R.J. Belle's Blog, page 4

Not for Rent

I don’t know where to begin so I will begin with the end. At this point in early October, I should be farther along than I am. I should be. I could be. But I’m not. That’s on me. It isn’t that I haven’t been writing; it’s that I’ve been writing and re-writing shit. The reason for that is I have put myself in a bad space. I put myself in a short-lived hell. I will spare the details aside from admitting that it has been dramatic, abusive and ugly. The silver lining is that it didn’t take me long to make the decision to leave. I guess you call that maturity…or you might just say that at this age, I have read this book enough times to know how it ends, and it doesn’t end well. To save time and skip reading the middle – I made a sharp right turn and flipped to the end. Maybe instead of calling it maturity I should call it experience. Although I have never experienced anything quite like this.

My part:

I have thought long and hard about my part. It always takes two – to make or break things – it takes two. Over the past few months, I have spent more sleepless nights than I can count, and I have allowed myself to get stuck in the why. I freely admit to serious and glaring mistakes that I made. First, I had warning signs, and I ignored them. I fooled myself and fed myself a story crafted in my arrogance at thinking that I could know someone better than he knew himself. I denied the red flags pointing to a serious alcohol problem, and I also denied the knowledge that I could never deal with that – for me that’s a deal breaker. Alcohol or more specifically alcohol abuse is nothing new to me. I have been on every end of it. I have seen it from many angles, and the disease has cost me before. I never thought it would cost me again – not in my lifetime. It did – like a thief that creeps up silently and robs your joy when you least expect it. Watching someone who I cared for greatly turn to alcohol and then turn ugly, abusive and hateful was painful.

I lied to myself by turning a blind eye to the obvious. I had several occasions to witness drinking get out of hand and subsequently became the target of alcohol-fueled rage. I spent more than one night in tears and broken-hearted at the words thrown like knives at me, and I bought into the day-after apologies and shut my brain off – I went along. I try to justify it in my mind by feeding myself the story that it wasn’t that bad until after I uprooted my life and moved to the other side of the county and into his house. But that, like every other story I try to feed myself, is a lie. True that I didn’t see the full-blown disaster until I moved smack dab in the middle of it, but I did see signs. I should have done a more thorough job investigating the depth of the problem…but I didn’t.

My second glaring mistake was pulling away almost from move-in day. Again, the details are long and dramatic but the short version is that a few large truths came out shortly after moving in with him. I lost trust and instead of putting all those boxes right back into the truck and going back to the peace I came from – I stayed, physically. I ran away emotionally. All that did was add fuel to a fire that had already started. The outcome was many months of living in hell – a high price to pay in the name of love. I didn’t ask anyone else if they wanted to pay that price, and by anyone else I mean my kids. My oldest son came back from Ohio; my college kid was home for the summer, and my little girl was living in between the hell I moved us into and the peace at her dad’s house. The energy in our house was nothing short of miserable for all of us and over time it only escalated until it became what it was at the end.

The tail end looks something like an episode of Jerry Springer meets Forensic Files. Neither is a series I ever wanted to become intimately involved in. But here I sit, one week removed from time spent fearful for my safety and my sanity. I took the abuse night after night, counting down the days until I was out and praying that things didn’t go too far. I’m stubborn and prideful and wanted to walk away on my terms even though I realize that making the decision in and of itself means that I was clearly not walking away on my terms.

Suffocating under the heavy weight of my decision and the toll that the last six solid weeks of emotional and verbal abuse has caused will stay with me for a long time.

The cost:

Its difficult to put a true cost on lost time and impossible to measure the price that emotional damage brings with it. I missed so much with my kids…a few big moments that the joy got sucked out of, and countless small moments that I attended with a fake smile. I allowed my physical health to suffer. I pushed back two book releases. Moving twice in three months cost something too. Aside from the financial cost, which is the smallest in this complicated equation, I faced environment changes twice and most importantly rocked my little girl’s sense of security. Being a kid and watching all of your worldly possessions boxed up and relocated does something to your sense of security. I know this from my childhood, and that is the last thing I ever wanted for my little girl. The anger that I have inside is at myself much more so than it is at him.

The cost of feeling like a failure is also one that cannot be measured. Self-esteem takes a hit when you have no choice but to admit that you used poor judgment.

Those of you who know me have seen me overcome some major setbacks. You have seen me leap tall buildings, and I am sure I spent hours perfecting the posts that made it seem effortless. What I am going through now will look small and insignificant to some of you considering what has happened within my family over the past several years. I assure you; it does not feel insignificant right now. It feels like a huge, unrelenting obstacle. It looks like defeat, and it feels like failure. It has been building almost from the beginning, and that is what makes it so hard for me to understand. That voice…oh, if only I had listened. Funny thing is, it was more than a voice. It was others questioning and giving advice against forging ahead with the decision that put me here. Back in the beginning though, I thought I had it all figured out. It looked good on paper. The pieces of the puzzle, though splayed across the card table like a maze of jagged edges, seemed doable. I truly believed that before the last of the boxes were unpacked, I would have that puzzle solved, sitting put together perfectly for everyone to see. I threw up a Hail Mary with the arrogance of a high school All-American in the last game of senior year – totally confident that it would work. That arrogance cost me…it cost all of us. Now, as I sit here with my tail between my legs like a whipped puppy, I see the error in my judgment so clearly. Admitting I was wrong is almost as hard as admitting I knew better. The knowledge that at my age I threw a Hail Mary makes me feel like I was too slow to get it the first several times – like an insolent child who insists on learning the hard way. I did learn the hard way, and it sucks to say that.

The lesson:

As I sit here in my newest writing space and look around at the freshly unpacked boxes, I could kick myself in the ass. It goes beyond the drinking – I know this for a fact and that brings me to my next harsh reality and that is the reality of my lack of proper judgment. I have been very deliberate about whom I allow into my life – ‘you are who you’re around’ is a mantra I have spouted for years. I was doing well – before him. But, after him I did that thing that we sometimes do when we enter into an all-consuming relationship – I pushed those important people in my life to the outskirts. Before I knew what was going on, I was suffocating on toxic energy and battling against a foe that I would never be victorious over. No matter how much we want happiness for another who hasn’t come to terms with their demons – there is only one direction to go – down. I allowed myself to be pulled down into a non-motivated, negative and destructive place. In my defense and for what it’s worth, I went down kicking and screaming and was completely cognizant of the slippery slope I was navigating. I didn’t stop in time though – the fear of being a failure in the eyes of those I love kept me on that ride for longer than I care to admit.

