Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

Our 12 year old niece said something that truly touched my soul one night recently.  We were playing a game with her, her 8 year old sister, and their parents (my brother and sister-in-law).  It was an 80's version of "Name That Tune."  I, being eternally in love and deeply obsessed with all things 80's, was of course more than happy to play a board game that revolved entirely around answering questions about bands with big hair, singers in spandex, and music with enough synthesizing to rock the sweatbands right off of you. Somewhere in the middle of identifying songs from The Pet Shop Boys and reminiscing about how I forgot what Mr. Mister looked like, our niece said to me, "The 80's seems like it was a cool decade to live in."  As I wiped a single fallen tear from my cheek I had to refrain from squeezing her like a grandmother hugging a tiny two year old whom had just said, "I love you" for the first time.  I couldn't believe tho...

* This is part 6 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! For Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 please scroll below . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *...

My age says I should no longer hold lengthy conversations about the greatest moments in The Muppets repertoire, consort with Smurfs, or linger over trinkets in a bargain bin  marked with Mr. Men and Little Miss.   My age implies thoughts should angle  toward savings bonds, health insurance,  mortgages, property value. My age insists the time to feel care-free and fresh  is past -- now is time for my childlike soul to run on fumes until it just gives out, pulls over, and waits to hitch another ride,  eventually the first part of the trip  disappearing in the distance of a rear-view mirror. Today I am 30.   And what once made me a tad anxious,  now makes me proud.   Three decades under the belt, a fourth just beginning.  The first three were practice anyway . . .  the fourth offers a chance to take what was good  and polish it up for the next run.   T...

  In less than a month now I will be hitting a bit of a milestone.  I will be turning 30.  I will have officially expanded my journey into four different decades.  I'm not completely sure how I feel about this.  It's a mixed bag -- part sadness, part eagerness, and part reluctance.  When I first started thinking about the upcoming September 30 (it's my golden birthday this year, by the way) I began to feel anxious.  30?!  But what have I done in 30 years?  What have I accomplished?  Aren't I still just a kid?  Shouldn't I have a house, and kids, and a career?  In your 20's it's common and perhaps even expected that you haven't done or do not have those things yet.  20's are all about transforming yourself into your adult skin, finding who you are outside of childhood, school, and parents.  30's are . . . well, aren't they . . . well, aren't you supposed to be who you are meant to be by then -- settled, stable, do...