Biology is a Benefit

Having recently revisited an old favorite, I decided to dive right into a new author and a new series. I first discovered Tima Maria Lacoba on Twitter over the past few months. She is an indie author from the other side of the world and her book, Bloodgifted, is the first in a series about the Dantonville vampires. In Tima's world, vampirism is a curse and the Brethren, as the vampires are known, are working to achieve the conditions to undo the curse and become human once again (well, at least some of the Brethren share this goal). Another interesting aspect of this world is that the central relationship depicts a mutually beneficial exchange wherein the Bloodgifted is destined to feed her guardian vampire and he is obligated to protect her from other Brethren in return (not to mention that her status confers significant anti-aging benefits as well, so that at 50, the main character looks about 25).  This takes the trope of vampires feeding off of humans and providing pleasure or other advantages (more robust health and immunity, slowed aging, etc.) one step farther and made me think.  Always a dangerous proposition.

I started to think about the centrality of the relationship in Bloodgifted as an example of the phenomenon of symbiosis and its various manifestations: mutualism; commensalism; and parasitism. Nature is a fascinating mother, isn't she? In my other incarnation as a traditional naturopath, I've learned all about the vital role that pre- and pro-biotics play in our digestive system. Kind of weird/gross to think that we have several pounds of bacteria living happily in our guts. And that is just one of many examples that nature provides of independent entities needing each other. I'm more interested in a less literal or scientific definition of this phenomenon, despite how compelling the example of gobie fish and shrimp can be.

When I started thinking about symbiosis, my first thought was of the parasitic variety. I know that in my own life, I've been the unhappy host to a number of parasitic entities, including several of my boyfriends in the past. And I've had to look hard at these experiences and acknowledge the fact that my status has been voluntarily entered into and maintained, sometimes even long after I realized I was being used. This was a sobering and fairly unwelcome thought. It is much more comforting to believe that any instances of playing hostess with the mostess was the result of trickery on the parasite's part, or sweet naïveté on my end. But the truth is much less flattering.  

If we are willing participants in a parasitic relationship does that transform the relationship to one of mutualism, where both parties are benefiting, even if the benefits are less than equal? Or perhaps more benignly, could the relationship be characterized as an example of commensalism, wherein only one participant benefits and the other is neither harmed nor helped?  When I stayed in abusive or destructive relationships (and this included familial relationships such as those I had with my mother and my brother), I needed to face the reality that I must have been getting something I wanted or needed. Even if that something was the perception of being absolved of responsibility for my life. If I'm the victim of bad actors, then it's not my fault that my life sucks. If my boyfriend treats me poorly, but I hold on in the belief that my love can save him and help him evolve into a caring and generous human who will be so grateful for my loyalty and steadfastness that he will reward me by becoming the best partner ever, then I am a wonderful person whose circumstances, which are not my fault, are less than ideal. Wow. What convoluted thinking. 

Of course, there's another mindset at work in situations like this as well:  we allow the dysfunction to continue in the misguided belief that we don't deserve any better and a parasitic relationship is better than no relationship at all. There is way too much of that going on as well in the world and I've certainly contributed as much or more than my fair share.

So what to do about all of this depressing contemplation?  Let's turn that frown upside down and think about relationships that work, symbiosis that is characterized by mutualism. These relationships exist in nature, too, and certainly in many of our lives. My beloved doggies, for example, live with our family in a wonderful example of mutualism that works. Moreover, I'm lucky enough now that my central relationship with my husband is most definitely mutually beneficial ( I can only speak for myself, of course, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that he is getting something from the deal as well.) And I've always been blessed with amazing friendships that have withstood the test of time in their mutual benefit.

As I examine every aspect of my life, I can honestly and gratefully say that each of the relationships I have today serves me well and that I'm committed to ensuring that I'm giving back in equal measure. This is true both professionally. and personally.  I no longer feel used or abused at work, which has been true in the past and I don't approach any of my social engagements with dread or indifference; if I do, I cancel, because life is just too short.

I spend my time, energy and attention on people, places and activities that benefit me, even as I work to ensure everything I touch is just a little better than when I found it. It is an excellent way to live and to practice authenticity. And I appreciate the reminder from Tima Maria Lacoba, whose book, Bloodgifted, and whose actions on social media, have benefited me greatly. So here's to symbiotic mutualism where everyone’s a winner. Win-win-win. 

The Muddle of Love

I'm reading the final book in the Sanctum trilogy, The Prophecy. The series has gotten better with each installment, always a nice surprise. And I haven't finished it yet, so we'll have to see how Madhuri Blaylock sews it all up into a tidy bow for us, but I'm certainly enjoying the ride along the way to completion. Halfway through the book, however, the aspect that has struck me the most is the number of couples portrayed in the plot, and just how different each of their love stories is. Also quite unexpectedly, this fantasy series is not following the usual (and beloved, don't get me wrong) patterns of paranormal romance or even urban fantasy. There are many more than one set of lovers, and certainly not all of them are going to get a traditional HEA, or perhaps even any HEA at all. But, as I love surprises, this is all good and definitely provides lots of material for me to think about and write about. Yay me.

In the interest of not spoiling the book for anyone, as well as for the benefit of those who read my blog but not the books I write about (an audience I will be trying harder to reach over the coming weeks and months, so stay tuned for upcoming changes to my modus operandi), I won't tell you which specific characters I'm talking about as putter along here.

There are many of sets of complicated couples in this book. And because all of these characters are supernatural, many of them have lived and loved through many human lifetimes. Something I really can't imagine (my husband and I will celebrate twenty years of marriage this year and that seems like quite a long time to me--can't think what a two-hundred year celebration would look or feel like, but I digress).  For some of these characters, it also means they've been locked in passionate battles for centuries as well. Can you imagine engaging in the dynamics of a dysfunctional relationship over that many years?  Yikes! 

But the most compelling thing about Madhuri Blaylock's characters is the authenticity of the duality of love that she portrays for each of her couples. One couple accepts that the other will share as many beds as they want, but that that relationship between the two of them won't be affected. Talk about an open relationship. Maybe that’s the way to make centuries of love last. Expand your horizons, so to speak. For this pair, it seems to be the difference between lust and love; sex with others falls into the first category, but for the two of them together, it's making love. This would be a bridge too far for many, but would also embody the definition of to each their own. It doesn’t go quite as far as Laurrell Hamilton, but it goes too far for my apparently provincial tastes. I’d be interested in your thoughts on the matter.