Some things you can’t change. Some things you can’t undo. Some things are hard to understand. We must go on despite the lack of control, the pain of moving on or the fear of how to put the pieces back together. There is only one alternative, and that is to stay stuck on the wrong path. There are multiple ways to approach the embarking on a new path and a myriad of things and feelings during that process. I believe that they are the same for many of us. There will be tears; there will be struggle and angst but in the darkness we rediscover the light. We can pull it off; clumsily and without grace perhaps, but it can be done. I know this to be true from experience and by watching others I know move on from the unimaginable. As I embark on a new path – a new starting over point, I am reminded of how small of a bump in the road this will look like years from now. I am also reminded of how fortunate I am to be able to make the choice I am making. The biggest choice I made is that I refuse ever to rent out my peace again. I am no longer for rent, and I doubt I will ever go on the market again either. I am so much happier here, with my little family in our cozy little place filled with positive energy, love and no fear of the unknown baggage of outsiders.

I am fortunate, and I know that. I woke up today in a clean, blank space that I am filling with positive energy – healing energy. I will re-build. I am back to those things that serve me best, make me smile and fill me with peace and I am so thankful for that. It could have been much worse.

Although it’s still hard to wrap my head around what has happened, I can breathe without my chest hurting today, and that’s something. That means I am better than I was a week ago. I am sitting behind the keyboard producing – that means I am back to living my dream. My little girl has a big smile on her face, and we now live just minutes from her daddy. The new house is almost all put away, and I love the energy here. I spent thirty minutes talking to my college kid on the phone today and the entire time was full of laughs, happy things, talks about his future and our upcoming trip out to see him. Life is getting back to our normal, and I love our normal. Structure is beginning to take form, and I can see a routine on the horizon. That feels good, safe, and it’s comforting to know that we have come so far in one short week.

Happy Writing,

RJ

http://www.AuthorRJBelle.com

@AuthorRJBelle

On Facebook: Author RJ Belle

First One Down Book Trailer:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFkr7M8V8DI

My Why

There is a moment, or several, for all of us when we figure out exactly why we do what we do. That moment when you pause, and know in the deepest part of your heart, why you are here. Why you are on the path you are on or why you ended up where you were presently standing. That day when you look around you, or gaze in the mirror and say, “This is why.” That split second when the “why” becomes known, even if only to you, and you watch all of the pieces fit snuggly in place on the puzzle board of your existence.

Last year I put a lot of thought into where I was going, and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I knew some specific things that were at the top of my priority list – similar, I’m sure, to most people. But there was a deep need nagging at me to do something larger, much larger than myself. The need to give. I have always believed that the best way to find yourself is to give of yourself – freely, and without strings. Completely. Up to that point in life I had volunteered here and there. I began small rituals that I did with the kids at certain times each year to benefit our local homeless community. I made several friends within that community, and I began collecting stories. The more I heard, the more that need inside me grew. I didn’t know then that I would end up here, but I knew that I was going to do more.

Then came my birthday month at the end of the year and with that month came some major heartache. I believe when we are at low points in our lives – it is easier to see clearly – easier to see the bigger picture and easier to take chances, to throw caution to the wind and try things we might not otherwise try. I believe it is when we feel like we have less to lose that we are more apt to risk. I did that. I threw caution to the wind and decided to walk away from my career and write a book. I gave myself enough time to try to figure out the ins and outs of the publishing and book-marketing world, and I did it. By April, I published my first book. But that was just the beginning, and I still had no idea that path would lead me here. I am going to skip a large portion and many of the details that connected me from there to here because I am saving that story for an upcoming project that I have set to release later this year. But I am going to fill in some of the blanks.

In the time between publishing First One Down and doing character and plot creation for Second Sight; marketing was heavy on my mind and because I write very dark fiction, it is important to me to shine some type of light on my work. One morning while driving, I had an idea and thought what better way to add some positive than to donate a portion of the proceeds from every book I write to a local organization. I wanted to choose an organization that was either relevant to a social issue or character in my books. The previous night, I had fleshed out a character for Second Sight that was a homeless Vietnam era veteran, and I decided to seek out a local organization that assisted homeless veterans. That road took me to places I would have never guessed I would end up. In fact, I ended up in an entirely different place than I set out to be, the exact place I was meant to be. Of that, I have zero doubts.

I never intended to be a non-fiction writer. I didn’t set out to write these stories, and I certainly didn’t think I would change direction so completely. But, the process of writing AFTER has indeed changed not only my direction; it has changed my life.

The road that I have traveled over the past five months has turned almost every single part of my thinking process upside down; I’ve witnessed things I didn’t think were possible. During the process of conducting interviews and doing research for AFTER; my perception of war, government, politics and the strength of the human spirit have all changed. The measuring stick by which I gage, not only my character, effort and attitude, but that of every person that I choose to have in my life, has changed. It’s a strange feeling to develop a brand new measuring stick at my age and the process by which that evolved has made me put myself under a magnifying glass and truly explore on an extremely deep level the life I have lead up to this point. It will undoubtedly have a profound effect on the life I lead going forward and the example that I try set for others.

The people that I have the honor of being around these days make me stop and think, they cause me to look on in amazement, and have taught me what it looks like to pick yourself up and move forward. They have also taught me about true sacrifice and loss, and they have shown me the power of a positive attitude, the importance of acceptance and the healing powers that understanding can have. That listening is more important than talking, and that broken is a word most commonly used by those of us who have no idea what being broken means. Also, that love is the strongest super-glue, and that perseverance is much like motivation – sometimes you have to hunt it down, grab it with both hands and force it on every single day. Most of all, they have taught me that the phrase “life is a gift” has a bigger meaning than most of us realize and that throwing even one day away is a slap in the face to those who don’t get to make that choice ever again.

