Stepping Wayyyyy Out of My Comfort Zone (and dare I say enjoying?) the Single Life

Its been 2 years, 4 months, 3 weeks and 6 days since I lost the love of my life, my soul mate, my wonderful husband. In the blink of an eye, I was thrown into something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy (and I know some pretty shitty people). Forced to make changes, and do things alone when I had always relied on someone. Suddenly single after 5 1/2 wonderful years of pure bliss. My Friday & Saturday nights which were once booked solid for the rest of my life were now completely open. No company to dinner and coffee, no movie partner to hold hands with, or someone to say "Good morning, Sunshine" to me every morning. Conversations I had once enjoyed, and even not talking at all and knowing what the other was thinking are gone. And not to mention the witty one liners and funny stuff I would say or hear. I mean who's going to instantly get my reference and laugh when I say "Smell baaaaad!" Or "Beer, goooood!! Napster, baaaaaaddddd!" *sigh

Some insensitive people have told me, "but you're free to do whatever you want now. No one to answer to, or compromise with." Seriously? First off, you can pound sand for even thinking - let alone saying - something like that to a widow because you are a twit!; and 2nd, I didn't have to do those things when I was married. In addition to not having to do those things, I had someone by my side 24/7! Yea, I think I would take the married life over being single any day. Asshats!

Looking back over my widowhood journey, I've really grown, err, I should say grown up. For the last 2 years I've chased what I thought would make me happy. People, relationships, activities, etc. I knew these things would be my saving grace if I could just harness them and make them work. All I needed was to be around people, or be married again, or do something which could get me out of my misery, and then everything would be fine. Yet crappy people after crappy people, disaster after disaster, douche bag after douche bag, heartbreak after heartbreak, changing who I was to appease others, leaving me more empty inside then when I started, I needed a new strategy for happiness. "Strage-da-dy, na na na na na na na na, Strage-da-dy ..." See, I'm 100% certain only 2 people know what that means; one of them is dead, the other one just typed it. *double sigh

For the last almost 2 months, I've put my new stradgedady, *ahem, strategy for finding happiness into place. And let me tell you, it's actually worked! Fucking W0ot! The first thing I did was step out of my comfort zone. I'm very much a creature of habit. I LOVE! traditions, routines, etc. If my routine is thrown off - even if its because of something fun - my mind, body, and overall well being, are thrown into utter chaos. It sux. So you can imagine my - at first, resistance to - taking of the first step out of my little box that I call Nikki World, then my absolute delight in finding out doing so actually works towards accomplishing my goal of happiness. All it takes is one step, and suddenly your feet just keep on going.

So, for the last few months, I have been busier than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest doing the following:

1.) Taught myself how to cook. You know pots, pans, knives, and actually buying stuff not in the freezer or cookie isle (or as they say in my 'hood, alimentos congelados o galletas). My creations have included roasted shrimp & orzo salad, stroganoff, chicken picata, roman chicken, Salade Niçoise, and my favorite, roasted potatoes with garlic and rosemary
2.) I am learning how to sew
3.) I know how to iron
4.) I planted flowers. SIDENOTE: I have planted flowers before, but my issue was keeping them alive. Since I have vowed to keep them alive this time, its totally stepping out of my comfort zone by remembering to water them
5.) I have an herb garden started
6.) I joined a car club with others who have (and appreciate) the cars like mine
7. I went to the Halloween party, sans boy toy and I had a BLAST!
8.) I'm spending more time with my friends & family then I have in years (and I LOVE! it)
9.) I smile (yea, mom. I used "I" and "smile" in the same sentence). SIDENOTE: Its amazing the reaction I get when I smile and flirt. Some have a panic reaction due to such a hottie giving them the time of day. But for the others, I've met several new people, and they actually approached me, talked to me, and are still talking to me after the initial meeting
10.) "No" is my new favorite word, and I don't feel guilty saying it
11.) I have a job which I love and get paid a shit ton o' money
12.) And the proudest, "out of my comfort zone" move I've done recently is ... wait for it, wait for it ... I joined the choir at my gramma's church! Yep, I'm going to be singing my little heart out at the xmas program