Then there is the couple in The Prophecy who have loved each other across multiple lifetimes but who have chosen, each in their own way, to leave each other in this lifetime. Except they still yearn for each other. And mostly stay away from each other, but not entirely. Sucks to be them for sure. I don't believe I could deny myself to that extent, and, honestly, it’s all a little too much Brief Encounter for me, but I will say this for Ms. Blaylock:  she does an excellent job of describing the simultaneous holding of mutually exclusive realities, which is really what life is about, isn’t it?  It reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Mary Oliver, In Backwater Woods, which exhorts us to hold on as tightly as we can to love, even knowing that the objects of our love are mortal and will pass from this earth and from us.  It is hard to reconcile such diametrically opposed realities, and yet that is what life calls us to do all the time.  The couples portrayed in The Prophecy reflect this difficult experience.

Another pair in the book has loved each other over the years—the long years of immortal lifetimes—and for each the other is the one that they call home, the one that they feel compelled to come back to.  And yet despite this bond, this durable magnetism toward each other, one is betrayed by the other in an undeniable and unendurable way.  Elements of Greek tragedy all over the place here, and then the real heartbreak unfolds when the one betrayed must kill the beloved who transgressed.  The whole scene was absolutely gut wrenching. And then, in the aftermath of the murder, there is an attempted suicide that was a visceral reminder that love doesn’t die in the face of betrayal, but is transmuted into something aborted and distorted.  It left me wishing for the possibility of an off switch or a reset button, although neither exists in reality nor in the world of the Sanctum. But when I think about love betrayed and the pain that is engendered by feelings that no longer have a basis in purity or joy, I find myself slipping into fantasies of “if only.”

For yet another couple in this book, there is the confusion that accompanies love divided.  The author describes the lingering touch of first love combined with the futility of ill-fated lovers mixed in with the certainty of love in the present moment.  What a hot mess that whole thing is. And I do mean in every sense of the word. Hot as in passionate, angry, sexy, dangerous, damaging, and compelling. All at the same time.  Who wouldn’t be confused?

But the thing about love is that it comes in all of these shapes and sizes in the real world, and it’s always interesting, thought-provoking and inspiring to read about its various manifestation in my beloved books.  It’s only my love of books that is completely pure and uncomplicated.  All the rest is mostly a muddle. One we can’t, and wouldn’t want to live without, of course, but a muddle just the same.

There is No "I" in Team

I just finished the advanced reader copy of the second in the J'Amigos trilogy by Rose Montague. This book is Jane, which follows Jade (Jill will complete the trilogy sometime in the future), and will be available for purchase beginning next week. First let me say that I loved the experience of having an advance copy. I totally felt like I was in the cool kids club. I am in such awe of authors who write the kind of fiction I love to read that I always feel slightly star struck when any author notices me at all. To get this kind of attention feels like I won the jackpot!  I enjoyed this novel, which was written in the best tradition of a buddy story/road trip tale. Jade and Jill are in hot pursuit of a real badass and have lots of adventures along the way. All of which are a lot of fun. But the aspect of the book I liked the best, and which gave me the most food for thought, was the deep level of teamwork, a constructive division of labor and shared effort that the whole story embodies. Jade, Jane, Jill and all their friends and helpers are a wonderful example of people coming together to reach a common goal and achieve a united purpose. In this case the joint effort is to stop a bad guy and help a lot of people along the way.

I love the humanity—in the best sense of that word—of all of Rose Montague's supernatural characters. I love that in Rose's world, so many different types of supes are willing to work together and support each other (this doesn't apply to every singe one, of course, but most). I also loved the excellent example that the main characters portray in their willingness to ask for and accept help. I think these abilities—working together with individuals who are different culturally and socially than we are, asking for help in a way that is expansive and inclusive, rather than humiliating and defeatist, and accepting help graciously and with an intent to return the favor either specifically to those who helped, or more generally to others in need—are highly underrated and neither reported nor exalted in the way they should be or in the way that Rose Montague achieves so seamlessly that one might even miss its importance.

Her first feat in describing characters from different walks of supernatural life working together and accepting each other was interesting and compelling. In creating the character of Jade, who's both a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll, mixed in with blues, jazz, hip hop and rap along the way, Rose Montague has highlighted the direction in which our whole society is moving. It's getting to be that we're all mongrels who have bits of many nationalities, cultures, ethnicities and religions in our backgrounds. My children certainly got a mixed bag from me and my husband, whose backgrounds could not be more different (well, I guess they could if one of us were a blend of Basque and Aboriginal and the other were Mayan with a dash of Japanese and the Mongolian steppe thrown in, but still, we come from distinct ancestries). And these days, our identities are not only fluid, but the aspects of ourselves we choose to highlight may change over the course of our lives, depending on many factors, including who we choose to marry, as it did for Jade in Rose's book. The character of Jade is a unifying one, and the mission also serves to bring people together. It's a beautiful thing. 

Secondly, I was very intrigued by the ease and grace with which Rose Montague describes the way Jade and Jane, two very powerful beings in their own right, and even more so when they join forces, ask for help. It is as natural as rain for them to seek assistance when they need it without any of the angst or drama that attends mere mortals asking for help. We get so bent out of shape about it. We tell ourselves that a need for help tells everyone that we are insufficient in ourselves to get the job done. Like asking for help is the ultimate admission of powerlessness and failure. Why do we believe that and why can't we get over ourselves? I used to be as guilty as the next person of this silly, self-centered behavior, but I've definitely gotten over myself. Now, my attitude is, why should I struggle to go it alone when I can ask for help and share the load? It seems so simple, but I know from both experience and observation that it just isn't. So it's wonderful to see such a great example of asking for help in action in Jane.

Finally, asking for help and accepting it gracefully are also two different animals entirely. Sometimes, we ask for help but then turn around and resent the hell out of the person or persons who gave it to us. We don't want to need the help, and when someone actually provides it we feel embarrassed or inadequate or deficient in some way, which makes us defensive. And, as I've written about before here, what is the most common idea of a good defense? You got it, a good offense. So we go on the offensive against the very people who are trying to be helpful, loving and supportive. Sucks for all concerned. But not Jade and Jane. They are appreciative and generous with those who have offered to lend a hand in their quest to stop the evil that they are chasing. On several occasions in Jane, the two protagonists go out of their way to acknowledge and repay the generosity of their supporters. It's lovely to see and an excellent reminder of how I want to behave.

So I'm grateful to Rose Montague for both the opportunity to read her new book ahead of time and for the reminder that teamwork works, even among those with little in common, and asking for and accepting help can be done graciously and easily. And for a good read along the way. My favorite things, all together:  a great yarn, a good lesson, and a shining example to follow. Can't beat that with a metal baseball bat (to understand that reference you'll have to read Jane, which I suggest you do!)