My “why” has changed – drastically. I know why I am where I am. I pinch myself frequently and am still in disbelief much of the time when I sit close and listen to stories that few will ever have the privilege of hearing first hand. I leave those interviews caught up in the emotion of the stories shared with me, and it consumes me for days afterward – every time. I lay awake at night, fearful that I won’t be able to do those stories justice in the book I am writing about these beautiful human beings. It is what I think about twenty-three hours of almost every twenty-four hour day. I obsess over it. And I learn. Every day I feel myself let a little piece of ugly go – wash off of me, out of my system like shampoo being washed out of a big, messy mop of hair. Every day I feel cleaner than I did the previous day. I feel grateful. Less self-consumed. It feels good.

So many times during these past few months, people have commented that this is a great thing I am doing – as if it were ME giving something back to help others. To those that see it that way I would like to point out that I AM SELFISH and that this is not some altruistic thing I am doing. This project is just as much for me, as it is for them.

A few weeks back, I was interviewing a man who I will leave unnamed in this post. During the very first part of that interview, he said something that will stick with me for the rest of my life. I asked him why he agreed to the interview, and he said he hated doing interviews but that he did it for one reason and one reason only.

“I do this because someone, somewhere might pick up an article or a book and read this and they might be at the end of their rope. Maybe they will read this and think their life isn’t so bad. Maybe they will read this and know they can go on, too.”

It hit me then, in that very moment, that this book wasn’t just about raising money for an organization or raising awareness about the need for more substantial services for our combat injured men and women. It struck me that this book was bigger than that. Much bigger. Writing about the realities of the cost of war, the stories of the men and women who lived, and survived that hell and have gone on to thrive after – well, that could save a life. The personal demonstration of hope told in real-life accounts could show someone else that it is possible to go on, after loss. If I can be the vessel by which that message is available – I am indeed the recipient of the biggest benefit here. Being that vessel has become my why. Those stories have become my message and the example set forth by these brave, beautiful men and women have become my measuring stick.

These days when I wake up, I am no longer curious or clueless about the reason I am where I am. I know exactly why, and I am thankful each and every day for being in the spot I am in right now.

-RJ

#AFTER is set to release late this year. Follow me on Twitter or check my website for release news.

http://www.AuthorRJBelle.com

@AuthorRJBelle

Change Unedited

Change. The word is ugly – it scares me and can raise my stress level exponentially. The mere thought of making a change sends me into a downward spiral filled with erratic emotions and irrational behavior. Yes, I admit freely that I do not adapt quickly or easily to change. I am comforted by the knowledge that I am not alone, that I am not the only freak who doesn’t know how to deal gracefully with change. Uncool I know, but true.

Yesterday I took my eight-year-old daughter to Coronado, California. Coronado is where I want to move within the next two years. I love it there. I feel at peace there. I love the small-town feel. I love the school district test scores, low crime rate and being on an island surrounded by water doesn’t hurt. It’s a beautiful city with a mellow energy, and buying a house there is a goal that I am striving to achieve. While my little girl and I were walking along the shore, she told me all the things she loved about the beach and asked several questions about what type of house we would buy and how close it would be to the shore. Would she have a room to herself and would I allow her to ride her bike to school were two questions that made me giggle – for different reasons. Mostly I listened as we walked, in awe of the innocent ways in which her mind works. I was happy that she shared in my desire to move to the quaint beach community and was relieved that there didn’t seem to be any apprehension in her about changing schools. She simply wanted to know what type of space and freedoms she would have.

We went from the beach side of the island to the bay side and decided to browse through the tourist shops in a small plaza near the ferry landing. We entered a gift shop, and I was immediately drawn to a rack of metal wall art with old-school pin-up girls spouting cute sayings. Within minutes, I found myself with an armful of them. I painstakingly dwindled my stack of ten down to three favorites. I purchased the overpriced metal art and as soon as I got home I made wall space in my office to hang them, laughing as I did so at the ridiculousness of the sayings. Later that evening I sat in my office chair and looked around at my new art, and I was displeased with myself. Although I do think they are funny – I do not wish to emulate the sayings or intentionally carry the attitude portrayed in them. Who have I become and how did I get so off-track? That has been a question on my mind since last night. If I’m honest with myself, that question has plagued me for the past several weeks.

Being the deep thinking, over analyzer that I am, I have broken down the reasons that I am where I currently am, emotionally. Why I am in a space that causes me to treat those closest to me in less than loving ways and why do I feel unhappy much of the time when I have every reason to be overflowing with happiness. It rests on my shoulders alone. I took myself to this space; I allowed myself to get stuck in this rut. I am the power behind my state of mind. Every day I have a choice and for too many days now I haven’t made the most positive or productive of choices.

Let’s go back to where we started – change. I have gone through a lot of that this year. I will give you the short version – for the long version, feel free to read past blog posts. January I walked out of a long-time career and gave myself seven months off. Seven months to get a grip on my writing career. Seven months without a paycheck. Seven months of heavenly time freedom. Seven months that I do not regret. But learning to live on a smaller, fixed budget was difficult and scary as hell. March I got engaged, something I thought I would never do again. Giving up my freedom and preparing to join lives, time and space with another adult isn’t something I thought all the way through when I said yes. But, he is a great guy and the ring is beautiful, and we aren’t meant to go through life alone. Then came the decision of where do we live – your place or mine? Well, since we both came into this with eight-year-old daughters, and his place was twice the size of mine, the decision kind of made itself. In June, I moved forty miles away from my community and my family. I changed my daughter’s school, and we attempted to integrate two families. Teaching the kids and the dogs how to coexist peacefully was much easier than teaching the two adults involved how to share space and time peacefully – we are still working on that part. I think we are learning how to do it in a more mature manner than those first few weeks, but we have a way to go. Another important note here is that as a writer, moving my space – that area where I used to write in – my creative physical space – to a whole new space was and is, hard. I am starting to bond with my new space, but I find myself easily distracted, and focus doesn’t come nearly as effortlessly as it did in my old writing space.