Speaking of heart, my "closed for renovations" post noted I was talking some time off from romantic relationships and working on myself. Finding me, learning what I want and having faith I will get it, removing myself from negativity and drama, engulfing myself with positiveness, forgiving and forgetting, letting my past go so the new can come in, among other things. Though I am staying single for the time being - I'm having wayy too much fun not committing all my time to one person, as well as enjoying my plethora of "me" time, I am most certainly open to possibilities, armed, of course, with my new found ability to embrace the word no. Sa-weet! I'm gonna make one hell of a (hottie) wife for a deserving guy one day! So, with my heart now under new management, gone is the thinking it was only open (or closed) for one thing. Here to stay is the thinking that my heart is now open for the world. And what a big, wonderful world it is. I'll be all 'bring it!' & the world will be all "its already been brotten'". Kane would be so proud!

Don't Hate Me Because I'm A H07G33K

Yea, I'm a geek. And, I'm also a hottie. Why is it so difficult for people to grasp that these two separate concepts can live harmoniously together in fantastic ways?? Hottie geeks may not be the norm, but we exist. I know a few.

Most people think I'm only a geek-by-marriage due to Kane's Über Nerd status. Pfffffft! My geekly tendencies were influenced well before I met Kane. Besides, if I wasn't a geek when we started dating, we neeeeeevvvvvvverrrr would have worked. I mean if my mind wasn't at least a half time resident of Nerdville, his jokes and sly comments alone would go right over my head leaving me with a perpetual deer in head lights look. And our wedding? Probably would not have been an EPIC WIN. Seriously? He had a T-shirt that read:
C:/DOS
C:/DOS/RUN
RUN/DOS/RUN
And I remember laughing my ass off the first time I saw him wear it because I knew exactly what it meant. If I didn't get it, that totally would have been a deal breaker for him.

I grew up watching old sci-fi on TV: The Twilight Zone, Amazing Stories, Doctor Who, Star Trek: the original series, and V. I had 3 favorite movies growing up: Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.

My dad had a shit ton o' sci-fi movies on VHS (yes, I said VHS) and on Saturdays when mom was working, I got to pick out a movie, dad would make lunch (either a hot ham & cheese sandwich or PB&J - and if it was cold out, a cup of Campbell's Bean with Bacon soup accompanied said sandwich). Doritos or Pringles were the side dish of choice, and to finish off the tasty noms, a home made Rocky Road ice cream milk shake). SIDENOTE: Why the fuck can I remember what I ate for lunch on the weekend when I was little, yet I have no memory of what I had for breakfast this morning? We'd sit in the living room, eat our lunch, watch the movie, quote the movie -we still do that to this day, BTW. Such great father/daughter bonding. My movie selection was usually one of my 3 favorites. You know kids and watching the same thing over and over and over.

Of course, being a little kid, remembering such long movie titles was near impossible. And you can't just say "Star Trek" or "Star Wars" cuz you'd end up watching either The Motion Picture or A New Hope. Although good in their own right, they weren't near as exciting as a Jedi with a robot arm, seeing bugs crawl into a guy's ear, or watching whales. So, to specify the movie I wanted to watch, they became "the robot arm movie" (The Empire Strikes Back), "the movie with the ear bugs" (The Wrath of Kahn), and "the whale movie" (The Voyage Home). Dad knew exactly what movie I wanted to watch based on my Nikki Original titles. As I got older, dad introduced me to the classics. The Day The Earth Stood Still, Enemy Mine, Planet of the Apes, and of course Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I still remember galloping around the house like a horse, hands cupped, trying to mimic the sound of 2 coconut halves being banged together. Ahh, good times.

Here are some of the reasons why I was, and still am, a geek:

Before Kane:

*I remember my first doctor
*I could name all the characters in the Star Wars trilogy at age 3
*My first gaming system was Atari, then upgraded to an NES when I was 4
*My first computer, at age 6, was CLI and I knew how to .exe very well
*When dad said "you, damn, dirty, apes", I'd laugh

With Kane:

*Got married at the Star Trek Experience
*I know the location of every comic book store within a 50 mile radius
*We were first in line to see the remake of Hitchhiker's Guide
*We can haz'd everything
*When I hear "Schrödinger", my first thought is that poor cat
*I got PS2 games for holidays (and LOVED! them)
*I own more anime and manga then a Japanese school girl

After Kane:

*My living room decor includes wall scrolls
*My forum signature (in pink letters):