The Kindness of Strangers

In A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche DuBois declares that she’s always depended on the kindness of strangers.  This is a line my mother enjoyed repeating, and, therefore, it’s a line I’ve pondered over time.  I’m not really sure what Blanche meant, or maybe I am.  But I think I understand what my mother meant. And for the record, I don’t agree.  Shocked, you are, I’m sure.  But it’s an interesting concept, actually, and one I’ve been thinking about a lot recently. And I’m going to digress in the next few paragraphs (more shock, I know), but I promise I’m going to get back to this concept toward the end.

As I continue to look back over the past year, I’ve been thinking about the books I’ve read.  I’ve read some amazing books by well-established authors who I love, love, love, and about whom I’ve written extensively.  And I’ve also read some memorable books by new authors who are less well known. There are four books (or series) in this latter category in particular that I want to talk about: The Light Who Shines, by Lilo Abernathy; Jade, by Rose Montague; The Sanctum Trilogy (The Girl and The Boy, so far), by Madhuri Blaylock; and The Unelmoija series by Elle Boca (including The Dreamshifter and The Mindshifter, which are the two of the four that I have read so far).  All of these books have at least one common theme, despite many differences in the specifics of plot, characterization and world building.

The theme at hand is decency and generosity.  Each of the main characters in each of these books/series confronts adversity and reversals with open hearts, minds and hands.  And the openness of their beings is an important element in defining who they are.  I’ve written about this aspect of these works specifically twice here and here  and more obliquely elsewhere here; here; here; and here .  But now I want to say more about these books and their authors.

I have always assumed that individuals write what they know, on one level or another.  Thus, I believe that Thea Harrison and Nalini Singh know a thing or two about how to have successful relationships between strong-willed individuals. I’ve assumed that Laurell Hamilton understands, in a visceral and meaningful way, what family is, or should be, and what it means to find meaning in the minutiae of life. And I think Charlaine Harris, Jeaniene Frost, and Faith Hunter appreciate the soft underbelly of strong women, that which makes them human, even when they aren’t.  Perhaps I’m wrong about these amazing authors, but I don’t think so, and here’s why.

Over the course of the past nine months, since I began writing this blog, I’ve gotten to know Lilo, Rose, Madhuri and Elle a little bit through social media.  Sounds a little shallow, I know, and I might have thought that myself prior to my recent experiences, but it’s not. When I began my very tentative foray into Twitter, last summer, I made a commitment to putting out one tweet a day. No sooner than I’d started my very basic and bland one tweet a day with my brand new Twitter account (@truthinfantasy), I was discovered by Lilo, who added me to some sort of retweet list, and, boom, my Twitter life was launched in earnest. Shortly thereafter, Rose found me and promoted me to her followers, followed in short order by Madhuri and Elle, who also added me to their inner Twitter circles, retweeting me and favoriting my tweets and blogs, and in doing so, ensuring my success in the Twitterverse.

And the truth is, this was all about what these amazing authors write about:  paying it forward, turning the other cheek, offering the hand of friendship with no expectation of compensation.  These women are just like the characters and themes they write about, and this is why, based on my highly unscientific sampling of four, I am sure I am right about the other others I have read and loved.

I don’t think it’s possible to write books this good and talk the talk so authentically without walking the walk in one’s personal life.  I mean, after all, does it make sense to you that someone like Lilo, Rose, Elle and Madhuri would write about being compassionate in the face of hate, giving in the face of stinginess, and tolerance in the face of close-mindedness if these authors didn’t reflect these higher characteristics of the human condition in their own lives?  Even if these characters and characteristics are aspirational rather than descriptive, I applaud their intentions. I can only hope mine are as pure.

So, back to the kindness of strangers (I promised, didn’t I??)  For Blanche and my mother, the kindness of strangers meant in relying on the intimacy of the one night stand over the intimacy of a long term relationship. It meant the freedom to say and do things you would not otherwise do because there were no consequences of having to face the other person at another time. The kindness of strangers, for Blanche and my mom, was the ability to be all in--for a very finite period of time with no fear of repercussions later because there was no later. There was no disappointment because there were no expectations. There was no betrayal because there was absolutely no context. There was no tuning out because it cost so little to tune in temporarily. So, that is certainly one way to look at it—and then look what happened to Blanche.  Not so pretty (my mom, too, but that is the subject of another post).

But then contrast that with what I mean by the kindness of strangers.  I mean the ability to be generous because it elevates us.  The ability to be open and real because it feeds our souls.  And if we get something back, that’s the icing on the cake. But we don’t need the icing, because we’ve filled up on the spongy, vanilla goodness (I like vanilla better than chocolate, remember?  Here.  My faith in humanity has been validated again by the knowledge that these authors really are like the characters they write about.  And how awesome, amazing and lovely is that?

So, the kindness of strangers is a real thing, not another irony in a sad and pathetic life.  Depending on how you look at it, of course.  And I’m a half full kind of gal, dontcha know? Thank you Lilo, Rose, Elle, and Madhuri.  Write more, please, so I can continue to grow and learn through your work.  And thank you for reaching out the hand of friendship to someone you don’t even know—just because that’s the kind of women you are. Thanks for helping to make 2014 a banner year for me, and I look forward to even better things in 2015. Life is good. 

Signs of Change

Today I'm going to jump right in. No digressions or distractions. Today's post is about transformation, and about what happens when something rocks our world and pulls the rug out from under us. What does the aftermath of these earth-shaking events look like? How does the landscape appear when the dust settles? The short answer is, everything changes. Sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly. Sometimes the changes are temporary and sometimes they last forever.  And sometimes they are obvious, but not always.

I'm thinking about all of this as a result of reading the second book in the Sanctum trilogy, The Boy, by Madhuri Blaylock. This offering is even better than its predecessor, The Girl, which I wrote about here. As a fantasy novelist, Ms. Blaylock is able to create the perfect construct to highlight this theme of transformation and its complex consequences. And here comes the spoiler alert--in the book, one of the main characters, Wyatt, is killed by a former brother-in-arms.

Wyatt is killed after he's had his life upended by the harsh realization that everything he believed about his life and the cause to which he's committed his life is a lie. He is killed shortly after he falls in love with the being he had been ordered to destroy. He is killed shortly after everything he knew to be ground truth was revealed as quicksand. But then, because this is fantasy, Wyatt is brought back to life. Mostly. The fragments of his soul are gathered and reconstituted and he is alive again—more or less. But he is changed, both physically and mentally. His once-blue eyes are now green. His memory has significant holes in it. He is not the same. And in his difference, his relationships are affected too. And all of this is a wonderful metaphor for the truth we find in similar—figuratively—situations in real life.

