I decided in January that this was going to be MY year.  Whatever that means.  I guess I was expecting something really big to happen, though that hasn’t been the case – at least not yet.

But one thing I’ve done is try to ensure that every month of this year I do something that is challenging or new.  This month I did something that was both challenging AND new.

I went on a date.  With a man.  A man I met online.

Now I’m no fool...

Before meeting him we’d exchanged a few emails and I’d done the “mandatory” online check.  I even found what church he attends and learned that we have a mutual friend on Facebook.

But going out to meet this guy was a big deal for me.  Several times I started to back out of it, but I went.

And it was fun! 

I found that I’m still charming and I still know how to keep a conversation going.  Go Me!

The jury is still out on where this thing goes, but the first step was taken and I feel really good about that.

Church girls, we need to be more like Sasha Malia.

Sasha Malia is my cat child.  She was a stray, found by a good friend back in the summer of 2015.  She came to live with me in July of 2015 and I now can barely imagine life without her.

Sasha is full of fun and imagination and she knows who she is... she does!

I know it sounds odd, but I know cause I've had cats all of my life.  I know cats. 

And Sasha is special.

Look at her perched upon her throne.  The day I brought this into our home, she just knew that it was for her. 

She jumped up on it and she claimed it.  Paying no attention to the fact that she used to live under an abandoned porch, caring not that she was cast off by someone or something that cared nothing about her, and not at all fearful of falling. 

She jumped up, declared her territory and claimed her rightful place.  She believed that she deserved to be there.  And the rest is history.

We need to be more like Sasha. 

What's in a name?  Apparently quite a lot.

When my divorce was finalized in 2014, the paperwork said that I would go back to my maiden name.  At the time I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but my attorney suggested that I request that language be included in the divorce decree, otherwise it would be a  hassle to do it later.  So I did.

Friends and family just assumed that I would immediately change my name, given the unpleasant nature of my divorce.  Mail started coming to me with my maiden name noted and it was a shock to them all that I wasn't in a hurry to go back to it. 

Initially I felt that going back to my maiden name was indeed a step backwards and I only wanted to move forward.

I also thought that the girl who had that maiden name was now a much stronger and wiser woman and I wasn't sure I wanted to associate myself with the naivete of that young girl.

And, on a more practical note, my maiden name was ALWAYS mispronounced.  My married name was a lot easier on bank tellers and restaurant attendants and even new friends and associates.  Did I really want to go back to that constant need to repeat my name and spell it for those who needed it?  It seemed to me that since I got very little out of my marriage, the least I could get was a name that was easily pronounced.

So time passed and I kept my married name and all was well.  Until...

I wanted to get a passport.  And I just couldn't see myself getting a brand new legal document in my married name.  So I bit the bullet -- I changed my name.

The process was a lot easier than I thought it would be.  But emotionally it was kinda tough.

It marked an end of an era.  And even though in many ways, it was a much-needed an end, it was my era and I didn't know if I was ready to let it go.

It felt almost as if I was trying to erase my married life which is something I really didn't want to do.  Toward the end it wasn't a happy marriage, and there were difficult times even during our years of courtship, but that was almost 20 years of my life.  Was this name change an attempt to make that all go away?  "Why do women change their names anyway?", I wondered.

So it was somewhat reluctantly that I changed my name.

Eventually I began to see it as an opportunity for a new beginning.  A chance to start over with a fairly clean slate.

I'm ok with it now.  It was the right thing for me to do, but I had to do it when it felt right to me.

Divorced friends, did you change your name?  Why?  Why not?

During the month of March I was rejected and I rejected.

That's not a typo, what I mean is that there was someone I liked who didn't seem to like me.  Rejection.

And there was someone who liked me, but I didn't like him.  Rejection.

Is it odd that I found it a lot easier to be rejected than to be the one doing the rejecting?

Maybe because I didn't take responsibility for being rejected.  I am who I am, if you don't like me, shame on you.  And I figured that I was strong enough to take it. 

But it hurt me to know that someone who seemed to really like me, just wasn't my cup of tea and I had to find a kind way of letting him know.

I think this is a Church Girl thing. 

We would rather hurt a little than feel as though we're hurting someone else.  So we suck up the rejection, while coming up with little stories to tell to reject someone else without making them feel badly. 

Or do we make up the stories so WE don't feel bad.  I think that's probably closer to the truth.

I was talking with a friend recently about another friend.

And we were wondering why this woman was making the same mistakes over and over.  We agreed that she talks too much and thinks she knows everything ever revealed to man, but we decided that her issue was deeper than that.

We decided that her issue was rooted in the fact that this poor girl  is afraid of her own possibilities.

She's a lovely person, but we think that she's actually afraid to dream big, afraid to succeed, maybe because people have told her that she couldn't.

Or, worse yet, maybe because she's told herself that she couldn't.

It reminds me of a famous piece that is often attributed to Nelson Mandela, but I learned recently that it was actually first included in a book by Marianne Williamson entitled, "A Return to Love."  Here it is...

"...Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? 
Actually, who are you not to be? 
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. 
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. 
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Powerful words.   Let's pay attention.

Two people at my job got laid off today.
 
I was in their shoes in January 2008.  We all knew that layoffs were coming and the grapevine had told us that Monday was going to be the day.  While no one told me that I’d be in the number of people being let go, I had a feeling that I would be.  God is often kind like that, He gives us a heads up so we’re not completely caught off guard.

So I knew I was going to be let go.
 
I used it as an opportunity to establish my own business and I worked for myself for four years until I was given a chance to go back to my old job.  Well, not the exact same job, but to a position I was very familiar with, so I took it.  Working for “The Man” is a lot easier than working for yourself.
 
But that’s not what I want to write about today.
 
Today’s layoffs got me to thinking about myself and about how I use my time.
 
Because today they were laid off, tomorrow it could be me.
 
What am I doing now that could prepare me for a layoff?
 
Am I saving money like I should?  Am I cultivating relationships like I should?  Am I keeping abreast of industry trends?  Am I doing the best job that I can?
 
Today it was them.  Tomorrow it could be me… again.