When I was growing up, my parents were generally good about giving me “space.”  If my door was closed, they usually knocked before coming in and I don’t think they listened in on my conversations on the phone.  Or, at least, if they did, they never told me.

And, yet.  I remember a particular instance when my mom found a note from one of my friends that had some questionable content in it.  Like, you know, multiple uses of the “f” word, something about a boy, the usual stuff.  She very calmly placed the note in front of me, and said, “Who is this?”

I was mortified.  And then, I got angry.

“That’s MY note, mom, you can’t just  read other people’s stuff without asking…” I raised my voice ever so slightly  in an effort to really push across the indignation I felt at this obvious violation.

“I do not read other people’s stuff, but I will read your stuff.”

“What about my RIGHT to privacy?”  I saw the look pass across her face.   The one that I had seen so many times before… Oh, lovely, here goes my American child again going on about her rights…

I assume that this was a cultural disconnect because every time I tell my husband some version of this story, he reacts as though I’m telling my mother that I’m a Martian who has come to Earth in order conduct experiments on the human race.  In other words, a fourteen year old talking to her mom about privacy rights is just plain crazy.

But, back to my story.

“In this home, your privacy is not a right.  It is a gift, remember that.  You should know that whatever it is, I will know.  You might not know that I know… but I will know.”  To this day, that sentence was said with such conviction that, twenty years later, I still shudder at the idea that there are things that she knows that I don’t know about.

She wasn’t done.

“Also, you should remind your friend,” she gestured at the note, “that words are eternal.  Remind her that what she writes and gives to someone else can be seen by anyone even if it’s intended only for you.  Her words matter.  People will see them.”  And, then, in her classic style, she left the note laying on my bed, walked out and softly closed the door behind her.

Her words matter.  People will see them.

Again, this lesson resonates with me until this day, to the point that I always think twice before I hit publish on anything.

Who is the absolute last person I would want to see this?  How would they react?  Am I willing to pay that price?

And, yet, I’ve had the inevitable conversation with more than one person, “was that post/update about me?”

It’s a difficult question to answer.  I mean, sometimes, it’s a yes and a no.  I think people have a hard time understanding this because they don’t fully understand the creative process behind writing.  Something happens to you or you observe something that someone has done, and it sparks a range of thoughts in your head.

Some of those thoughts have nothing to do with the original situation or person.

I wonder if people understand the distinct difference between a writer intending to exact vengeance and a writer who has simply been inspired to write about something they’ve experienced.  I imagine that only the writer knows, and, interestingly, only the reader can decide.  (Unless, of course, they blatantly ask).

The consumption of any kind of literature generally necessitates that the reader look for themselves or some semblance of what they know in the words before them.  It’s almost narcissistic, yet I argue that if that search for one’s self to some degree comes up empty, the person will simply stop reading.

So, in a way, yes, it is about you.

But, for writers who have the purest of intent, the intent to express and create and tell the truth as they see it, it’s not about you in the way you think.

Something to keep in mind.

It’s an odd thing for a woman to navigate and attempt to understand the concept of “manhood.”

For most, at least for me, the journey began when I knew I was having a boy.  “How, as a woman, does one teach a boy to be a man?”

This was the first thought that entered my head when I saw that sonogram.

The second was, “I have no idea how to do that.”

Which is funny, because I have a father, I have a brother and I’d been married to a man for almost eight years before I asked myself that question.

Tasked with the job of teaching something I know little about, I looked around for examples.  I did not have to search far.  He happened to live in the same house.  My husband has taught me so much in the past year about what a man is and is not.

A man is not someone who thinks washing dishes is women’s work.

A man is someone who comes home and asks what needs to be done in order to achieve the common goal of running a household.

A man is not someone who refers to watching his own children as “babysitting.”

A man is someone whose eyes reflect that playing, tending to and being affectionate with his own children is his absolute pleasure and honor.