SELECT Try FROM Do FULL JOIN DoNot ON Do.Try=DoNot.Try
0 rows returned

*I own a pair of fuzzy d20, an "icanhascheezburger" magic 8 ball, a Borg Cube mug, a Tribble, and a jar of Magic, Self-Healing, Server Pixie Dust (biodegradable, soy based)
*Not only can I understand The Big Bang Theory show on TV, I laugh my ass off at it cuz its hella funny
*Stephen Hawking is my hero
*I'm friends with Dr. Michio Kaku on Facebook

Today's rant, trip down memory lane, and Geek Card renewal is brought to you by the letters T, O, J, O, Q, A, and an apostrophe. Those letters appeared in a message from a geek website I frequent which rejected my account nickname. Notice the mentioning of a "Good Taste Patrol"? Yep. H07G33K was rejected. Yet, Tojo'Qa is a Klingon swear word. But, yet, H07G33K was not in "good taste"...?

Don't worry, I ripped their "fine customer service monkeys" a new one, cuz, yea, it was a nickname emergency. Pointing out how my nickname was in wayyy more "good taste" then their Klingon swear words, mentioning I happened to be a geek and a hottie so the name was completely fitting for my exclusive use, and then closing with something about the combination of the two being the fantasy of every nerd. I'm curious to see what their response is ...

Thank you, life, for your plethora of inspiration!

Yea, I Have A Colorful Vocabulary (NOT "I'M EASILY OFFENDED" SAFE)

My colorful vocabulary development began at an early age. My mom loves to tell the story of me at age 2 when I said "Fuck It" in front of her. After holding back her laughter, she looked down at me and sternly said "What did you say?" and without skipping a beat, I replied "Bucket". Got a free pass on that one, avoiding any hard time or punishment that could have resulted, due to my quick wit & rhyming abilities.

When mom and I drove somewhere, I'd use such phrases as "Shit", "Damn it!", or my favorite, "you dumb broad" in response to my witnessing a driver doing something stupid. Props to dad for these phrases.

I'm totally blaming my colorful vocabulary on heredity. Many members of my family, 2 generations thus far!, have the same colorful language gene. See, its not my fault! I was born this way!

I remember hearing a widow once, say she just wanted to use the F word. My response? Go for it! It's such a versatile word. Especially when you're a widow! I mean it can be: a noun (that fucker died on me), an adjective (losing a spouse fucking sucks!), an adverb (I cry every fucking day), used in the middle of a word thus creating your own word to accentuate feeling (Am I sad? Absofuckinglutely!), as well as expressing a range of emotions such as dismay (fuck it), confusion (what the fuck?), anger (fuck you), and yes, even happiness (this is fucking amazing). I told her there was no shame in saying it. See how it feels rolling off the tongue. After what you've been through? You deserve it! It made her feel better - as at that time - the F word was the only way she could completely package everything she was feeling into such a simplicity that everyone could understand.

One of the things I have embraced due to (and since) becoming a widow - that's been a blessing, my sliver lining in a storm cloud, my lemonade out of lemons - is that I really don't give a fuck. I spent 27 years trying to appease others. Always cautious of what I did or said, following others' leads instead of my own, for fear that I would offend someone, not be accepted, and/or lose approval. All the while sacrificing who I really was. Now days, I don't care who's offended by something I did/said/didn't do. I don't need others' approval or acceptance, I can put on my big girl panties and do it my damn self, and your judgement against my actions has no bearing on me. Life's too short, and mamby-pamby land is no place to live. So, if you feel so inclined to use the F word, in one of its many versatile forms, to express any array of emotions, situations, or circumstances, I say FUCK YEA, USE IT!

I LOVE! The Drags ...

SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY! THE GROUND IS ALREADY SHAKING!! TEN BUCKS BUYS YOU THE SEAT, BUT YOU ONLY NEED ... THE EDGE!!! (A Nikki Original ®)

Now that I've gotten everyone pumped up ...

My awesome Aunt & Uncle were in town for the NHRA drag races. I went to visit with them on Friday and they just happened to have an extra ticket to Saturday's race and would I like to go with them? HELL TA THE YEA! I will totally sacrifice sleep, spend all day in the hot "fall" weather, sun blaring down, sweating my non-existent balls off, to spectate in one of my most favorite past times ... DRAG RACING!