Also during this time I wrote and published my first novel and began writing my second and third novels. I recently changed editors and cover design artists and hired a wonderful woman to run the marketing end of the business. Those were difficult changes too. Baring your soul to a new editor and trusting a new cover designer – well, both are growth opportunities for me. Similarly, trusting someone else to control the marketing decisions with my novels and my author name was a big jump for me. Letting go of control gracefully is an area that I will never perfect.

This summer brought additional challenges with it. Right before the move was to take place, my oldest son moved back home and my middle child came home from college for the summer – in the same week. It was nice to have the extra help while moving, but it added more to the whole integration of households. During this time, I was also at the mid stages of writing Second Sight and the early stages of the interview process with my subjects for After. July was right around the corner, and I knew July was my go-back-to-a-day-job month.

So, change was abundant and sleep was not. My stress rose to a level I didn’t know how to manage and many important habits in my life stopped happening. Two of the biggest were my daily ritual of practicing motivational techniques and living an ultra-healthy lifestyle. I began eating like crap and quit working out consistently. The positive outlook that was so common for me to have turned dark and negative. Like a ball rolling downhill, negativity grew quickly until it was going so fast and effortlessly that it became my norm. I was tired, cranky and just plain unhappy. I started feeling the affects physically as well. Old pains that I had gotten a handle on with proper nutrition and exercise reappeared, and I was at the end of my rope in every possible way. I was miserable and typically when we get to that point is when we stop and say, “What the hell is going on with me?” That is what I finally did last night. It was long overdue and had been a top of mind priority before last night. Thinking about something and acting on it are two entirely different things.

Putting a plan in place is something (fortunately) that comes easy for me. Once I make a decision, write it down and put a plan to make it happen in place, I can stick to it. My last blog post was about turning a dream into a goal, and I did that – I have my working goals up where I can see them every single day, and I will reevaluate them on a weekly/monthly/semi-annually basis. I made the decision to get back to taking my health seriously. I put together a new workout and nutrition plan, and I have it written on my goal board. My August goals are to go one hundred percent on nutrition – no sugar, no processed, eating on a schedule and planning out my meals each week. Lose two percent body fat. Twelve miles of running each week with the goal of getting my mile time down to sub nine. My combo work out five days a week and weight training three days a week. I know from experience and past successes when it comes to body and health goals that you are who you’re around and having like-minded people in your tribe is key. So, my fiancé and I had a serious talk about the importance of both of us committing one hundred percent to the plan. You are as weak as your weakest link and living under the same roof with someone of a different mindset when it comes to nutrition and workouts doesn’t work. I feel relieved that he and I are back on the same page. We had a great run this morning and our meals for the coming week are lined up and ready to go.

Back to writing…with my time now split between two careers it was important for me to schedule creative time. My writing career comes at a heavy price, and it isn’t only me who has to pay that price. The time I spend writing takes away from all of my relationships. Time to write fiction is something that can’t always be scheduled because as every writer knows, you have to write when you are in that space. Writing on a schedule doesn’t always work. I am trying to make sure I write at the same time each day and playing around with the times; figuring out what times will work best for me. If I can’t produce fresh copy during those times, I do research or edit existing copy. New habits are hard to form, but I am confident that if I stick to it, I will find my groove again. I also decided to schedule family time, even if it’s minimal right at this moment. A few quality hours here and there make everyone feel better. The last thing I want to do is loose my family to produce novels. That isn’t a price I am willing to pay for a book with my name on the front cover.

What did I discover about myself over the past seven months? I suck at change – even worse than I previously thought. I have people in my life that are supportive in ways that go far beyond what should be expected, and I neglected those people. I also discovered that I have more power than I think I do. I have the power to change the direction and flavor of my attitude, how I feel about myself and how I make others feel. I am stronger than I realize, and I survived. I survived change. I didn’t die; I didn’t even suffer a flesh wound. I did leave some wreckage in the wake of the past few months, but I didn’t permanently break anything. I made it to the other side.

I also discovered that writing is so much more important to me that I thought it was. The balancing act and figuring out how to make it all work, and the hard work involved is all worth it. I love writing. I love talking to people who read my books – fans and critics. I love the road I’m on – I am excited for what is ahead and I am confident that one way, or another – I will pull it all off. Perhaps less than gracefully but it will happen…and you can have that in writing.

-RJ

www.AuthorRJBelle.com

Banishing the Sticky Note

A few weeks ago I was talking with a long-time girlfriend of mine, DeeDee, and she made a statement that has had me deep in thought ever since she said it…

“The first day we met you told me you were going to do two things: adopt a baby girl and write a book. You did both, and I’m proud of you.”

For many years, I have been talking about goal setting and following your heart. I have posted demonstrations on how to make a goal board and where to hang it – heck, even how often to update it. I have been that girl, that friend and that mom. The goal preacher.

For as long as I can remember I have made lists. Lists of what I wanted to accomplish; in any given month, on any given day and for almost every area of my life. But, I made these lists for most of my life in a journal or on random sticky notes. It wasn’t until I began my fitness journey two + years ago that I began creating goal boards. Initially, they were about how many inches I wanted to loose in fat or gain in muscle or how many push-ups or miles ran I wanted to get to. Somewhere along the way, I am going to guess it was about a year or so ago, I began writing my big life goals on the boards that I had publically displayed in my home. Even then, and even now I don’t have my deepest goals written there. That is why the statement that DeeDee made to me hit me so hard. I wrote down the goals I knew I could hit. I knew if I increased the amount of push-ups that I did each day, I would make my goal. If I stuck with my nutrition plan, I would be able to hit my inches goal. I finally put “publish book one” on my goal board after I was almost done writing book one. I have been cheating myself. I have been a hypocrite, and now I am going to come clean and hold myself accountable.

The conversation DeeDee reminded me of took place in 1998. I didn’t have a goal board hung in my home back then. I never had “adopt a baby” or “write a book” written down anywhere. To me, back then – those were things I wanted to do but they were not things I actually believed that I could do. They were dreams. They were dreams because I never wrote them down, laid out a plan and made them goals. Perhaps if I had done so I would have hit those goals earlier in life. Perhaps if I had written my dreams down they would have felt obtainable. I might have started trying to accomplish those things back in 1998. I didn’t.