A man is not someone who assumes his superiority resides upon the number of people he can control or manipulate.

A man is someone who offers himself up as a rock, a pillar upon which each person in his family can stand.

A man is not someone who keeps to himself and shuts himself off from the people who love him in a misconstrued plan to be “strong for them.”

A man is someone who expresses his appreciation and displeasure over situations in an open and positive way.  Or even less than positive.  He, at the very least, says something.

A man is not someone who compares you to others or believes that you are lucky to have him.

A man is someone who knows that because you are strong, kind, beautiful and talented, that you deserve to have him.

A man is not someone who thinks you need protecting because you are weak and less able.

A man is someone who defends you because he knows that his integrity demands that he stand up for what is right.

I no longer worry about teaching my son what it is to be “a man.”  He can play with dolls or trucks, it doesn’t matter.  He can play sports or read books.  He can wear pink or black or whatever.

It doesn’t matter, I’ll love him no matter what.

All I really want for him to do, though?  Is be a lot like his dad.  Because his dad is a “man” in every single way that counts.

Happy birthday to the two the beautiful men in my life.

( Photo courtesy of www.twitter.com/jamietamm )

Early Saturday morning, I stood outside the elevator with my new friend Kim.

Kim is an amazing human being with a purity of soul and an honest heart that makes you literally believe that there is hope for mankind.  Yes, she is that nice.

Until Friday, Kim and I had one fairly brief offline interaction, but thanks to BlogHer we were finally able to spend time together this past weekend.

From the moment I met her, Kim was full of life and jokes and laughter.  But, this Saturday morning, she was not.

She was in near tears.  And my heart was breaking for her.

“I don’t think I’m ready… I don’t think I can do this…”

The sudden change in demeanor was prompted by a turn that the conversation had taken about a session that she would be speaking at on Saturday afternoon.

About grief.

See, Kim is a widow, and on Saturday afternoon she was going to talk about that experience in front of an entire room of people that she didn’t know.

I knew this already, and I’m going to admit an embarrassing truth about how I felt when I saw this session in the schedule.

I was thrilled when I saw names I love and recognize (Kim’s and two more blogger’s, Peter and Anissa, who I admire greatly and read) on the panel, but I had no intention of going.

I had no major tragedies with which I have had to cope.

I  had no intent of being “brought down” at an event where I was anticipating growth and positive self development.

This topic had nothing to do with me, I told myself.

I was happy that my friends were going to be able to talk about their grief over things that had happened to them, but this stuff?

No.thank.you.

But Saturday morning, in front of the lobby elevators, Kim was nervous, scared and all kinds of uncomfortable feelings.

I thought, “My friend needs me, this a unique moment where I can make a difference for someone else by simply showing up.”

I promised her I would go, and I would be there for her.  Because that’s what friends do.

So I went… shamefully oblivious to the fact that my “showing up,” while I’m sure it was meaningful for Kim and the other speakers at the session, would prove to be a far greater gift to myself than to my friends.

I went, I sat and listened.

To a woman who talked about how her son died of SIDS and her subsequent suicide attempt.

To another mother who spoke of losing her twins after several years of fertility treatment.

To a couple who talked about how they were handling the tremendous effects of coma/stroke complications in their life.

And to Kim, who talked about losing her husband.

It was awkward, at first.

I cried.  More than a few times.

But, in the end, I learned something important about the human experience, community and even about blogging.

It’s true that we need to keep our eyes on the positive.  Life can get messy and complicated, and keeping happy and fun thoughts at the forefront of your mind can act as a preventative medicine against potential downward spirals of darkness.

Still.  Pain is real.  You can’t avoid it, and pretending it doesn’t exist, certainly doesn’t banish it into oblivion. Most importantly, just because it’s not happening to you, doesn’t make it any less real or inevitable that it could happen to you.

And if we’re talking about death, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you can be assured that it will happen to you.

The medicine that prevents devastation from settling into the human heart to the point where we could potentially self destruct is not avoidance.