Kane and I spent our first years together doing one of 2 things; riding, or hanging out at the drag strips. For a brief time, he was the rider for our friend's drag bike. Such a sick bike that was wicked fast. Of course, this was in the days before good cell phone cameras or fancy-shmancy digital cameras a college student could afford, so I'll spare everyone the play-by-play photo shoot, rather I will share one pic (and I must apologize for its quality) that holds a special place in my heart. Oh the memories it triggers! [spares audience the singing of said song from Cats].

What an awesome chance for Kane to ride the sickest drag bike this side of the Mississippi. He had all the qualifications: he knew how to ride, he was only 120 lbs. soaking wet, did everything 110%, and Wuss - the bike's owner - trusted him. Kane even nick named the racing team "Stick Figure Racing". At first he was uneasy about being the rider of the drag bike. He had taken his 600r on the strip a few times, but his little 600r was no comparison to this bike. I mean we're talking single digits in the quarter mile here people! - or so I was told.

Set the Way Back Machine to Dec. 2003, right before Christmas: I remember us pulling into the parking lot of the drag strip and him saying, "What if I break it? Wuss'll KILL me!!" Being the devoted, and supportive girlfriend I was - and totally thinking you are SO going to do this because 1.) the bragging rights I'll have that yea, my boyfriend's the rider, and 2.) let's not forget instant, free pit passes! - I put my hands on his cheeks, looked deep into his beautiful hazel-green eyes and said, "Honey, if Wuss didn't think you could do it, he never would have offered you the opportunity. Plus, we're here now so shit or get off the pot."

Watching him change into his leathers made me beam with pride. Never once thinking of the danger he could potentially be in. His first time on that bike, scared as hell he'd "break" it, all that horse power he was in control of - err supposed to be in control of - zipping down the drag strip at un-godly speeds. Naw, I was thinking how awesome its gonna be to tell everyone at work what I did that weekend.

I was standing near the starting line, my disposable camera in hand, playing shutter bug at each stage. Pep talk before the burn out, pep talk at the starting line, Kane's insistence on running pro tree set up, the sound of the engine, the smell of race gas, the burning rubber, and then he was off. All these years later, I can still feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins triggered by the sights, sounds, and smells; I can only imagine what he was felling. Then I saw it ... the bike was almost at 1/2 track, and was no longer on both wheels. The front tire came up faster then I could blink, and there was Kane, riding a wheely on this monster of a machine. I didn't have time to panic cuz as fast as that front wheel went up, it was back down, hooked up again, as if the tire never lost contact. The horrible crashing noise that followed, and smoke pouring out from under the bike, had me wondering what the fuck just happened? I saw the time and MPH flash on the board, so I knew he made it to the end, and yea, the bike was still on the track, both wheels down (like they should be). My first thought, OMG! The bike!?!?! And, what in the hell was that noise?? Pfff! I know what you're thinking. 'Screw the bike!!! What about your boyfriend???' I knew Kane was fine: he was still on the bike, it was moving, and there were no flames shooting out the side. He's good.

As we met Kane at the pre-staging area, I remember his head hung low in shame, shaking it side to side, as if scolding himself for being bad, a look of terror on his face. As he rode up to Wuss. I could hear him saying "I'm sorry" over and over. Wuss had the biggest smile I had ever seen on his face. WTF?? As I got closer, I saw what Kane was "sorry" about, and why Wuss was smiling. Oil.leaking.everywhere. But the bike (and rider) were intact.

Apparently, when he brought the wheely down, the impact of the front wheel hitting asphalt again caused the oil pan to hit the track thus cracking it. That's where the horrible cracking noise and smoke billowing out of the bike came from. Wuss was smiling because Kane did exactly what he was supposed to do: control the bike, keep it on the strip, and keep the rider safe.

I gave Kane a huge hug & kiss and told him how proud I was of him. "You did it, baby!! You did it!!" The twinkle in his eye from my delight was the only reassurance I needed that, although shaken up - and terribly sorry for the borked oil pan - he was ok.

