Laughing Away Ego

So, the word ego is now being used as the stuff in us that is uncool, negative, and yucky. It is vanity, anger, blame, whining, and ignorance. My dog gets it as a disease when we come home to a house strewn with kitchen garbage about the floor--how it got there is the fault of the cats. Then she feigns guilt and shame. Ego is our defense in a crazy world; it is an attempt to keep us protected, safe and sane.

But the reality is that ego goes a bit too far in it's pursuit of happiness. It becomes a suit of armor that blocks us from a freedom of forward movement in our life. It needs to be tamed, comforted and laid to rest.

How do we tame our inner dragons of ego that are sucking away at our freedoms of joy and bliss, love and peace? The first step is recognition. Then responsibility for the actions that we chose.

And here is the part that I want to play in serving humanity. I want to help kids face, recognize and watch from a safe place the stupid silly forms that ego can come about in their lives. And here is the really fun part of my job, as I am choosing it:

I want to do this through laughter

Okay, so there you have in a nutshell analysis what I want to be when I grow up.

All of this big sophisticated talk brings me to my present project. The story is about a pre-teen girl with an ego flirtation with vanity. In order to make the flirtation in-your-face obvious, her actions and words get a bit extreme. What fun would there be if they were not? Kids reading it will recognize her ego, but not see the same within them selves. Well, not at the surface level. But at that super-duper deep level that only the truly brave (and/or stupid) ever visit, is our recognition of our own vanity ego.

So, to get more concrete and personal about what I am talking about, here is my example:

A few days ago, I was booking a train reservation for my son. I waited until the day before to buy the ticket on-line. My other son had told me that they sell-out, and that I should buy the ticket in advance. But I scoffed at such nonsense. Surely the ticket would be at the cheapest rate available for me, where and when I was ready to buy.

You know where this leads, don't you? You smart reader you. When I got on-line to buy it, there was one ticket left at the cheap price. As I was attempting to purchase it with my credit card, there was a problem with the system accepting my information. By the time everything was figured out, someone else had snaked their way in and bought that last cheap ticket. The only one left was at full price. 

But this could not be my fault!!! It was the fault of their system (ego of blame). This should not have happened to me (ego of vanity). How could I have to pay more on my budget (whining)? I called the Customer Service line and they would not reimburse me. I explained in a rude, loud voice that this was not my fault (not accepting responsibility). 

The Service Rep was calm and polite but would not budge in giving me a better price. So, I had to pay the extra because of that mean, old, scamming system out to get me.

I guess I will give myself recognition that it only took about an hour for me to figure out that the whole thing really was my fault. Had I bought the ticket last week, I would have saved $75. 

Looking back, I am finally ready to laugh at my self. My silly, crazy, blaming others, self; resorting to anger and reactivity. Laughter feels better than anger, any old day of the week.

And I want to teach this to children through stories: that an ego is a protection system gone completely haywire. It does not help them. But as an obvious message in a story blows the fun of reading it, please don't let your children know what they are learning when they read my words. It will just be our little secret.

OH, and never ever in a million ga-zillion years let the ego know what is going on in my books. That mean, nasty ego will keep your children far away from the stories, if it knows what is happening on the pages.

Are you ready to keep such a big secret to yourself? I'm trusting you. Be good.

Heather Leigh

Author of Laughter

My Addiction to Ry Ting

I met Ry Ting while doing my thesis in graduate school; a dragonfly brought us together. I was at the downtown library, researching sewage lagoon usage in Third World countries, when a dragonfly fluttered in and landed on my reed shaped pen. Too easily, my mind sucked in to imagining what life was like as one of the world's most incongruent insects. The miracle beauty of those translucent rainbow wings, pinched onto the body of a hugely mishappen fly. Where did it come from, what was its life like, where would it be going next, what was the story behind this creature?

And then from behind the story forming in my mind, I heard,

"I'm Ry Ting," he said, "and your life will never be the same again."

His eyes were so easy to look at, then. His smile--warm, inviting, welcoming. Even the mocha cream curls poised just above the eyebrows gave the hint of wanting to be touched and played with. He was so easy, then.