In 2006, I brought a beautiful baby girl home. My daughter is almost nine years old now. The process to make her my daughter was long and extremely difficult. I never wrote down what I wanted to do. I just did it and all along the way I made those lists. A list for what paperwork I needed. A list for how the financing was going to happen – how much money the business had to bring in to make it happen at each step of the way. I made lists before each visit to her country – what clothes, baby items and presents for the orphanage staff I needed to pack. A sticky note to remind myself to bring my passport, traveler’s checks, sunglasses – you get the drift. But I never wrote down the goal of being a mom again or the goal of having a daughter. I wish I had. If the adoption process felt more like a goal becoming real, I am certain that I would have enjoyed it more. I may have taken more than five minutes here and there to stop and reflect on how huge it was that it was truly happening. It would have been nice to come home from that final trip and place a big red X over that goal box. Be the mom of a baby girl – check.

Similarly, I never once wrote down that I was going to publish a novel before I was in the process. I wrote down all the things I needed to do to make it happen. I spent a lot of time doing research and drafted about eight hundred sticky notes along the way, but it wasn’t until I knew it was happening that I wrote it up there on my board.

So, for the past few weeks I have been examining what my goals are now. My big goals – the ones that don’t feel real. I know what they are. I know exactly what they are, but the bullshit story I tell myself is that it probably won’t happen. Have a plan B. I don’t allow myself to get too attached to my dreams. Therefore, they remain dreams. I can’t honestly say they are goals. That doesn’t mean that I don’t truly want those things to happen. It just means that I don’t believe that my dreams are realistic. Out of fear of failure, I let those wants that I have deep in my heart stay there. The funny thing is when I stopped for a minute and thought about it, I know what I am doing and why. I understand the psychology behind my lack of willingness to put it all out there. I’ve been acting like a big wimp. I’ve been doing what I tell others not to do.

My goal for this week is to make a new goal board to include all the goals I have. The real ones. The big ones. The scary ones. The hard ones. Not only am I going to write them down and post them on the wall of my office, I am going to believe that they are possible – because they are. ANYTHING is possible. I am also going to call DeeDee and thank her for leading me to the space I needed to be in – the space of growing fearlessly toward my goals.

I am going to quit using sticky notes unless I need a reminder of what to pick up at the grocery store.

What are your dreams? Make them your goals!

 

-RJ

 

Full Circle

I have a story in my head about my day, but the story and how it unfolds on this page will take a few turns before it becomes apparent as to where it’s headed, or what its about. That’s how I usually roll, and I apologize in advance. As a writer, my mind is on overdrive at all times. Similar to writing a book, writing a post usually takes some turns before I come to the point of my story. And in writing, as in life – most things tend to unfold that way.

I will start by giving you a recap of the past few days in my currently crazy life. Saturday I spent all day packing my life into boxes. I have been too busy to begin packing in stages over a week or two like normal people so I scheduled packing my entire house for Saturday. It was a long day. Sunday I spent the day moving the packed boxes, and furniture, and plants, and, and, and. Thanks to the guys in my life and a large truck – we got it done in one trip. Sunday evening after the large truck was unloaded, and my life moved into a two-car garage, we loaded up the family and met my dad and brother for dinner. They were in town for only two days, and it was important to me to see them. Monday came, and I had a cleaning assistant scheduled for eight in the morning and after I got her settled in there were many errands to run. My man and I went out into town to buy primer and paint, patch kits for the walls, shelving systems and groceries. Then the real work began – I unpacked the kitchen and cleaned along the way while the guys attempted to cover a rather colorful wall with primer. We hauled boxes into the new house and organized closets and I had a place to set my computer and writing necessities. The night ended at three in the morning for me, and the next day began at five-thirty, and that brings us to Tuesday. I woke up cranky, tired and sore. I felt hung over from lack of sleep, and I hate that feeling. Tuesday morning brought new challenges; my new cleaning assistant had to come back because the job was too large to finish on Monday – so she arrived at eight. The carpet guys showed up at nine-thirty. All primer and painting was put on hold. And, all those boxes we brought in – well, they had to be hauled back to the garage. It was already hot by nine in the morning, and we had to leave the windows open and kill the air conditioning for the carpets to dry. It was miserable, and we were all tired and as I looked around I realized how much I still had to do. A LOT. The re-arranging and unpacking of the upstairs hadn’t even started yet. In my mind, I had a plan laid out. The to-do list was ready to be checked off, and I felt it was doable. I thought by Wednesday everything would be cleaned, unpacked and in order and I could get back to writing. Did I mention that I have four books to write, have edited and publish by February 2015?

Life happens, and our plans don’t always turn out the way we want them to or the way we plan them. When that happens, we have a choice. We can have a suck-ass attitude and get frustrated and crabby, or we can put a smile on, take one room at a time and be thankful to have the (small) problems that we have. That Tuesday when I woke up I made my choice – I chose to be a bitch with a crappy attitude. I allowed my mind and body to succumb to stress, and I got little accomplished that morning. I also had a scheduled meeting that day and needed to leave the house by noon. And although I was excited about that appointment, I was also beyond stressed at the thought of having to walk away from the disaster that I called home to attend any engagement. And, I felt that way on the whole drive down to Freedom Station. Then, as it often happens in these situations – I was there, in the middle of that appointment and all the stress melted away, I felt a smile on my face go from forced to genuine and I moved from a place of “poor me” to a place of gratitude, which brings me to why I decided to write this post.

I parked my SUV down the street from Freedom Station and rushed up the small hill to 28th Street. I could see Mugs and Fingers standing outside of the gate in front of the facility, and I watched Fingers pull out his cell phone and began to run a bit faster. He was calling me. As I neared the two Vietnam Veterans, the gate opened, and I caught up just as the gate began to close. Hugs were shared, and smiles were big and that energy you feel when you are on the inside of Freedom Station enveloped all three of us. I was excited, and they were excited and boxes, cleaning and everything else left my mind. I was in the presence of greatness. Men who did things and survived struggles that make mine look like a broken nail in comparison – were my guests at a place where current Warriors lived and learned how to cope with their struggles. The fact that I have a unique opportunity to know these men, let alone get to interview and write about them is not lost on me.

