I didn't expect speaking to the Smart Girls group at the Boys & Girls Club today to feel like I was the one receiving the gift of their time and attention, but it did. 

The girls were lovely. I enjoyed the girl talk (I do so miss my girls), and I especially enjoyed all the hugs I was the lucky recipient of at the end. I found it hard to leave.

To the Intelligent, Kind, Talented, Well-Mannered, Beautiful Young Ladies of Smart Girls: 

Thank you so much for having me today, and thank you for your sweet hugs. They made my day!

One of the things I hope you take with you after today is, of course, that anything is POSSIBLE. You each deserve to have the life you're willing to work for and dream of. Because we ALL deserve that. Don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise.
We all make mistakes. But a mistake doesn't have to define you for life. 

Every day that you wake up, throw off your covers and put your feet on the floor is another opportunity to make choices that keep you on your desired path in life. And you never know what beautiful, spectacular sights await you around the next corner. You matter. Your future matters. I couldn't wait to meet you all today, and I hope to see you again, because you matter to me. So just stay on the road. 

No one can force you to make the right choices. You have to want badly enough to do that for yourself. Sometimes we make the wrong choices out of spite. "I'll show them!" Right? We might manage to make someone else sad, but the only one you truly hurt is yourself. 

My parents divorced when I was a freshman in high school, and I've had five stepparents since then. My dad has been divorced four times, and my mom is married for the third time. I had a lot of anger for a long time. But the truth is, my parents' choices didn't have to have a negative effect on my choices. Only I allowed them to do that when I decided to stop believing in anything. And at 45 years old, I got tired of being angry, and I started doing what I wanted to do for me. 

You may not see a lot of diversity around you, or see yourself in many examples of success. But I want you to know that I didn't see examples of success I believed in for myself either, especially after I became a single mom--I thought my fate was sealed. 

I no longer believe that was EVER true. 

I didn't know other successful writers around me. So I took to the internet. I signed up for creative writing classes at the adult extension of the University of California in San Diego.

I started communicating with writers whose books I'd read, and I've met a few of them. That's what I needed to do. It made those writers feel more human to me. That showed me that if I'm willing to do the work, my dream of writing -- of finishing -- my own book someday IS possible. 

WE are the only ones with the power to limit ourselves. And we give up that power to others far too often.

Also, remember how we talked about letting love in--and I'm talking about true appreciation, kindness, and support of your dreams and goals kind of love. Even if you don't feel loved every day, wherever you come across it, like from the wonderful staff and volunteers at the Boys & Girls Club, drink it in and believe that.

You girls are capable of anything. If you can conceive it, you can achieve it if you just believe and keep it in your mind. Like Miss Brown says, "Always ask yourself, 'is this going to help me achieve my goals, or does this have the potential to send me sailing off that cliff?'" (OK, the cliff part I added.)

Choose yourself, choose YOUR future.  And be well.

Your new friend,
--Kim Jorgensen Gane

If you're lucky enough to be near Benton Harbor, MI, next week during their Clubs Week Celebration, please take the opportunity to tour the facilities of the Boys & Girls Club. "The interest and involvement by our community as a whole is critical to insuring the success of future generations." And the awesome kids there need and deserve your time and attention, too.  If you or someone else you know would enjoy taking a guided tour next week, please RSVP to the attention of Kimberly McCoy with your choice of day and the number of guests who wish to attend. 


(c) Copyright, 2014, All Rights Reserved

There's a reason I hadn't written a new post on my *other* site since the beginning of the school year when my stomach was in knots over my food sensitive kid's first male teacher (he's doing fine, btw).   A number of things have occurred since, which left me ambivalent about continuing with a gluten-free site at all (especially with one called GlutenNaziMom). 

After almost two years blogging, today I received my first hate comments.

I was advised having such a brand would take some special care, but that there were ways around it.  It was catchy.  It worked for Seinfeld.  When my son was born and I had teenaged daughters in the house, Seinfeld was still a part of our social landscape.  I have to wonder now if social media would have put a stop to the running SoupNazi skit from it's first airing.  Instead, it became a part of nearly everyday language in our house, and in many houses across America.