My pen dropped, I picked it up, and when I rose, we watched as the dragonfly bobbed it's way out of the library and into the heat of a summer day. I don't remember that any words were spoken between us, but we knew to go to a coffee house and muse the story of the dragonfly we shared. The thesis no longer held meaning in my life. Not when Ry Ting and I had a story to explore.

We laughed, we shared, we exposed our vulnerabilities. Between us, we knew nothing of how things were supposed to be. We just were. It was so easy, then.

Everyday after that, he showed up. Everywhere I turned there he was, begging my attention. The whirlwind, the passion, the satisfaction of being around him--it was all so perfect. Looking back, I can finally admit that I was part of the addiction. I, well, I was flattered.

And then, on some days, he was cold. Some days, I just couldn't even reach him. It was like I could see him, feel his warm breath against my shoulder, tickling against my ear, but he was estranged from me. Once, we were in the same coffee house, and he would not even look at me. He sat with another woman, toying with her hair, and looked at me, smirking all the while.

Angry! I grew so angry! I hurled my notebook at the ground and swore Ry Ting would never touch my mind again. He would never seep within my soul because the pain of his loss was too  deep for me to bare.

He just laughed, and sauntered away, the other woman held captive by his spell.

But when he showed his face the next day, I ignored all of the nasty words swirling in my head and grabbed him back to me.

Now, we are partners. Oh, yes, it is true that our relationship will never hold the ease of those first days. Seems the more entwined we are, the more difficult our connection. But I can't let go. I am hooked, cast under the allure of those first words of Ry Ting. Because he was right, my life will never be the same.

Heather Leigh

Wisdom to be Passed

Of all the stuff that I did not learn in high school, typing is not one of them. I suffered through the excruciating pain and endless monotony of pressing the same key repeatedly for half an hour at a time. Did I really go through that? This is back in the age of BK (aka before key board) (aka typewriter). And my mother, after a life time of leaving me alone to choose my own electives and classes through out the precious schooling years, insisted that I learn to type.

And, of course, after witnessing the struggle and agony of two-finger typists, I have to bow down and say, thank you, mother, you were right.

Which leads me to reflect on other wondrous opportunities of learning that have been plunged in my path.

My father's first driving lesson was the ability to steer with my knees. This is of vital importance so that I could hold my cigarette in one hand and coffee in other. Unfortunately, I don't partake in either activity. BUT, in the case that I decide to start smoking with my morning smoothie, I will be ready. Thanks Dad!

The boys taught me the reason that choosing sides when kids fight is never a winner. They were in the car at the do-it-yourself car wash. After scrubbing on abnormally pink, bubble soap and rinsing away the built up grunge, I entered the car to find the youngest, then four, howling in pain. The oldest, then seven, looked guilty, scared and quiet. Younger blubbered out that the older had punched him. Now what would you think? After comforting my poor baby, I gave the older a stern talking to with controlled anger. Then I asked him why he had punched his little brother (poor little guy--punched by the big bad bully brother).

"He kicked me in the face," said older.

Slowly turning to younger, I asked for confirmation. There was an abrupt stopping of tears and a very slow affirmative head nodding.

Okay, so that taught me the Pandora's box that is flung open when making an attempt to find out who started the sibling rivalry fight. Just like the Law of Gravity, there is a Law of Blame that goes with every act of brotherly violence: the original perpetrator is always someone else. Don't try to understand how this can be, just accept the science behind the Law.

So here I am now, with all of this accumulated knowledge that is just itching to be passed on. Thank the God of Blogs for providing this easy way to pass on what I know to be true. The wisdom must live on!

Oh, and thank you to that typing teacher. Just imagine what it must have been like to be a typing teacher before the age of freetypinggames.com. Bless you, oh Great and Patient One.

Heather Leigh

More Knowledge=Worse Writing

When I first started writing, I was really good. I knew just what to say to captivate and enthrall every reader on the planet. And then something damnable happened: I learned more about writing. I took classes, analyzed what I read, participated in critique groups. Eventually, the inevitable happened...the quality of my words dwindled down to muck.

It's the same with parenting. Before having kids, I was the best mother who ever walked the human powered earth. What did a parent need to tell their monsters to get them to quit bawling at the restaurant table next to ours? Just ask me, I could have told them. How do you get your kids from playing too many video games? Heather Leigh knew. I knew it all.