We entered the office at Freedom Station and were met by Sandy Lehmkuhler. If you haven’t read my past posts about Warrior Foundation~Freedom Station and Sandy – well, you should. Sandy is an amazing woman and a Warrior in her own right. She does the work of ten people every single day. Her passion for the Warriors that Freedom Station serves is evident the second you meet her, and I have never met a more dedicated individual. Sandy told Mugs and Fingers about Freedom Station and shared several stories of the Warriors. About how they have rehabilitated and how many of them have not only gone to live productive, positive lives but have gone on to do amazing things and help others in the same situation. And, by situation I mean – the loss of a limb or limbs, suffering from PTS and TBI and grief over the loss of fellow brothers. I sat and listened to Mugs and Fingers share their own stories. Fingers can understand the plight of the Warriors of Freedom Station because he too came back from the war with a loss, having sacrificed parts of his body. He lost fingers during his time as a POW. He has an amazing story of overcoming. As I stood listening and watching the interaction between Sandy and these two Vietnam Warriors, the concept of full circle came to mind. Full circle on so many levels.

We began a tour of Freedom Station and our first stop was the gym. The gym at Freedom Station is a garage that is equip with a lift for wheelchair access to get the Warriors in chairs from the top step down to the ground floor. Sandy is very proud of that addition. The gym is currently undergoing a transformation. The initial gym equipment that was given to Freedom Station by one of its many amazing donors was great equipment, but there were many Warriors who could not lift plate weights – lifting weights from the floor to the bar is almost impossible when you have a prosthetic. So, Sandy did what she does best. When the Warriors have a need – Sandy does whatever, it takes to make it happen. And with the help of several other donors, the gym is now being furnished with weight training equipment that uses a pulley system instead of stand-alone plate weights. Sandy also has another amazing skill – nothing goes to waste. She attributes this to her 20+ years as a Navy wife and jokingly states that she doesn’t pinch pennies, she makes them bleed. With that said, the original equipment was donated to San Diego Fire Station 11. Full Circle. Gym pieces that were donated to the Warriors is now housed and being used by other heroes – our first responders here in San Diego. The fact that it ended up going to Station 11 is one of those fate – destiny – higher-power type things because Freedom Station houses 11 Warriors. Call it what you want – to Sandy it was supposed to happen that way, and I agree.

Our next stop along the tour of the facility was the garage shop that houses the Warrior’s chopper. Sandy explained to Mugs and Fingers how she saw a need for the Warriors to work together on a project, and they agreed on a build-it-from-boxes motorcycle. Sandy told us about delivery day and looking at several boxes full of parts wondering how in the heck the guys were going to work together to build a motorcycle from boxes of parts. But, they did. In fact, they built a beautiful, museum quality bike that they have been able to take to several events including Sturgis. This Harley is unlike any other out there – the Warriors added to it with items that they know well. The bike has a 50cal, bayonet, claymore mine, Ka-bars and a 60mm all used as parts on the bike. Mugs and Fingers looked like kids in a candy store while in the shop.

Finally, we made our way to the cottage occupied by one of the first Warriors to move into Freedom Station. This is where the full circle concept hit me hardest today. Being able to watch two Veterans from Vietnam who fought their personal battles with the scars left by war, both physical and mental, stand next to and talk with a Warrior just beginning to fight his battle was a breathtaking sight. If you talk individually with these Vietnam era Veterans, they look at the guys fighting now as heroes. If you talk with the Warriors at Freedom Station, they look at the older generation of Warriors from past wars as heroes. Respect, humility and patriotism runs rich with all of these men – no matter what war they fought in or what battle(s) they currently deal with. None of these men considers themselves a hero and are quick to point out others who they feel are more deserving of such a title.

As our time together drew to a close, I realized that I too came full circle that day. My attitude changed to a place of gratitude, and it’s impossible to be in a crap mood when you come from a place of gratitude. I am grateful for everything I have and for the battles I will never have to fight. I am grateful for the opportunity to tell the story of Freedom Station, the Warriors there and the story of two amazing Vietnam era pilots and Warriors. I am grateful that I get to sit and listen to stories that most will never hear first-hand. I am grateful for my new-found friendship with a woman who serves as a true inspiration for me. I am grateful that I have a home to go back to and boxes to unpack and arrange however I wish. And, I am grateful that I know I will sleep through the night tonight and get up tomorrow morning to sit in a chair in my backyard in the land of the free in my little piece of the USA sipping coffee and thinking about how truly blessed I am to have a choice on what attitude I carry throughout the day. May we all have the ability to come full circle.

Thank you to all who have fought and sacrificed for my freedom. May you find peace along your new journey’s. God bless you, and God bless America.

 

-RJ

 

 

 

Removing the Cape

In the past six months of my life I: wrote and published a fiction mystery novel, left a long-term career, vacationed in Hawaii, brought my oldest son home, got engaged, took on two amazing non-fiction projects, started my second fiction mystery novel and am getting ready to move at the end of this month. I drank about eighty-seven gallons of coffee, played full time single mom to an eight year old, hurt my leg again and then began running again. I participated in my very first book signing event, met two amazing POW’s, spent time with my grandpa, began integrating two families and lived without a paycheck for all six months. Throw in all of the day-to-day life items like cleaning, cooking, working out, helping with homework, feeding and bathing dogs and trying to stay connected with family and friends, and you have a schedule that mimics that of a high ranking corporate talking head.

Some days I wonder how I will make it through and some days I wake up thinking it looks like a piece of cake. But every single day is a juggling act. It’s not only a question of time and scheduling, but also a question of how much emotional and physical fuel is in the tank. Trying to be superwoman is exhausting. Ex-haust-ing. There are nights that I welcome the comfort and escape of my pillow and fall asleep with ease. Then there are those nights that I reluctantly crawl into bed and will myself to sleep only because I know my body needs it. I feel guilty up to the second I fall asleep. Yes, guilty. Guilty for not accomplishing everything on my unmanageable list of things to do. Guilty because I feel like I failed as a mom, as a writer, as a daughter, as a fiancé or just as a human being.