I had teenagers making PB&Js, macaroni and cheese, frozen pizzas, all while I was trying to navigate life with a newborn.  The puzzle of figuring out what made him uncomfortable, difficult to please, aka, "high needs," combined with the risk of cross-contamination when I was still learning and trying to catch my bearings did make me a GlutenNaziMom.

Seinfeld, however, I am not.  

My son took six years to get here.  I believe that was because of food allergies.  My husband had colitis bordering on Crohn's Disease, I had PCOS and endometriosis and wicked seasonal allergies.  There are reasons our reproductive systems shut down first.  And yes, I believe our food system has a lot to do with why infertility is still rising meteorically.  So I was.  I was a GlutenNaziMom.  Crazed in my efforts to try to get some damn sleep, more than a 20-30 minute catnap at a stretch out of my newborn, which was barely long enough to take a real shower with hair washing and leg shaving and the whole zen peace and solitude thing.

It was a name my teenagers gave me.  It was our effort to find humor in a difficult situation.  It was an effort to laugh at life even when my feelings were hurt.  Even when I had to stand and rock a thirteen-month-old for hours in the middle of the night because otherwise he was screaming, I could only assume, in pain because I'd inadvertently eaten something wrong, possibly the size of a crumb.  It was the way our family, and a whole lot of families that deal with one "food-allergic" kid in the house, try to get through it all from one day to the next.  

It was about vigilance in order to survive our stressful days.  Writing about our struggles and trying to help others was my way of eeking some good out of an often difficult situation.  Would I have traded my son, who took six years to be, for any of it?  Of course not.  But that didn't change the fact that it was a roller coaster more often than not.

When we know better, we do better.  

In mid-2013, I became associated with a remarkable group of midlife women bloggers, several of whom have heritage deeply entwined in and forever affected by Jewish history.  Were any of these remarkable, insightful, supportive women people I wanted to hurt in any way?  Is anti-semitism something I want to contribute to in any way?  My God, no.  

My friend Sharon Greenthal, founding co-editor of the site, Midlife Boulevard, wrote a post on her blog, Empty House Full Mind, which gave me pause (as did the Sunday Review piece which inspired her post, "The Banality of Robbing the Jews").  My own piece and the frustration and fear I expressed back when school began also gave me pause.  I felt ensconced in a ten-year-old (47-year-old?) defeatist attitude.  I don't want to be banal about or laugh at something so painful for millions of people, and I don't want to rob anyone of their things, their dignity, or simply their otherwise peaceful day.  Though I don't think the commenter is someone familiar with peace.

And I was tired.  

And my son is ten.  He often chooses and prepares food for himself these days.  Everyday he shows me that he's becoming more and more his own man.  And what am I discovering?  That remarkably, my son embraces an attitude of, "that's gluten free?  You mean I can try that," versus, "Whoa-is-me, I can't eat anything!"  

The truth is, because our grocery cart and thus our crisper drawers are always full of good things, because the meals we prepare at home are chock full of items from the produce aisle and contain far fewer boxed and prepared processed foods than many typical American ten-year-olds might encounter on a regular basis, my son recognizes that the world is full of an abundance of foods he can eat--Variety and Vegetables.  I did that.  My grandfather, who lived to be 100, and my mother did that.  I did that for my daughter even when I was a single mom.  It's a legacy my family has passed down which does something pretty magical:  It keeps us well.

That's the gold.  That's what is unique and special about my family and how we approach the fact that we happen, now that my daughters are grown women in charge of their own households, to be a gluten-free one.  And I can embrace the positive.  I can forgive myself for my prior process of scarcity, blame, fear, to embrace a new philosophy of #MOREin2014.

The truth is, crunchy and militant isn't for everyone.  We all have our own struggles and stresses and we have to choose the battles that make sense for our families.  If more of us just do a little better, become a little more aware, it has the power to be far more impactful than a handful of crunchy people waving signs around.

And I'd much rather be a part of a positive movement than cause someone to viscerally recall such a negative, hurtful, devastating moment in the collective history of our humanity.  