Until, that is, I had kids. Now I know a mosquito brain sized amount about raising them the right way. The lucky rainbow that made my kids the awesome way they are now, is that they were born that way. Only the bad habits they have picked up come straight from my motherly failings.

Like blurting out to my youngest that I would love to be in the room the first time he got drunk, just to see how he would act. Now that definitely was not supposed to be said. Before I had kids, I would never have told him that.

Back to writing. So, the first of my stories were stupendous! Instant charmers that were written in a week. Everything from obvious setting, to strong characters, to intriguing plot, to showing over telling--I had it all.

Until I did not.

Where did I go wrong? Should I have stayed in my own little 'awesome author' viewpoint cave and never ventured out? I mean, if I thought I was great, would not the whole world agree? Why was I not a NY Times Best Selling Author with the magic that was strewing out of my keyboard flying fingers? Surely, it was the fault of someone else that I was not recognized for the wit and imagination that was so wholly apparent to me.

Why was I so stupid? The more I learned about writing stories, the more I realized how little I know. Is that what a negative correlation is? (I remember that big, ten-cent phrase from some Economics class in college--using it shows how smart I am)

I feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole: the ground beneath me has given away to a never-ending pit. The only way to ever claw out is through the  publication of quality, award winning children's literature. But if my words are becoming more droll by the moment, how will I ever fight my way back to civilization again?

Gazing out in desperation at the palm tree fronds that flow constantly from the San Diego sea breeze, I receive no answers. No downloading of the book that will push Heather Leigh into a household name. The only hope I have is that I could fall off a roof, get a concussion, and have to re-learn the English language. Oh, this is a good idea. I will make an appointment with a lawyer today to have my wishes notarized: that if I have to start my writing skills all over again, don't let me ever learn about how to write better. Then, I will always be a great writer.

Best idea, EVER!

Heather Leigh

A Day Like This

Now, I am probably the only one who has had a day like this, so I have to share my incredibly unique experience ( a creative writing teacher told me that we cannot have incredibly unique experiences--it's either unique or it is not. There is no adjective or adverb that applies to that word. So in my using the expression, you know this is truly a unique situation).

As a massage therapist, my job is physically demanding. And this is Labor Day weekend, as in it was REALLY busy. The massages I've done for the past week have become a blur in my mind of bodies and backs and sore muscles and trying to be friendly to all the clients when I am about ready to push them off the massage table and tell them it is my turn.

And so, when I got home this afternoon, I called my friend to cancel my appearance at her BBQ. My intention was to stay  home, relax, read, eat popcorn, and get to sleep early for another busy day tomorrow.  WEELLLL, as I sat on my couch, I realized that I could not relax with the living room looking so messy. So I put my things away.

Then I thought I would lie down for a bit and read, but saw that my sheets were covered in dog and cat fur. Leaving early this morning, I had forgotten to cover the bed with the spread. That translates to laundry time.

Then I remembered that my son had told me when I was at work that the toilet had overflowed. Another translation: clean bathroom floor, cat box in which toilet water and spilled into it, and get to use the new mop. Since I had all the cleaning tools out, might as well freshen up the other bathroom floor, right? Oh, and the kitchen floor as well. This process also included dumping out two cat boxes and cleaning them in the laundry room.

By now, I am really really hungry. But the kitchen is a mess. What does that translate to? You got it, clean the kitchen.

The consequences of this busy day is that my house is clean enough to tolerate, but not enough to pass any kind of inspection. But, yummy times, the kitchen can be used. This brings me great joy because now I get to cook my own dinner.

Good thing I skipped that BBQ where my friend would have cooked my meal for me and I could have sat in a chair, relaxed and met new people. Wow, I feel refreshed!

Heather Leigh

Searing Bird Questions

Ever watched a pigeon walk? They jut their heads forward with each step. So, what I have always wondered is this: if a pigeon were to have a popsicle stick tied to its neck so that it could not move its head forward, would it be able to walk?

PLEASE NOTE: This is a question to ponder. Please, please, please do not go around tying popsicle sticks to the necks of the poor little pigeons. That would be mean, and bad, bad, bad karma.