I love the way Madhuri Blaylock captures how, in reality, we have to gather the shards of our being and put them back together after a trauma or major life-changing event, like a death, a job loss, a major illness or injury. And I especially love that there is a physical manifestation of the change to signify the internal changes in Wyatt. I have wished in the past, after a death, for example, that people could see--actually see-- that I wasn't the same person anymore, that the changes that had been wrought by the circumstances of my life had transformed me to the point that I could no longer be related to in the same way, nor could I be assumed to react in ways that might be familiar to those who knew me before.

For me, though, as for most of us, that didn’t happen. For others, more unfortunate, perhaps, the changes are so profound, both physical and emotional, there are more obvious signs, like Wyatt's change of eye color. The world knows that someone is no longer who they were before when they’ve lost an arm or a leg or an eye, for example, through war or accident. And when the evidence of their transformation is as overt as that, we know to tread lightly, and to take care in our approach.

But maybe I’m being presumptive in suggesting that an outward manifestation of internal transformation is a good thing.  Wyatt certainly didn’t think it was a good thing when those around him, particularly Dev, treated him with something akin to horror, or worse, pity. So maybe it’s better not to wear our internal landscape in our outward appearance. Hard to say.  Maybe the grass is greener for all concerned in most situations, and it doesn’t really matter in the end.

And then we have the question of what happens after the transformation occurs and we are faced with the new reality of our world. Do we reject it, like Wyatt?  I know that I’ve tried that approach--cursing the Universe for leaving me bereft and vulnerable.  What happens when we can’t accept the reality of our transformation? Do we fight it? Collapse into ourselves?  Push others away who would try to help? I think many of us do all of those things when faced with major changes in our lives.  Are there better ways of responding to major transformation?  I believe there are, and that with practice, we learn to accommodate change in a healthy, constructive manner. But it does take practice, because the first time our worlds get rocked, it is unclear that the essence of who we are remains the same, regardless of changing circumstances, and regardless of how those circumstances change us.

After a trauma, it may seem that we are not the same people not only to others, but also to ourselves.  Getting to know ourselves after a major change is challenging, another reality that Ms. Blaylock captures perfectly.  Asking others to get to know us anew is even more difficult. And if we doubt, as Wyatt does initially, that the core of who we are remains unscathed, then the task is even more difficult. Fighting our way back from the brink of that doubt, as Wyatt does, is the work that we are called to do as we negotiate life’s vicissitudes. If we remain true to ourselves—if we know the truth of who we are—then we can shoulder the inevitable burdens of life. This is the truth that both Wyatt and Dev come to in The Boy, and it’s done with excruciating authenticity. As in life, it takes time, and effort, and perseverance.

But the result is worthy.  The result is valuable.  If we can come back from the brink of despair and desolation, no matter how bad the trauma and no matter how difficult the transformation, then we get back to ourselves.  We can reclaim the shards of our essence and return to life and to love. Not everyone makes it, I’ve seen.  But it is inspiring when it happens, just as it is to read about in The Boy. And it reminds us, or at least it should, to take the time to be confident in our essence, so that we can find our way back when the planet tilts for us and we must gather ourselves anew, and come back to who we are, and who we strive to be.

The Pretenders Sing-Along

I've just finished the second book in Elle Boca's intriguing Unelmoija  series, The Mindshifter. Ms. Boca has created a very interesting world and I'm enjoying the unfolding of the story and the development of the characters. As always, my favorite parts of the book involve the deeper themes I’m inspired to contemplate, in this case a variation on the Harry Potter syndrome: the idea that one day we could wake up and find out that we aren't who we thought we were and that our whole reality has been turned on its head. What would that mean for us? How would we react? And what aspects of our character determine the direction we take upon learning that we are, in fact, more than we feared, and maybe even as much as we’d secretly hoped?

In Ms. Boca’s world, there are individuals go through life not realizing the truth of their identity, and then find out as young adults about their special status as part of the Weeia race. I don't know about you, but I would have given almost anything to learn that I was extraordinary (in a literal way) when I was growing up (and maybe even after I was grown up). Doesn't everyone secretly, or not so secretly, yearn to discover how and why he or she is special or unique? Don't we all want to be exceptional?  How great would it be to find out that instead of being Joe Sixpack or Jane Winespritzer, we were actually part of an exclusive club of superhumans?

This situation is similar to a common theme of childhood, one that I remember pondering a great deal when I was young: What if my parents weren't really my parents and I found out that I was secretly switched at birth and I wasn't who I thought I was? What if I were really a princess, or a queen, or a fairy (and yes, I had a very active imagination and spent way too much time reading). This would explain, to my childish way of thinking, why I felt so out of place in my family. It would explain my feelings of exclusion and difference. And, as an added bonus, it would also mean that my mother, with whom, as you know, I had such a difficult relationship, wasn't really my mother. Which was good news in my book. It would have also meant that my beloved father wasn't related to me, either, but in true kid-like fashion, I tended to gloss over that part of the logical sequence.

Not only that, but if we woke up one day and someone told us we were part of a secret world, it would clarify so many baffling facts—well, at least for me, but maybe you all are more normal than I am. Instead of feeling like a freak or someone who sees life from the outside in, as I did for so many years, especially from my early teens into my late twenties, I could think of myself as part of an ultra-covert, super cool, in-crowd of people like me who I didn't even know about, but with whom I now belonged.

And if that were true, then I would also be able to validate my secretly-nurtured, barely acknowledged and rarely shared conviction that I really am singular and extraordinary and worthy. That all the rejection and dejection I've experienced was just the necessary tempering of the metal to make it stronger before it emerges into the world ready to fulfill its function. Wouldn't that be something?

And as I write this I realize anew how much I used to yearn for the kind of legitimization that anonymous Weeia in Ms. Boca’s world received upon learning of their previously unknown heritage in the Unelmoija world. I so wanted something or someone outside of myself to tell me that I was more than I feared I was. But here is where truth and fantasy diverge. Beyond the fact that no one in the real world is going to tell us that we are members of a secret race of superhumans (beyond White Supremacists, or other misguided haters, of course), we don't, in fact, need that to happen.