A year ago, I didn't have a clue what I would do if I weren't defined by GlutenNaziMom.  If I weren't locked in the baggage of life's difficult moments, what could I do?  What could I be?  It's taken me this year to process.  With some pretty intense coaching from Nancy Kaye, of Define Your Destiny, and the best piece of advice she gave me--CLAIM YOUR WORTH!  There is NO REASON on Earth You Don't Deserve Success and Happiness--it took me all of 2013 to grow and embrace all that my life is, versus all that's maybe a wee bit difficult about it.  And to roll with the punches, to keep on keepin' on, even in the face of nastiness.

I thank the commenter who provided the impetus I needed to take the step I was having a hard time committing to—I’ve taken down the site.

I'm a work in progress.  When we know better, we do better.  I'm still here.  And I surrender.  

Letting go of scarcity to embrace my grandfather's and my brilliant and beautiful son's attitude of abundance feels pretty damn great.  And I'm just a little proud of my part in getting him, getting us, there. 


NOTE:  This post was written (meh, a couple days late to the party, albeit a very timely topic) as part of a #MidlifeBlvd bloghop.  One thing I know about these ladies?  There will be a plethora of hugely valuable best advice and information they ever received.  I hope you'll read through some of the other posts.

I’ve written often about my fear of failure, and my equally daunting fear of success.  These fears have sat equally sour in my belly since high school.  I’m afraid to be nothing, afraid of not fulfilling my purpose, but I’m equally afraid of how my life might change if I do succeed in doing what it is that same gut keeps niggling at me over and over, telling me I’m meant to do.

If only that gut spoke plain English.

But it doesn’t.  It speaks in code.  It speaks in hieroglyphics, in tongues at which I’m left to decipher and guess.

I know it’s always a mistake when I ignore my gut.  Lord knows, ignoring that flip in the hollow of my stomach before I got into a car with a guy I didn’t know when another guy I did know asked his “friend” to give me a ride home was a big mistake.  Did my “friend” know this was his bud's M.O?  I was too ashamed, so I never told.  How many girls had the bud done this to?  Had anyone else ever reported it?  Had there been some kind of secret handshake that passed between them?  Was my friend possibly in on it?

It was the 80s.  We chalked it up to a bad date—a bad choice, my own damn fault (which is complete and utter bull$hit, if you wondered!)—and we moved on. 

But you never really do.

You just learn, time after time, to question and question again your own intelligence, your own abilities.  You question your own gut’s messages about right or wrong, its whispers about do it or don’t do it, its twinges and twists and which way they mean for you to go. 

Speak English, damn you!

Just tell me, please.  What is it you want me to do?  Which answer is the right one to help me feed my family?

“Girgle, girgle,” crickets….

—sigh--

Somehow, when it's about your own life, Intuition can be a bitch, and Doubt, her master.

Then something I spent an entire weekend berating myself over for yet another failure, with perspective morphed into opportunity, into action, an honest to goodness aha!

I made a phone call.  I felt certain.    

What I thought I felt certain about became something else entirely.  A lunch turned into a three-hour meeting, into a tour, into another impromptu meeting, into a follow-up meeting next week.

I’m in awe, I’m awakened, and I have a vision that has never been clearer.  

Everything in my life has led up to this presentation next week, to this moment.  The dots connect, the failures make sense, every moment of the last two years of hard work and educating myself, the odd job, the “gifts” that seem not at all related, slip effortlessly together with a clang of realization.

All of this is to say that, my cooking demonstration planned for The Box Factory on December 11th has met with some challenges that make it impossible to pull off in the time-frame I’d allotted myself (so we'll do it in late January, likely that week before the Super Bowl).  

But please stay tuned for something that could be, that will be, bigger and better and incredibly exciting!   

I’m working on the presentation of my life this week.  So don’t think I’ve buried myself under a bush to lick at my wounds…I’m strategizing, I’m pulling it all together like never before.

I’m listening to my gut and writing down its every note, because for once its intentions are clear and beautiful as perfect harmony.  Which, when I remember what it felt like to sit in the middle of a choir of voices, brings me to tears, each and every time.  Heck, maybe one day I'll incorporate that into this little project of mine, too.


**If you didn't already, check out http://www.supportacappella.org -- who needs instruments?! Music ed for FREE!**

Just Write is a weekly writing exercise sponsored by Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary, WHO ROCKS! Hadn't participated in awhile, but this reflection definitely fits.