Okay, next bird question. This one will be readily understood by those of us who frequent beaches with an abundance of seagulls. How do seagulls know which bags carry Cheetos and Doritos?--because those seem to be the chip of choice. Is it the bright orange packaging? Are they not color blind? Can they smell through plastic packaging?

And is there a school in which they teach their young how to unzip backpacks, open picnic baskets, and pry open boxes of cookies? Or is this a genetic skill?

Following this discussion: Why are tourists at the beach not given a class in how to seal their food properly, in order to avoid seagull rampages while they are playing in the water? I mean, for goodness sake, Locals, those tourists are spending their money in our town.

But who am I to talk. After years of running off seagulls from tourist food pillaging, I have lowered myself to sitting back and watching the show. It is amazing to see those birds in action; how quickly they can attack and devour entire meals in mere moments.

Well, I'm not that cruel. After a while, I will send my son over to scare them away.

And now we get to the raven. Are they not the Bad Boys of the neighborhood? The way they have that strut down with their puffed up chest and bad attitude walking. I'll bet all the girl birds have a secret 'thing' for the raven.

Why do doves of peace make me feel peaceful when I see them?

Are geese and attack dogs related?

Once I saw a crane eating a baby duckling. Does this mean cranes are cannibals?

Why is it that watching turkey vultures soaring in circles in a group, evoke a calm, peaceful feeling within, when we know very well what they are about to do?  As in, they are stalking an animal about to die, and then eat the dead carcass. Yuck!

Why are pelicans so funny looking? Did they mess with the God of Jokes and Laughter before they appeared on Earth? Is he getting them back with those huge, freaky throat/chin things? They must have done something really crazy to inherit that body part.

Thank you for any information you folks can provide on my questions. Feel free to reply on my facebook if you have any answers for me.

Heather Leigh

Been There, Done That

A few nights ago, I shared a healthy meal of quinoa and curried lentils with my old friend, Joe, and my new friend, Virginia.
     --BTW, they are a 7 month new couple and I am tickled pink happy for them in their new happiness!--
As the three of us are writers, the evening naturally got a bit on the crazy side, cause you know how us writers get even more weird than usual when placed in the same room together. As a result of our three hour incarceration, a boastingly funny blog sprang out of our creative dinner conversation:

Things I Wish I Could Say, "Been there, done that," To:

1. Being in a shark cage. I didn't ask for clarification, but I am assuming that means that the sharks are outside of the cage and I am safe within. Guess I should have checked. Because with writers, maybe they wanted the full experience of being in a cage with the sharks. You know, for accurate literary description.  Hmmm.

2. Vegas. --How could a friend of mine, living only a few hours from Vegas, never have experienced the joy of a man-made, gambling mecca, that promotes decadence and greed? I mean, really.

3. Jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. Now, I have done this so I get to say 'been there'. Ha ha--I get to cross this off my To-Do in a life time list and you don't. Eat that, Virginia and Joe!

4. Open Mic. Okay, that scares me more than the time I went bungee jumping off the hot air balloon. Perhaps with a bit of Photoshop, I could fake my way through that one. I mean, what if people laugh at what I am putting out there? What if they don't laugh? Man, scary stuff.

5. Horseback riding in to Tibet and then getting your horse stolen. Unfortunately, even my lively brain could not have concocted that story. But it really  happened to Virginia. Wonder how you hitchhike out of a place that doesn't allow cars? Mystery I will have to solve before I steal away to my death bed.

6. Write New York Times Bestseller. Okay, not an original desire, but dang if we don't all share in that request.

7. Start revolution with Myanmar workers! Oh yes! Who is in with me on that one?! Not only could we overthrow the over-rich corrupt, meany pants, owners, we could hang out afterwards and have the best party EVER!

8. Break into the Louvre and steal a Monet. Any one know how to sell one on the black market?

9. Steal $27,013,540 from JP Morgan Chase and disperse the money by placing it into packages from the World Wide Relief Agency. Talk about a feel good, yummy day!

10. Get plastic surgery to impersonate a dictator and demand that all citizens dress and act like a Grimm fairy tale character. Who would you be? Oh, and start wearing a shoe on my head.

Next dinner together, we are going to spend the evening gossiping about movie stars and complaining about our jobs. You know, the usual.

Heather Leigh