We are all special and unique and valuable. By virtue of being garden-variety humans, rather than a superhumans, we are part of the club, a member of the in-group. We all get to participate in the privileges and responsibilities of being human. Just plain human. That we don't feel this way is a tragedy of epic proportions, generated by incompetent parenting as well as the constant comparisons we make about ourselves while being forced to watch artificially enhanced people pretend to be perfect on TV, in the movies and on social media. Sadly, as we strive for a perfection that doesn’t exist in reality, we enter a vicious cycle of inadequacy and self-hatred, leading back to our secret desire to get a letter from Hogwarts telling us that our lives to date have been just the warm up—that the real thing is starting soon, and it will be so much more, so much better than what we have.

Don’t believe it. It isn’t true. Because I’m special.  So special. Just ask Chrissie Hynde.

The Other as Hell Spawn

I've just finished The Girl, by Madhuri Blaylock, an intriguing series opener with attractive characters and an original world. I'm definitely looking forward to how the author develops her concepts and characters. I love that this book dives deep into one of the more unfortunate aspects of the human animal, which is to deny humanity to our enemies and competitors. It is a well-documented fact that we humans like to demonize those we hate, to objectify them in order to make ourselves feel better about behaving badly towards them. So, in Ms. Blaylock's book, even her title points to a major theme of the story; the main protagonist is, in fact, just a girl, not the crazed and animalistic demon she is portrayed as being by the powers that be who seek to destroy her.

For the vast majority of the population, it would be unthinkable to kill another human being. But when we need or want to hurt or kill, literally, such as in war, or figuratively, such as in bullying or character assassination, one of the ways we make it easier on ourselves is to think of the "other" as being wholly alien from who we ourselves are. “Not like us” equals OK to demean, degrade, deprive, and destroy. 

How do soldiers prepare to kill fellow humans who happen to wear the uniform of an opposing force?  By making them sub-human and therefore worthy of death. In fact, all military and paramilitary training is designed to help human recruits overcome the natural reticence we all have to take another human life, and to live with the regret that normal, healthy humans experience when we do kill. In another example, we may wonder how whites in America were able to enslave and mistreat their darker-skinned brethren.  The answer is the same: by designating them as only partially human (three-fifths human, to be exact, a little more than half). How did Nazi officers kill Jewish babies in front of their mothers and then go home to play with their own children without a second thought? Because Jews were portrayed as being less than human and therefore in a completely separate category as the Aryan race. How do serial killers torture and kill their victims?  By seeing them as objects, not people. Do you remember the scene in Silence of the Lambs where the senator’s daughter tries to tell the crazed killer her name so that he might see her as human?  Didn’t work, of course.  He loved his dog a lot more than the “thing” in the pit.

And there are many other examples of this very ugly, very human phenomenon.  The rationale behind it must be that we are somehow biologically hardwired to recognize another of our kind and to see ourselves in them so that we are naturally reluctant to kill or damage them in any way because it feels like hurting ourselves.  Therefore, if we want or need to behave badly, we must first rewire our brains so that we do not recognize ourselves in the “other” so that we can destroy with impunity.

And lest we think that this activity is limited to others who take this tendency to the extreme, let me assure you that we are all alike in this way.  It is human nature to decide between two options:  generally, either we identify in or we identify out. So, for example, when we audition to join a new group, be it professional, personal, or religious, we must first decide—or have it decided for us—whether we are a good fit. If we are already in the group, it is up to us to determine whether the candidate is “one of us.”

Some groups are determined by like-mindedness or common benefit, such as special interest groups, hobby groups, or religious and political affiliations.  Some groups are determined by function or purpose, like labor unions or industry associations. Some groups are purely social, and exist mostly to distinguish between “us” and “them.” The Greek system (sororities and fraternities) and exclusive country clubs come to mind in this category. And, of course, not all groups adopt an exclusionary clause—I’m sure there are some groups that genuinely embrace a live and let live approach, but they seem to be the exception, not the rule.

We form groups to define ourselves, to provide a label that can tell us how to act and even how to think.  It is so much easier to color within the lines if we know where they are. We also seek to belong to groups that represent something bigger than we are so that we can remind ourselves that there is more out there than just us.  It’s lonely as a lone wolf.  We want to be part of a pack.  We are hardwired to this too.

Which would be just fine if we didn’t need to take that tendency a step further and promote our own affiliations at the expense of others.  Because while it is true that we can all stand taller on the backs of those who don’t belong, such positioning creates a shaky foundation for growth and authentic expression.  And when we take it to the next level and demonize the other, as The Sanctum does to the girl Madhuri Blaylock’s book, the results can lead as far as death and destruction, as it does in this story.  But Ms. Blaylock also shows us hope that at least some of us can overcome our tendency to exercise the exclusivity clause, and replace it, instead, with a more inclusive approach. I believe that when we overcome our more reflexive responses, and engage the more reflective aspects of our consciousness, we begin to walk the road of authenticity, which, as you know, is one of my primary goals in life.

We don’t need to fear the other.  We certainly don’t need to damage or destroy in our fear.  We can take a page out of Madhuri Blaylock’s book and choose to expand our group, to change our self-definition to include the other.  Because, in truth, we are the other.

Truth or Dare

I just finished The Dreamshifter by Elle Boca. It is the very promising first novel in a series that boasts an interesting premise about a race of beings with superhuman capabilities. I'm already looking forward to the next one. But before I move on, I need to spend some quality time thinking about the deeper messages of the first book. On my mind today is a passage from the story where the main character, Amy, consults a fortuneteller who says that Amy's gentle and generous nature will make her a target for unscrupulous people seeking to take advantage of her. But, says the psychic, it doesn't matter, and she exhorts Amy to remain true to herself. I love, love, love this message, and it's not one we hear often enough, in my opinion.

It is rare that someone tells us, “you will be hurt and you will be unfairly exploited and you won't necessarily get back the good you put out into to the world, but, hey, don't worry about it, and for God's sake, don't let it stop you from continuing to be kind and trusting and giving.”  I'm fairly certain that was not a lesson I was taught at home, at school, at work or by popular culture these days. I'm pretty sure Jesus said something about turning the other cheek, but who can hear His voice over the discussion about who's getting voted off the island this week or the other reality shows where cutthroat completion is king. Or over the thousand-decibel noise coming out of the football stadiums where men are getting their heads bashed in and their knees ripped apart to entertain us. Nope, letting other people exploit our perceived weaknesses is not a message commonly promulgated to the masses.

So, why should Amy in Elle Boca's book, or we, for that matter, listen to the psychic and stay open, loving, kind, generous, giving and trusting? What's in it for us? Quite a lot, as it turns out.  But in acknowledging that fact, I start to sound like a smarmy game show host telling everyone, "Be nice and win fabulous prizes" or some such nonsense like that. And that is not my intention at all. We shouldn't be open, trusting and generous as a means to an end. We should do it for the same reason the fortuneteller urges Amy to be that way; it is our nature. It is the end itself. 