It’s embracement.

We must embrace every aspect of our existence as humans.  Even the awkward, uncomfortable moments.  Even the moments that remind us that our happiness simply hangs in the precarious balance of our circumstances.

We are a community.

Not of bloggers, not of women, not of mothers, but of human beings.

Tragedy?  Death?  Illness?

These are among the staples of our existence, they are not occasional occurrences to be marked with a Hallmark card and a bouquet of flowers.  Those things will not make it go away, nothing will.

The only hope we have to lessen the pain of tragedy lies in acknowledgement that these things are constantly happening.  They are an every day reality.  I don’t want to be alone when these things happen to me, so I promise not to let the people who are experiencing them now have to do it alone, either.

Those who would avoid the awkwardness of tears and possible anxiety miss out on this beautiful opportunity to grow.

People get sick.

Children and husbands and wives die.

Telling yourself that it’s all part of God’s plan and sweeping it under the rug is just not enough.

We need each other’s experiences to remind us of what it is to be a real human being.  We need each other’s support to make it through.

Furthermore, there is intrinsic reward in shedding the idea that the only experiences worth sharing are the ones that give us cotton candy feelings in the pit of our stomachs.

We become real.

Real, one who acknowledges and embraces reality with courage and sincerity.

Because of this panel, I know that my realness will be steeped in the firm knowledge that my perception of life is not as I believe life ought to be, but that I truly know what it is.

In other words, I’ve traded the reflection of reality for a bona fide and true reality.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s the most preparation any of us can have for a tragic event that happens in our lives or someone else’s.

It may also be the only kind of preparation we need.

I’m planning on going to the BlogHer conference in August.

While it all sounded exciting on paper, as the date got closer and closer, trepidation became outright anxiety.

I hate leaving my kids with someone else, even their dad, who is the greatest dad ever and for the record can totally take care of them without my help.

It’s because I’m filled with so much need to control every aspect of their lives, cough, love for them, I think.

But I’m going.  They’ll be fine.  I’ll be fine.  I want to go.

I am going.

And it’s a good thing because last week, I was informed that my writing will be recognized at the conference in a very special and highly public way.

Apparently, out of around 1000 submissions of various bloggers, 90 finalists were chosen, and out of those 90, 15 of us were chosen to read their submissions at the Keynote.

I’m one of those fifteen.

OHMYGOD!!!!!!!!

I realized this was a big deal when my very dear friend, Britt, who ranks among the 90 finalists and is very famous on the Internet, screamed, I HATE YOU!!! upon finding out I was chosen to read my post aloud.

The great thing about being friends with Britt is that if you want to know whether or not something that’s happened to you is a big deal or not, you just have to wait for that I HATE YOU!! and then you know it’s a big deal.  I HATE YOU!! in Britt-speak means, I am so incredibly proud of you that I want to weep sweet tears of joy.

It’s a complicated and highly nuanced language.

So, my dear friends, you are now reading the blog of a BlogHer Voice of the Year.

I want a take a moment to thank a few people who need to be recognized for their incredible contribution to my blog.

I started this blog a little less than three years ago, just to get my voice out there, just so I could feel heard.  As any blogger knows, those initial posts were sparse on the comments.

We can all say it’s about the writing and expression, but deep down we know the comments let us know someone is listening… in the beginning, it let me know someone cared.

Tariq, Adam, Britt, Sybil Law, B.E. Earl, futurowoman, Mr. & Mrs. Traci, Mr. & Mrs. Shabina and RW?

In the beginning, it was you that made me feel heard and let me know that someone cared and that someone was reading.  Your regular commentary propelled me in such a way that I began to grow as a blogger, as a writer and as a person.  Even now, when I write a post, you are the first ones whose opinion I consider.  Then, of course, I write whatever I want even if I think you’re going to hate it.

But you are still the ones I think of first.

