Meg Sefton's Blog, page 31

LulaRich: A Cautionary Tale

Photo by Isabella and Zsa Fischer on Unsplash

Have you seen the four-part documentary series LuLaRich on Amazon Prime Video? It’s interesting. At first, I wasn’t going to watch it because in general, patterned leggings, a key product of LuLaRoe, aren’t my thing. Lols. (Well, I do confess, I purchased flowered bike shorts from another clothing store recently!) In terms of real time events, when things were starting to go down with this multilevel marketing company, I was in the throes of crises involving divorce and ill health and wasn’t tuned into the world. Furthermore, I realized, having watched the initial few moments of the first episode of this series, I would not have been the demographic target. They promoted themselves to their potential recruits by saying they were a company that was all about supporting families.

For some, while this cautionary tale may seem an illustration of aspirational-white-girls-getting-their-comeuppance, I want to posit that the general dynamics portrayed could apply to other situations as well. I don’t want to spoil the series for you should you decide to watch it. And I’m not a big business person so I have my limitations regarding the subject. What I do want to say and what this drove home for me is that we are all vulnerable to things when we feel wanting in some way—whether it be a lack of funds; a lack of purpose; a lack of self-esteem; etc.

Regarding things we do because we are vulnerable, I joined a support group that had started meeting on Zoom at the beginning of the pandemic. They meet frequently—every week—and I’m not big into sharing too much of myself with strangers in frequent meetings. Every now and then, ok, I can be this vulnerable, but well, there is a time to share and a time to keep to oneself. In comparing the first time I met with them with a time that is more recent, I have noticed how much emphasis is now given for members to rely on the group. In fact, sometimes the leader made exclusive claims: True support can be found only in the group. Not all statements were as bold, but I sensed a marked difference. I could have been misinterpreting what I was hearing, but I think it equally possible this is a major red flag.

We are all vulnerable, especially right now. I think it is worth listening to the small voice inside, or training ourselves to do this. We may sometimes override this voice, the very embodiment of our intuition, because we are desperate for whatever is being promised by someone else. But how do we know we won’t get trapped by something that could harm us? Everyone is vulnerable to this kind of a trap. It only takes a certain kind of person saying a certain kind of thing during a certain time of need to influence us to take the bait. This certain kind of person can seem to be utterly benevolent, or just radically awesome. We have to test the waters. Sometimes they are grounded and acting ethically. But, in general, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Nothing new there. But for me, the puzzle is how to reach out in vulnerability while also maintaining a kind of critical stance.

This blogpost is longer than I intended it to be. However, to summarize, I really do like LuLaRich and hope you will watch it! And it did make me think that we are now more vulnerable than ever. And though not everyone who misleads people is aiming for their destruction, the process of leading can do a psychological number on the person in charge unless they’re well grounded and make active use of accountability structures.

No matter where you land politically or by any other measure, there is a small voice inside. Listen. It may tell you it’s time to go rogue.

Will I miss the devil, will the devil miss me?

I invite you to read this story. It is powerfully written.

 

Chop Resistant by Chuddlesworth, flickr

Gingerbread House Lit Mag

I went out back and found my father standing under the apple tree. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

You trying to sell me to the devil again? I asked.

He tricked me. He always tricks me, my father said.

We both knew a person might get tricked once, maybe twice, but after that, well, motivations are laid bare. A cold wind blew and an apple the size of my fist fell into the grass. It made a quiet sound, but it was unmistakable, and I know we both heard it.

It doesn’t look like he’s coming, my father said. You always get out of it anyway. Bitterness nearly overwhelmed the pride in his voice, but it was there. The devil had never gotten me, but not because of my father. Only me. Even when I had to protect myself with my own tears. Truth be told…

View original post 380 more words

My first story on Medium

Photo by Red Dot on Unsplash

Are you on Medium? I just published my first story there in the hopes it will be picked up by a journal. If you are on Medium, I hope you will consider following me and I will return follow! Enjoy your night.

Ola Belle Reed

Here’s another bluegrass favorite that’s come to have so much resonance. I hope to learn more about Ola Belle Reed. This was co-written with Dave Reed who I just learned is her son, cool. It’s in a go-to playlist on Spotify. Good thoughts to you this Saturday. I’ll put another beauty below. — Margaret

Grasp

Trapped by Darion, flickr

As part of the genetic counseling for cancer treatment, my parents researched my biological past.

My adoptive mother laughed at the photo of my great great grandmother, a full-blooded Cherokee in a white tear dress.

I never saw that picture again. But it was mine.

__ATA.cmd.push(function() { __ATA.initDynamicSlot({ id: 'atatags-26942-613c6b30560ce', location: 120, formFactor: '001', label: { text: 'Advertisements', }, creative: { reportAd: { text: 'Report this ad', }, privacySettings: { text: 'Privacy', } } }); });

Quietus

Purple on Green by Aslam Karachiwala, flickr

When you feel alone in your illness, let your strength demonstrate your dignity, let the sun crown you sister and brother, let the moon guide you as your mother and father. And if it is your turn to lie down, let the gentle earth receive you in her arms.

Bascom Lunsford & the Preservation of Mountain Music

Focus

Jabapyth, flickr

On a work break, he slipped his hand under her blouse to roughly fondle her pitted breast. She was on her way to a radiation appointment. Men seemed attracted to her damage but her passion was reserved for photons. She slapped his hand away. Imbécile!

__ATA.cmd.push(function() { __ATA.initDynamicSlot({ id: 'atatags-26942-613af963808b8', location: 120, formFactor: '001', label: { text: 'Advertisements', }, creative: { reportAd: { text: 'Report this ad', }, privacySettings: { text: 'Privacy', onClick: function() { window.__tcfapi && window.__tcfapi( 'showUi' ); }, } } }); });

Salty Dog Rag

This reminds me of summers in North Carolina. We would go to a square dance where this song was popular. This was a dance, but not a square dance. It was a couples’ dance. I never learned it and guy partners who knew it were very few. A couple our age always danced to this, flying all over the barn. They were amazing. I am quite fond of this old Red Foley song. Every now and then, I just have to hear it. There is no substitute. Happy hump day.

Inktober: Haunted

B/W Turntable, luis exposito, flickr

Whenever she heard certain songs, thoughts of a former boyfriend reached inside and twisted her insides. It had taken time to see his lack of interest, but they had both loved rock and roll. Did she really want to exorcise his ghost? She wasn’t sure.

__ATA.cmd.push(function() { __ATA.initDynamicSlot({ id: 'atatags-26942-613664888969c', location: 120, formFactor: '001', label: { text: 'Advertisements', }, creative: { reportAd: { text: 'Report this ad', }, privacySettings: { text: 'Privacy', } } }); });