Ostensibly, this blog is about learning to live authentically through the lessons learned from reading paranormal and urban fantasy. But I haven't spent too much time unpacking the box called authentic living and providing any sort of real definition for what I mean by that. So it’s high time to start.

I think that the most important aspect of living authentically is being true to ourselves. Sounds simple, or at least vague enough to be simplistic. Because how many of us really know who we are or what our real nature is? So many of us spend time trying to find ourselves when we were never lost in the first place. It's not a function of finding ourselves; it's a function of creating ourselves. Or, at the very least, co-creating ourselves.

In my world, we are all good, and generous and kind and loving. That is the true nature of all humans. Sometimes, we cover that up with all manner of garbage and we become who we are not, selfish and stingy and mean. But I don't believe we begin that way. We begin with the trust of the innocent and the rest of the nastiness is just learned behavior. And no, I'm not naive. I understand that evil exists and that some poor unfortunates can't help being “wrong” somehow or being a bad seed, and some of them are born that way. But those sad souls are damaged, not built according to the blueprint. And some of us, of course, choose a path of impairment and disease. But again, that is not who we are or who we were meant to be. 

Like Amy in The Dreamshifter, it is our nature to be giving and trusting. And it is the task of a lifetime to nurture that fragile flame and keep it burning against the strong winds of the world that would extinguish it.

It is so easy to give up on love and trust when we've been betrayed. It is so easy to extrapolate from the few to the many and decide that it is best to mount a good offense as an effective defensive strategy. Once we've been exploited, how easy is it to lash out at the world and strike first before anyone can hurt us? Or lock up our hearts to be sure that they never get stomped again. Too easy.

And that would be a mistake. Because being open, giving, trusting and loving is an end in itself. Its own reward, in essence. It just feels good to give, at least to me. I have always loved giving gifts and support and empowering people to be their best. And sometimes, my inclination toward generosity had resulted in my getting very, very burned. Betrayed. Made a fool of. It has definitely happened. And it does not feel good at all. And for a time, hopefully not too long, I might entertain fantasies of revenge and self defense. I might contemplate building a wall around my heart or around my wallet, depending on the nature of the betrayal.

But in the end, I've always decided against it. Revenge is bad for the soul. Getting back at someone hurts me a lot more than it hurts them. Retribution corrodes the heart and dulls the zest for life. No thank you, not for me.

Because, like Amy in The Dreamshifter, it is my nature to be open, loving, generous, kind, giving and trusting. Because, unlike Amy, I'm human. And that's how we roll. 

The Choices We Make

I have been thinking about choices lately. About how we perceive the choices we have and how we make the choices we do and how these choices define who we are, especially how we are seen by others. These thoughts have been inspired by Rose Montague, and her very interesting series opener, Jade, which I recently read a second time, as the plot had stayed with me, as had the character of Jade and I felt the need to spend some time with her again to help me clarify this line of thinking that has captured my attention so completely.

I think we all do the best we can with the information we have available at the time.  Jade is a prime example of this phenomenon. Because of her singular status and her ability to preposition herself pretty much any way she wanted, Jade had some interesting choices to make. Some of which had some interesting and unintended consequences. Kind of like the rest of us here in the real world. 

So once again we find truth in fantasy and quite a bit of food for thought along with a fun read. Two birds, one stone, which works for me every time. Because you've got to figure that if supernatural beings with supernatural abilities and supernatural choices can't seem to get it right, how the hell can we mere mortals expect to have any chance at all?

The problem with choices is that there is no such thing as perfect information. And there are so many choices to be made. Every day, day in and day out. Sometimes, the choices are big, or seem that way, and sometimes the choices are small, or at least appear so. And sometimes, the choices are so overwhelming we don't make any choices at all. Which is, of course, a choice in itself.

Why is it so hard to make choices, and why do we so often feel like we don't have any?  One thing I have learned slowly and with difficulty, is that there are always choices. We may not love any or all of the choices, but there's always a choice. I remember when I've been through some of the darkest periods in my life that the hardest part has always been the feeling of being cornered. Of having no options. Of shooting down every single suggestion and every single supposed way out as being impossible, or impractical or illegal (no, one cannot kill people who betray us or hurt us or mess us up in some way, more's the pity). That is one of the worst feelings in the world. Where there aren't any choices, or it feels that way, we lose hope. And without hope we fall into despair.

So choices are important. Good choices are even more important. So why do we so often make bad choices?  And then justify them, at least to ourselves, as doing the right thing?  I know I've been guilty of this on many more than one occasion. Like when I chose to stay with men who were clearly bad for me. Or to go to a party I knew would lead to trouble. I've written about this before click here about how we tell ourselves, "just this once" and make a choice we know is stupid. Have any of us have ever gotten behind the wheel even though we knew we might have had one too many?  Or made a choice to pass along juicy gossip even when we knew that it might not be true and even if it were, our only motivation in sharing it is our own pleasure of telling secrets or making ourselves feel better or bigger or more important by stepping on someone else? Or how about when we take the easier, softer way and put off till tomorrow or next week or next year a decision that only serves to kick the can down the road without resolving a damn thing?  Admit it, we all do it. We make less than the best decision in the name of expedience and tell ourselves we really didn't have a choice at all. 

And while our motives are usually pure--at least in our own minds, the truth is usually a bit more complex. I make choices every single day that are sometimes based in deep denial or wishful or magical thinking.  I think this is because most of us, in our heart of hearts, really want to be able to choose to do what we want, when we want how we want.  As a result we organize our perceptions in such a way that we convince ourselves that we have no other viable options other than the ones we wanted to pick all along.

The problem with this approach is that it doesn't take us down the path of authentic living. It takes us down the path of self-deception and bad choices—choices that do not reflect our highest, most authentic selves. When we are honest, at least with ourselves, about our motives and desires, we can at least make our choices based on self-awareness rather than self-deception. After all, we are the most gullible to dishonesty when it comes from within. Especially when we want something badly, or we are afraid of making difficult decisions.

So, what to do about these choices that life keeps forcing us to make?  For me, the answer is deceptively simple but very far from easy. I believe that our authentic selves, the purity of our souls underneath the fear and the ego and the wishful thinking we pile on top of it, knows exactly what the right choices are, given the available information. And when we make choices that come from our authentic being—that part of us that knows truth—and that part exists for all of us—then we always make good choices, even of the outcomes are not exactly what we expected.