The allure of running around like superwoman is, of course, obtaining the feeling I have on those days when I pull it all off, beautifully. But the downside to thinking and acting like I am superwoman is that crap feeling I get when I don’t quite measure up to my own unrealistic standards – the ones I set for myself, knowing full well that I am not strong enough to carry the load every day.

So what’s the answer? I don’t know. I know this about me – I will continue to overfill my schedule and say yes to those people and causes that I care about more times than is realistic. I will do this over and over until I crumble under the weight of a schedule that nobody could be expected to pull off and then I will stop. I withdraw and shut down for a day or two. I make everyone around me suffer during those days. I suffer during those days. But then this truly beautiful thing happens, and I become refreshed and renewed. I get two straight good nights of sleep, and I fall back into a regular running and workout routine. I don’t answer every email, FB comment, Twitter post and direct message within minutes of receiving them. I put my phone on silent, and I soak up the tight hug of a beautiful eight year old, I listen, truly listen, to the silly ramblings of a college student, and I spend more than five minutes catching up with my oldest son. I turn up the music loud while I run in the sunshine, and I look around at the new blooms, the color of the water as I pass the ocean – you know all the things I’ve missed while I was too busy being busy. I hold hands with my man, I spend a full day not rushing from one thing to the next with a stupid sense of self-imposed urgency, I make a real dinner for the whole family, and sit down to take time to eat it and I breathe. I remember how to live, how to just BE. Then I go back to stacking my calendar and catching up with my overflowing inbox, I go back to being superwoman.

I recognized this pattern in myself long ago, but I didn’t know how to fix it, and I still don’t. I am learning, however, to prioritize it. I am also learning that I don’t have to be perfect – nobody expects me to be – nobody but me. I think that many of us (writers) place such high expectations on ourselves. I don’t think this is a bad thing, but I do think it is something that warrants reflection and understanding. We should examine the big picture and set our goals deliberately. I think we get sometimes lost wanting it all, and all at the same time that we can easily overlook the most important pieces of the big picture.

For me – the big picture is providing for my kids. The other part of the picture is figuring out how to do that while doing what I love to do – by writing. And though daily balance is not something I have mastered, I feel it is important to understand that I recognize the need for more balance and that I spend time thinking about how to come up with new and creative ideas to achieve a healthier balance for my family, my writing and myself. That is a lot more than the old me would have attempted to do. I am learning with age, growing wiser I suppose. And I am proud of the ever evolving me.

I know I will stumble, I know I will take on too much and push myself to the point of almost breaking. I am not in denial about who I am at my core, and I don’t expect to correct myself overnight. I do expect to continue to grow as a person, as a mom as a writer, as a fiancé and as a friend. I know I will disappoint myself, and I know I will be proud of myself. That’s part of life – that’s part of growth. Learning to take off the cape is something we all have to do at some point. And its relative – that picture of ourselves sporting that cape. Because this week when I unplug and take that beautiful little girl out for the day – just the two of us – well I know, that’s when she will envision me in that cape. Those are the moments when I am superwoman in her eyes, and at the end of the day, it is what the eyes of those closest to us see that matters the most.

-RJ

 

Weighing in on the Terrorist Trade

The media has been ripe with numerous opinions and analysis of the recent terrorist trade for the release of Bergdahl. When those views and analysis are from the mouths of talking heads that have never served in the military and never been to war – I tend to overlook them. There are many talking heads and members of our government who make decisions for our country, on behalf of the citizens of The United States of America but, the opinions and analysis that should matter to every citizen in the USA are those made by men who have first-hand knowledge of not only our military but also of war. 

The men and women we should open our ears to regarding the recent terrorist trade or any other action that puts our military members and innocent civilians working outside of the USA at risk are those that have experience in such matters. When POW’s and former military leaders speak, I tend to put more weight into the words that come out of their mouths than I would ever put in empty words out of the mouths of men who personally know nothing of what they are throwing opinions out about. 

I have the unique privilege of knowing some of these amazing former POW’s and was recently made aware of a letter written by Sam Johnson to the Senate and House. I am sharing some excerpts from that letter as well as the thoughts of another great American and POW.

 

Email from Jim Bedinger:

Hi again,

A number of you have asked me what I thought as a former POW of the N. Vietnamese Communists, what I thought of the recent release of Sgt Bergdahl. Like most, I am glad he is back in U.S. custody and care. I was troubled to hear about those 5 jihad leaders who were released.  

Today Representative Sam Johnson, one of my personal heroes from the Hanoi Hilton, wrote a letter to his fellow members of Congress. Some excerpts were passed to the former POWs on our network. Sam is one of the Alcatraz Eleven (Stockdale, Denton, Mulligan were also part of this special group of resistors) whose story was finally published and released to market this Feb 2014. It’s called DEFIANT by Alvin Townley. If you want to know more, I highly recommend this new book  about these brave Americans who endured so much and for so long. And their complete story has not been told in full until now.  

I also thought that you might be interested in Sam Johnson’s assessment of this POW release.

-Jim Bedinger

 

Excerpts from Sam Johnson’s letter:

“As you may know, I spent nearly seven years as a Prisoner of War (POW) in Vietnam, more than half of that time in solitary confinement in a place so desolate and isolating it could only be called Alcatraz. I served with many brave Americans. I lived through those filthy, atrocious and inhumane conditions. I know what it is like to pray to God that the enemy will kill you right then and there to end the long periods of torture and excruciating pain. Today, I humbly write this letter as a decorated combat veteran of two wars and as a sitting Member of Congress.  

“While U.S. Senator Dianne Feinstein (D-CA) and I don’t agree on much, we agree that President Obama broke the law when he released the five top terrorists in exchange for a detained American soldier. Our mutual outrage over the President’s destructive and unilateral action proves that this is not a Democrat issue or a Republican issue. It is an American issue.  

“Time magazine now reports that the Taliban feels inspired, empowered and emboldened to capture American soldiers. ‘It’s better to kidnap one person like Bergdahl than kidnapping hundreds of useless people. It has encouraged our people. Now everybody will work hard to capture such an important bird.’

