The "Quasi-Anti-Politically-Correct-Sorry-I'm-Not-Sorry-Post"

 

We live in a society where everyone is trying to find their place. Whether it be within the business world, gender identity, race equality or religious freedom and personally, I think it's a beautiful thing. Each of us should have the right to be whatever sort of crazy vessel that makes our pretty little heads euphoric (within legal limits here, people).
 

But, you know what really grinds my gears? (If you've seen that Family Guy episode, you'll giggle at that reference) At some point, by the time we got to my generation, men stopped being men. They became these lazy, entitled, unchivalrous, Diary of a Wimpy Kid creatures. Lackluster in morale and genetically drained of any sort of respect for those around them. The sort of chutzpah that makes you want to frame your restraining order. 

 

I know not all woman want some of the long-lost, old-fashioned values and I respect that. And, trust me I write this as a generality and know there are many good men out there. But, if I can push past having to write that last PC clause (because that's what we have to do when we have an opinion these days, right?), I find it all rather irritating.

Granted, I know I have an old soul. I envision myself gliding through my days in a black and white TV set, carefree, with a strong, hardworking man doting over my kids and I, kindness in his heart, helping an old lady cross the road, and, oh no, if something ever happens to break, what's this?? He can actually FIX it. 

Yet many of the men in my generation expect everything to be handed to them. And, I don't mean a hammer, because let's face it, would you even know how to use it? 

They expect instant gratification and feel they can treat others in whatever horrific fashion they choose. They can trample on families and choose laziness as their major. What has higher education come to?

There's absolutely nothing that I can't do for myself and my children. Nothing I'm not willing to learn, fix, improve, and bust my butt doing to get things done and provide a good life for 2 boys who are already proving to be greater gentlemen than their generational predecessors. 

The needle in a haystack reference has never been more relevant than today. You really have to dig to find the goods. And, if you find that gem of a human being, hold on tight like the rodeo depends on it. 

There's a reason I like to buy myself flowers. To plant my own seeds. Harvest my own sustenance. I know what I'm ingesting that way. We worry about GMOs in our food, but what about the GMOs within our people? 

I'll let that marinate. 

Baggage Fees in My Bedroom

Baggage has been the demise of some of my most successful, and let's face it, most dysfunctional, relationships. Not the plain-Jane black suitcase kind of baggage you try to find on the conveyor belt that resembles 50 other people's luggage, or the sassy leopard print bag that belongs to the over-age sex kitten, but that clingy Baggage that we carry around with us every single day. Stuck to us like cellulite to thighs. 

We tuck it away in a back bedroom closet, hoping the old adage "out of sight, out of mind" kicks in. We bury it in the backyard next to Fido's remains and plant flowers in hopes it is never discovered. We may even decide to boldly display it smack dab in front of the big screen in our living room, because, well, no one ever discusses a big elephant in the room. 

Regardless of how we try to handle our own Baggage, the truth is, we often never actually DEAL with it. It's scary, hairy, funky and grimy. It smells of regret, wreaks of disdain and we fear there is not enough forgiveness in it to overcome the stench. 

I decided recently to open up my own Baggage. I'm not talking about taking a lil' peek with one eye closed and one foot ready to bolt out of the nearest door (or window, if things went really bad). I opened that bad boy up like the mighty Hulk (after unlocking all the pass codes, pin #s and security questions I'd previously used to keep up my walls)!

I hoped to find some cute shoes or a sexy lil' black dress in there but instead I was greeted by memories. Dozens and dozens of memories. Racing my heart like Daytona cars, causing tears to take a stroll down my cheeks and land on my modest chest, making me laugh until I snorted (luckily I don't drink milk) and I was the most free that I had ever felt.  

It was all on the table, metaphorically and literally. And, as I brought out each item and addressed the heavy weight it has been in my life, it faded away like Bill Cosby's morals. (too soon??) The lighter my Baggage became, the more enlightened I became, as well. It took a strong moment of character and bravery, hoping that not only would I be ready for this Baggage revelation, but that my loved ones would be ready to accept it, also.

I pack lighter these days. I still occasionally put my foot in my mouth but I'm learning to become more graceful. And, most importantly, I'm finding financial freedom now that there are no more Baggage fees in my bedroom!

Sabrina K. Carpenter