I want my choices to reflect my highest, authentic self.  And sometimes, even often, they do. But not all the time. Because I am human, and I experience fear, anger, insecurity, jealousy, envy, greed, and all manner of less-than-attractive (or even downright unsavory) character traits. Sucks to be human some days. But that is who and what I am. And I can choose to accept that or make the inevitably doomed choice to try to be something other than the flawed creature that I am. Getting through my days. Doing my best. Making the smartest choices I can in any given moment. Being honest. At the very least with myself.

And I can take some inspiration, as I so often do, from my beloved fictional characters in my beloved fantasy books, like the inimitable Jade, and feel connected to her creator, Rose Montague, who clearly understands the complexity of choice and the dilemmas that it can cause for even those who aren't as human as the rest of us. And, for today, I can choose to keep reading my beloved books, which is always a good choice. 

Paying It Forward

So, I'm still thinking about Lilo Abernathy's awesome series opener, The Light Who Shines. The characters and plot have stayed with me and I find myself wondering what mysteries will be revealed in the next book. Today, I'm specifically thinking about the character of Jack Tanner, a Daylight Vampire who loves and protects the main protagonist, Blue, who is the Light Who Shines, even though we don't really know what that means yet. One of the fascinating aspects of Jack's character is his philanthropic activities. This is a man who puts his time and money toward many worthy charities and is clearly one of the good guys. And when Blue asks him about his charitable tendencies, he explains that he is paying it forward against the inevitable time when he, like all Vampires, will succumb to bloodlust and kill someone.

I found this idea of paying it forward against future bad behavior to be fascinating. It reminded me a bit of the Leon Uris Classic, QB7, in which a pillar of the community is accused of Nazi war crimes. In that book (and excellent movie), no one can believe that this upstanding gentleman whose life is filled with good deeds could possibly be the monster portrayed in the trial. But in the end (spoiler alert!), it comes out beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man is, in fact, guilty of heinous crimes against humanity. And that his subsequent lifetime of altruism was undertaken in an effort to make up for his past sins.

I find this whole concept of balance in judgment to be arresting, as it were. Is it truly possible to make amends that negate a terrible act? Either ahead of time like Jack Tanner (I love that name, by the way), or after the fact, like the guy in QB7?  I think, as imperfect humans, we really need to believe it is possible. Our whole justice system is based on the notion of paying our debts to society when we transgress and behave in an antisocial manner. And if the debt is deemed too big, at least in some places, we kill people here in America to "make up" for wrongs they have committed. Apparently the whole "eye for an eye" thing is an enduring value for many people. Personally, I think such a philosophy has the potential to leave the whole world blind.  Just sayin'.

I much prefer the Jack Tanner approach. He's determined to do as much good as possible before his inevitable fall from grace. If we went with the retributive justice approach (an eye for an eye), Jack (and all the Daylight Vampires in Lilo Abernathy's world) would be put down like rabid dogs against the time when they would take human life. In such a world, the inevitability of their committing murder would guarantee them a preemptive execution at the hands of a terrified populace. Such action would preclude any good these Vampires might accomplish in the world before their descent to bestiality and mindless bloodlust. Would that be a fair trade?  What would the people who have benefitted from Jack's largesse and generosity think about this? Would they consider it a just exchange?

Ms. Abernathy doesn't explore these questions, and, of course it wouldn't advance her complex and interesting plot at all to do so. But we can certainly think about the implications of the issues she has raised.  For me, I need to believe that the good we do can outweigh the bad. I also believe that the bad weighs more than the good, so we need to make sure our good deeds seriously outnumber the bad ones, just like Jack does.

I find this concept important to remember when doling out praise and criticism and when balancing my gratitude against my complaints. The negative is heavier than the positive, so it's important to make sure it all balances out by doing more good than bad, being more grateful than dissasatisfied, and offering more accolades than corrections. As the saying goes, one "Oh, shit" trumps a hundred attaboys. Sad, but true.

So we need to take our cue from Jack Tanner and keep trudging the road of good deeds and positive thinking and acting against the inevitable time in the future (or perhaps as compensation for less-than-stellar past performances) when we don't hit the mark of right action. Which happens. Sometimes more than others.  

Doing the right thing is always the right thing. Especially in light of the fact that no one always does the right thing. Which makes doing the right thing the right thing to do to balance out the times when we stray and do the wrong thing.  Because you know it’s going to happen.  Today, tomorrow, or the next, we will fall, because that is what humans do.  It’s our nature.  Hopefully, we won’t kill anyone.  But there are lots of ways to transgress, and most of us will explore a wide variety of those activities.

So, let’s all pay it forward and perform as many good deeds and random acts of kindness as we can.  Let’s tip the scales in our favor, and enjoy the pleasure of doing well by doing good. Just like Jack. 
 

Living in the Now

I have always had a strong aversion to books written in the present tense. In fact, I have been known to completely avoid books I would otherwise love to read because the author chose a first or third person present tense POV. And I remember being royally pissed off upon discovering that a book I was really looking forward to reading was off the list because of what I've always thought of as an annoying pretentiousness on the part of the author. Once again, however, I've had to reexamine the stories I tell myself to preserve my own self-righteousness. This is one of those occasions. First came the Hunger Games trilogy, which I felt compelled to read so that I could join the conversation about this cultural phenom. Now it's Lilo J. Abernathy's The Light Who Shines that has grabbed my attention and won't let go. And as I felt the compulsion to keep reading the book, despite its grammatical gaffe (at least in my view), I started to think about why this literary device bothered me so much.  As they say, when we are distressed or annoyed or angry with someone or something, we need to look to ourselves for the causes and solutions to the problem.  I seriously hate when “they” are right. It makes me seriously distressed, annoyed and angry.  On the other hand, I’m guessing no one really cares about that, so onward and upward. Hoo-ha!  

OK—back to the subject at hand, after my little departure from my usual laser-like focus.  Well, maybe that is a teensy exaggeration. Maybe my focus is more like a defective laser. So, the question on the table is, why is it so hard to live in the present? I'm not sure, truth be told, although I've thought about it a lot.

Apparently, there are more compelling things to do besides live in the moment, and I’ve written about this phenomenon before. Instead of living in the moment, I can sit at a red light and wish it were green, thinking about how much faster I would get there if it were. I can read catalogues and fantasize about what a particular dress would look like if I wore it out to dinner, or how a new couch would look in my living room. I can even remove myself one more step from the reality of the present moment and think about what that dress would look like on me if I lost ten pounds or about how that new couch would look in my new house.

