Hey Lizard Brain, Take A Breath

It’s probably a survival of the fittest evolution thing. Judging other people. You size them up … are they stronger, fatter, slower, more attractive, funnier. They look stranger on the treadmill. Oh and you know why he drives that car wink wink. Are her shirt too slutty, jeans too tight? And who does she think she is? …

But really it is just something left over from our prehistoric lizard brain deciding if we need to eat or are going to be eaten by that girl on the treadmill. Or is that guy who is obviously over compensating for something with his ride potentially an apt candidate with whom to replicate myself and protect me from predators. Is her behavior likely to draw attention to me putting me at risk of being carried of by a prehistoric bird and fed to prehistoric baby birds for dinner.

Lizard brain reactions are quick and do not factor in the complex set of variables that the fully evolved brain has to sort through before making a decision. The lizard brain considers only how does the world and other living things in it affect ME. I imagine a crocodile hardly ever wonders if the gazelle drinking from the river has just had to the worst day of its entire life and has finally found a nice spot to catch his breath and reflect on the day before he lunges from the water, drags it under and pulls it apart limb by limb and devours it.

Sadly we as humans often don’t either.

But that is what makes us different from crocodiles. We have humanity — the quality or state of being kind to other people or animals. We are humane. Right?

You will judge me based on your assessment of the last decade of my life without having lived inside of that life or having walked in those shoes. You will praise or scorn the way I move my life forward based on your idea of how I should or shouldn’t do things. You will project your timelines and standards and expectations.

Know it was not a decision that was made without years of careful thought, consideration and exploration that we both actively participated in. … A LOT of hard work as individuals and as a couple. That yes was mostly conducted very privately.

Neither Jay or I cease to exist because we aren’t Jay and Lindsey. We will both go on to find happiness in this life. This decision was in fact made so that we could do just that. The only timeline or expectations we are beholden to is our own.

I was crushed by the weight of a label that over time ceased to properly name my relationship, the collective unmet expectation of that label, and my inability to meet Jay’s expectations … The pressure of the projected expectation of friends and family who toasted the assignment of that label. And the need to respect and honor the more than decade long life between us, which created two beautiful children.

Judge. Because you will. But maybe take a breath and let the lizard reaction pass before you render your verdict. I won’t be dragged underwater, pulled apart limb by limb and devoured.

5th Times A Charm

My sage friend Courtney reminded me the other night while I was crying into my beer that I had this blog. Cause that’s how friends do. They buy you beer and let you cry in it and remind you of stuff you like to do and that you might even be good at. Then also

Skate or Die

I went to the skating rink recently with my kids. The PTA at our school is made up of a lot of college professors and that means they are like geniuses. And so they have the PTA meeting AT THE SKATING RINK, which is genius. Kids skate. PTA ptas. I don’t usually make it to

Gotta Go: Tales from the John

They (whoever they are) say that you spend like a quarter of your life in the bathroom. I’m not sure if that includes the time spent taking your small children to the bathroom. That may bump it up to more like 3/4 of your life. What I do know is that we spend a lot

Give Me My Freakin’ Cheese

The whole, “Who Moved My Cheese Thing,” really irritates to me. Now understand that I haven’t actually read the book and rumor is you can’t judge one by its cover. But here’s the deal. Doesn’t this presuppose that there is something wrong with ME because I’m pissed that SOMEONE ELSE moved my cheese? Why is

For The Record

Hi. It’s been a while. Since we last talked, I broke my leg, switched jobs and wrote a history of downtown Oklahoma City for a magazine that was worthy of a masters degree. Yet I still have no masters degree and now I can’t even run the marathon. I’m not sure what feat of superhuman

Oh Sister: The Outtakes

One of the funniest parts about the whole needing someone to go to breastfeeding class in case my sister is too overwhelmed to remember anything the day of delivery (besides that) was my Mom. Apparently Erin did not know that she was a formula baby. We all were. My Mom cut her baby feeding teeth

Oh Sister

I’m supposed to leave my sister’s breasts out of this. So I’ll be a good sister and obey. But when you send an e-mail asking if I’d be available to accompany you to a breastfeeding class as your Breast Feeding Support Partner (BFSP), you might as well have said a priest and a rabbi walk

The Centipede: Not Just A Fun Dance

You can’t have a good day everyday. If you did then you wouldn’t notice that they were good because you’d have nothing to compare them to. Bad days exist for the sole purpose of giving you context for the good ones. I’ve had gotten a lot of context in the last several days. Context that

An Ode to Brussels Sprouts

Brussels sprouts are like the newt of the vegetable world. You know those things your mom used to cover in butter or cheese whiz to try to make appealing to the prepubescent pallet and make you try just one bite before you were released from the dinner table? Brussels sprouts not newts. If your mom