“Our worst enemies just confirmed that President Obama’s unilateral decision, in effect, put a price on the head of each soldier, sailor, airmen, coast guardsmen and Marine serving abroad in defense of freedom. From here on out, every single American, both military and civilian, has a right to be fearful.   The President failed us miserably with his ill-advised, inappropriate and immature actions. This leaves innocent Americans and our brave men and women in harm’s way to bear the consequences of such failure.”

 

If we ignore what our President has done and what the possible ramifications of the trade will be – we turn our backs on every member of the military, as well as civilian contractors. These Americans will be the ones to pay the heaviest price, put at an even greater risk by the terrorist trade.

-RJ

 

Sam Johnson: http://www.pownetwork.org/bios/j/j028.htm 

Jim Bedinger: http://www.pownetwork.org/bios/b/b133.htm 

DEFIANT the book: http://www.amazon.com/Defiant-Endured-Vietnams-Infamous-Returned-ebook/dp/B00GL3SUZW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1402856873&sr=1-1&keywords=defiant

This Is What War Feels Like

With Sebastian Junger’s recent release of KORENGAL, we have a unique opportunity to witness not only what war looks like, but also what war feels like for many returning veterans.

These young men answered the call, and they enlisted, they served…See what these men deal with after war. Realize the true costs to these soldiers. It doesn’t matter what side of the political fence you sit on – this is a must watch for EVERY American.

Listen to Andrew Lubin’s interview with Junger, watch the movie trailer and please go out and support the efforts to bring this information to light.

-RJ

https://www.mca-marines.org/audio/korengal

http://www.andrewlubin.com
USMC Combat Correspondant Association

For the Love of Writing

I began writing long ago, and I still remember how it felt the first time I got lost with a pencil and a blank page. I’ve attempted to recreate that feeling a thousand times since then. At times, I was successful, and at times I fell short. But the reason has always been the same – I have written, and I continue to write – simply for the love of writing.

Fast forward decades past the first time I got lost writing and you have the modern-day me. The older girl who has picked up a healthy dose of cynicism, a semi-shielded heart, thoughts that are no longer transparent – not even to myself – and a life of experiences that shaped me into the person and writer I am today. I never imagined I would put pen to paper, or more accurately, fingers to the keyboard and write with the goal of publishing, but I did, and it came with a cost.

I’ve always believed that counting the cost was detrimental to reaching goals – that if you truly want something – you have to take the risk without counting the cost. I also believed that if you worked hard and gave anything your best effort – your own one hundred percent – that win or lose, it would be worth it. I still believe that but, my picture of that process and the ability to meet personal success, assuming you give it your best shot, is a bit tainted. Along my short trip on the journey thus far – I have discovered that as an amateur – even your best efforts in the world of publishing books sometimes isn’t close to good enough.

I suppose when I initially set out to write for publication, walking away from a long time career, cashing out and risking everything, it was purely for the love of writing. At least, I think it was. I thought I did everything by the book. I researched my genre, paid attention to how others before me recounted their steps to publishing successes. I spent hard-earned dollars on cover design, editing and marketing. I treated it like a business, and when you spend all of your time and finances doing anything – it’s a business. I welcomed feedback and constructive criticism, and made changes to my first novel accordingly. I put myself under deadline and stuck to it, unfortunately at the cost of missing some glaring mistakes simply by forcing myself, and my first novel to meet that deadline. More importantly, I had a story to tell and taking everything else out of the equation – when I was writing that first novel it was only for the love of writing. What I discovered is that it takes more than the love of writing to become a successful author. A lot more. I have read articles and quotes by multiple ultra-successful authors who repeatedly spout the mantra that you have to do this thing only for the love of writing and in a perfect world I guess one could do that. But, not this one – not me – and I suspect, not many others either.

I did the roller coaster ride in six-flags fashion. I have experienced some unbelievable highs – highs I never believed were possible for me – certainly not my first time out. I had the privilege of being recognized both privately and publicly by people and places that I still have a hard time wrapping my head around. I made Amazons Top 100 in paid, and free categories, a combined total of five times in my first month as a published author. The first time I hit Amazon’s Top 100 paid; I sat in my SUV and pulled up my link on Amazon, and there it was, my first novel at #68, right next to my all-time favorite author – I almost had a heart attack…seriously. I have seen the paperback version of my novel on local bookstore shelves, and I have seen my name printed in local news and event publications. I watched my website hits grow from zero a week to hundreds, my Twitter account go from who are you to I’m following you and have been asked for advice by people whom I would consider to be out of my league – even on my best day. To say I have experienced some highs would be a huge understatement and, has been an even bigger distraction. Being briefly at the top of that hill as well as the proverbial fall back down it – both taught me lessons. At different degrees of course but, lessons that I needed to learn on both ends of the spectrum and ones I could have only learned by living those experiences – by taking that risk. The down side taught me more than the up-side did. It made me understand the full weight of being an easy target and those painful reviews pointed sharp arrows in directions that required my attention. The negative side of things taught me that not everyone is going to like me. Period. And that if I wished to continue writing, I had to be okay with that – and I am…now. But, I would be a liar if I said that those first few slaps in the face didn’t sting. I would be an even bigger liar if I said that there weren’t moments when I was ready to pack up my journals, notes and storyboards and take them out to the garage. To be done with writing. Thankfully, those feelings faded.

I think what it boils down to for those of us crazy enough to write for publication, is balance. Being able to balance the high’s and low’s without getting so distracted that we allow the roller coaster to pull us away from the keyboard. Finding a balance between the love of writing and the business end of publishing and making it work so that writing remains a fulfilling adventure versus a task master by which we would rather not be owned. I think its safe to say that for those of us who wake up in the middle of the night and rush to our computers to empty our minds, or stay up for nights in a row because we are on a roll – we will never quit writing because we can’t – we love it too much.

For me, the love of writing will hold my feet to the fire and the love of writing will also get me through the hills and valleys that success and failure bring with them. There has never been a greater high than reading something I wrote that came out just as I imagined it in my head. If being vulnerable and sharing my writing with a world audience brings with it an element of risk, I will put my armor on and go to battle because the alternative is – for me – not worth the larger risk of not writing at all.

Happy writing☺

 

-RJ

#amwriting

http://www.AuthorRJBelle.com

 

Don’t bend…

“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”

― Franz Kafka