What do all of these examples have in common?  They imagine a reality that doesn't exist--and in this projected reality, my imagined life is better in some ways than my actual life. It may be as seemingly benign as wishing the traffic light were a different color. But it's not. And I don't weigh ten pounds less, at least in this moment, and I live in my present house, not some future fantasy version. At least right now.  Which is all we have, really. Right now.  The present tense. Just like Lilo Abernathy.  Damn.

Because that seems to be the rub, right?  I spend precious time projecting into an imagined future in which everything is arranged exactly as I think I want it to be. At which point, I tell myself, I will be content to live in that moment, because then it will be perfect and I won't have to project any more. Right?

There is an alternative, and very popular, method for escaping the present tense that is actually reflected in most novels--we can superimpose an idealized past onto our present moment. So instead of thinking about an alternative future, I can sit at that red light and think about how it was green last week when I drove through it, and wasn't that so much better than this stinking present moment. Or I can remember when I was ten pounds lighter and sigh with regret that the best days are behind me.

Either way, I'm absolutely not living in the present moment. Because the moment I am living now is somehow defective. It's not working for me. It's not quite good enough for me to spend my time here. When I'm at work, I'd rather be home. When I'm at home, I'd rather be on vacation. When I'm eating at a certain restaurant, I think about whether it would be better elsewhere.

Clearly, I don't do this all the time. I do spend time in the present moment. I can get caught up in what I'm doing (like right now, as this blog flows out of me like my hand is being chased across the page).  In fact, I seek out experiences and activities that motivate me to be in the moment, and so do many others. It's why roller coasters and extreme sports are so popular. It's why people take mind-altering substances--alcohol and drugs tend to focus the mind, or make us lose so much focus and mental function we can't go anywhere but where we are.

So, we flee from the present when we are perfectly capable of embracing it, and drug ourselves to prevent our escape from reality, which paradoxically serves to ensure our escape from reality. So confusing. We're all pretty screwed up. Or maybe it's just me. I'll speak for myself here and let you do the same.  Am I the only one who likes to time travel? 

So, maybe I will seek out more books written in the present tense to remind me to be where I am, not in my future or in my past. If all such books are as good as Ms. Abernathy's, it will be a joy, not a hardship. 

Something for Nothing

I just finished the first book in what promises to be an outstanding new series, The Light Who Shines by the fabulously named Lilo J. Abernathy. I read this book because I discovered Lilo on Twitter (along with Rose Montague, whose first book, Jade, was also quite compelling). Both Lilo and Rose were very generous to a just-starting-out blogger and social media neophyte, and I wanted to give their books a chance. I'd done this with a few other new authors, but with less happy results (in other words, the books were not that good, unfortunately). Anyway, I've digressed before I've even begun. The point here is that I loved the book and it has given me significant food for thought and inspired several blog posts. In Lilo's world, there are three types of humans; Normals (like you and me); the Gifted, who have some sort of magical capability (like controlling fire, or seeing souls or auras, or being able to portal from one place to another as if Scotty were beaming them around); and the Vampires, who come in two varieties, Dark Vampires, who are evil, and Daylight Vampires, who have not yet given into bloodlust and become Dark. There are many interesting aspects to this world, and the world building is particularly good in the book, which bodes extremely well for the series. But the part I want to focus on today is the existence of the Gifted.

In this world, the Gifted are largely reviled and persecuted by many of the Norms.  Which is paradoxical at best and suicidal at worst, because the Gifted help protect the Norms from the Dark Vampires, who kill indiscriminately--and for whom normal humans are essentially a Happy Meal--easy, fast and convenient to eat.

But prejudice is rampant in this world, and the Gifted suffer for their gifts. Which made me think about the adage that there is no such thing as a free lunch. I believe this to be true and I think that the pursuit of something for nothing and your kicks for free is one of the major scourges of the human condition.

After all, who wouldn't want free swag?  I don't know anyone who wouldn't. Including me. And I also know that plenty of us, maybe all of us "Norms" have done some pretty silly things to game the system and put one over on Fate.  And the examples of our persistent, but futile efforts are legion, in small and large ways.

When we look for "deals" we are looking for a free lunch--when we buy one/get one free, does anyone really believe that the store didn't inflate the price so they could run the sale?  When we read about--or buy--magic weight loss pills or products (vibrating belts, anyone?), aren't we just practicing the triumph of hope over experience?  Of course we are. There is no such thing as a free lunch. 

That awesome prescription that takes your pain away?  It has nasty side effects, including addiciton. The incredible stain remover that is guaranteed to clean red wine off a white dress?  Not so much. Improve your memory while you sleep?  Forget about it. Enhance your sexual stamina even though you are well past your prime?  A sucker's bet.

But we all do it, some of us more than others. We don't want to put in the work. Or, equally likely, we didn't believe Baretta when he warned us not to do the crime if we can't do the time. No free lunch.

What I loved about The Light Who Shines is that Ms. Abernathy gets this reality, and like all my favorite books, there is a lot of truth in fantasy here.  She explores at length the costs of being Gifted in her world and the consequences of those costs. Moreover, Ms. Abernathy also highlights the price of receiving gifts--what it means when the gifts we give engender resentment, fear and rejection. And the concomitant confusion and grief on the part of the giver whose gifts are accepted, but with barely concealed distaste and as much distance as possible.

I've always felt this is a strange phenomenon, but I can also understand its origins. No one likes to feel beholden, or dependent, or both. In fact, the creation of this kind of dependency through ill-advised generosity is more common than one might think. My family is a great example, where my brother ended up hating my mother, who helped him financially for his entire adult life. In the end, she did neither herself nor her son any favors by failing to wean him away from living on more than he could earn. No free lunch, remember?  My mother wanted gratitude and admiration for her handouts and my brother wanted independence and self-sufficiency, but couldn't give up the extra income. The result was misery all around. I always understood that my mother's help came with a hefty price tag, and I was never willing to pay. Thankfully.

This is not to say that I always took the high road. If you've read my bio you know I spent many years as an active bulimic. Which was all about having my cake and eating it too. Literally and figuratively. Didn't work out so well for me. Never does.

So maybe reading about the price of being Gifted and the costs of giving might help all of us to remember that no one is getting something for nothing. No one. We should stop pursuing that particular pipe dream. It might just turn out to be a bomb. Better to accept the downside to every upside and understand that if we accept a gift, we owe the giver, and we should be gracious about that. And grateful. Nothing in life worth having comes easy.  As Ms. Abernathy so ably illuminates, no free lunch.