Movember (confused.com)
Parts of this post are hypothetical. Maybe.
I read a post today by Lament’s and Lullalbies that I thought was brilliantly human, which is odd, because I know internet people aren’t people at all, they are aliens. Cool aliens, but aliens nonetheless. Don’t worry, I am not phoning the MIB… yet.
Her post addresses the human condition of struggling between making ends meet and making your dreams come true. She writes in a way that is synonymous with the mosh pit of a thought process that I assume begins in most people’s minds when thinking about these issues. Everyone has an ideal career, or two, or three, or is at least on the search to finding one. Everyone also faces the ongoing obligation to provide for themselves at the same time. It is all a huge balancing act and we don’t have the proper equilibrium. In my case, I am just drunk. Read the rest of this entry