This Voice of the Year thing?  You helped me get here.   So much so, that I would say that I would not be here if it weren’t for you.  So, thank you.

That said, every single person that has ever read or commented on this blog is also very important to me.  If I had the time, I would list each of your names, as well.

You are the ones that continue make me feel heard and thus each of you fulfill a very important role in my every day life.  You are my anchors when I am adrift in a perceived state of loneliness.

So, thank you for reading.

I appreciate you and honor each of you as well for having contributed in a very important way to my receiving this opportunity to present my work.

(I’d also like to thank God without which none of this would be possible, the Academy and David Boreanaz.)

(Trite and expected, but completely necessary.)

(Well, the David Boreanaz thing was a little unexpected, right?)

Remember when ten years ago, if you wanted to stop being friends with someone you just stopped calling or writing and let your friendship die a slow, peaceful death?

Or, maybe you just actually (gasp!) called them and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like we’re friends anymore or we can be friends anymore, so I wish you well, but…”

I remember that time.

It was a time of courage.  A time where people had to stand by their actions and face the music by actually seeing the hurt they were inflicting staring back at them from someone’s eyes or hearing the pain they were causing resonate in a human voice.

Before un-friending, un-following, unsubscribing and blocking.

There’s an unspoken idea floating around in the social media and blogging world that now that everyone and their mom is online, somehow the rules of human behavior, shows of mutual respect and general courtesy have drastically changed.

My friends?  I submit that this notion is just amateur, and that deep down inside we all know it.

You know that little “what-if” game people play about traffic lights?

Would you cross a red light if there was absolutely no one around?

No.

What if you were hurt?

Probably not.

What if there was a woman in the car who was about to have a baby?

Yeah, okay, well.  Yes, then I would.

The game goes on and on until the person says yes with total conviction.

It’s an exercise in determining the limits of your own behavior.

And it’s not only fun, but extremely useful.

In those moments, when nobody is watching you and you don’t have to face up to any major consequences, the things you do matter the most.  Your deeds in those moments exist as unequivocal proof of who you really and truly are.

Are you kind because you’re afraid of being perceived by others as mean or are you a truly kind person?

That difference matters.  A lot.

Kindness and courage mean little if their employment depends upon the approval of others.  Then, they are simply the mirages of a person who has built their whole persona around the fickle opinions of other people.

And, in my opinion, that is not a very evolved way to live.

I will go so far as to say that your actions when you think no one else is watching reflect more about you than anything else.

I have seen people online say terrible things because they think nobody will notice or find out it was them.

Like call someone horrible names.

Like pontificate on the impending collapse of a marriage.

Like make fun of someone’s appearance, race, or beliefs.

Like say that someone is a bad parent or, worse, make fun of their children.

Like tell someone to go kill themselves.

Sometimes, these things are said under the guise of a pseudonym, but it doesn’t matter.

These words and actions are still who these people really truly are.  Even if nobody but them knows it, it doesn’t matter.  In fact, the use of a pseudonym just makes them more of a coward.

The Internet is not a free pass to be a jerk.

And, oh?  It is also not an excuse to take the easy way out of an offline relationship.

Online or offline, we are not acting in a vacuum.  Someone else is always being affected by our actions.  The fact that we no longer have to face a person while, during or after we’ve done something is completely inconsequential on the karmic balance sheet.

I’m also not saying here that you should never un-friend someone, un-follow or e-mail a goodbye.  I’m just saying that the rules of the Internet are not different than the rules of real life.

Some people deserve an explanation, some do not.  Carefully consider who falls into which category.  And, personally, when in doubt, I believe it’s always best to just pick up the phone or stop by at their place.  But, I have a pesky little admiration for courageous behavior.

The Internet, MySpace, Facebook, Twitter and the like are not a separate worlds where we get to say and do whatever we want without fully acknowledging the potential harm of our words.

They are part of the world we live in.

We are accountable on every level.

Even if it is only to ourselves.