That night I posted on our sport bike forum a little poem I had written about the incident, à la White Zombie:

"Grips the throttle, his knuckles turn white with desire. The oil pan of the 'Busa exploding on the drag way like a slug from a 45. True death, 400 horse power of maximum performance piercing the track. This is Black Sunshine"

Unfortunately, the bike needed work after Kane's run, and Kane's *ahem* thinking he was young and invincible a few weeks later (and the broken wrist that was a result of said thinking) ended his drag racing "career". We made our cameos at other drag strips. Oh the sights, smells, and excitement! It wasn't the same as Kane actually riding, but it was still fun. Kane was moral support for Wuss, learning and watching, and I played with the adorable puppy Wuss & his wife brought with them. Being at the drag strip this weekend brought back all those wonderful memories and good times. Of my amazing husband, pursuing a passion, in his element, living life as if it were his last day on earth.

So, when life hands you an opportunity - no matter how scarry it seems - suit up, do a burn out, keep it on the track, and never lose control.

 This pic was taken right before he took the run discussed above

Halloween ... The Best Day of the Year!!!!

I LOVE! Halloween! For me, Halloween holds soo many "happy little trees". Getting to dress up totally slutty (dead hooker circa 2007 & Naughty Snow White circa 2009), and wearing entirely too much eyeliner (Vampiress circa 2010). You get to hang out with your awesome friends, do "killer" Jell-O shots, eat a shit ton o' chocolate, participate in mandatory dancing courtesy of the blaring of music the cops asked the homeowners twice to turn down, and get so shit faced that your novio-at-the-time had to carry you across the street (due to your misplacing of your shoes) so you can pee for 200th time that evening (and not have to wait in line to do so). Ahhh, good times!

Then there's electronic entertainment. TV during the month of October actually has stuff worth watching (the Halloween specials, Paranormal Witness, T.A.P.S, Most Haunted Places). And radio? The annual "Ghost to Ghost" show on Coast to Coast AM with George Noory consisting of 4 hours of people calling in to tell ghost stories. Hell ta tha ya! Of course, I don't sleep much that night ... especially now that I have to sleep alone ... :'( But I can't help it! Ghost stories fascinate me for some odd reason...

Kane on the other hand not so much. That man was scared of one thing, and one thing only... ghosts! Shit that scares me ... zombies? He was a fanatic! Stuff that facinates me ... ghosts? The man cowered in fear! Umm, honey? They're both dead? What's the difference??? Being the devoted husband that he was, he humored me. I shared all my ghost stories and theories with him, I made him listen to super cool EVPs I found on the internet, I drug him along to the local ghost tour held at a historic hotel in the down town, and tried my hardest to convince him to watch ghost movies with me. NOTE: Silent Hill was the ONLY "ghost" movie he watched with me and I think it had something to do with the fact that it was based on a video game ...

SIDENOTE: He really liked the movie, but he didn't sleep that night ...

This Halloween, I will be attending the annual bash my good friends so graciously put on. I remember the first one Kane and I went to. We had just celebrated our 1st wedding anniversary. He had this idea in his head to go as the Phantom. We drove all over town 2 weekends in a row, looking for the physical to materialize this "idea" from his head into reality. I do have to give him props; that man had the uncanny ability to turn his ideas into reality, to go after (and get) what he wanted. And he looked hot!

Tonight when I sent in my R.S.V.P. (for one) a wave of emotions hit me. I smiled and laughed (at the good times), then I cried (that Kane wouldn't be with me), and then I got angry (that everyone I had invited to attended the bash with me is no longer in my life). It dawned on me: I had always had a +1 for the Halloween bash. Whether it was Kane, or someone I was dating at the time, I was always on the arm of a guy. I don't think I have ever not been in a relationship or desperately pursuing one. Suffocation comes to mind. I never really had the chance to do things for me, that made me happy. It was always us. I always had someone else to consider. 

Now my marriage to Kane was the best of both worlds; togetherness and independence. He let me do what I wanted, when I wanted. And I did the same for him. We both had so much love for each other, all we wanted was to make each other happy. I could go out with the girls, buy what I wanted, go where I wanted, yet I always had someone I was happy to come home to. *Sigh* I miss that.

Since my heart is closed for renovations, and I'm embracing this person I knew existed, but never wanted to admit. The one who - because life gave her lemons - has to do everything by herself (making lemonade included). She only has herself to rely on and herself never disappoints. I am going to that bash ... solo. And I'm going to work it proud! I'm going to look beautiful in my costume, I'm going to have fun with my friends, slam Jell-O shots, eat a shit ton o' chocolate, smile pretty for the camera, and I'm going to have a blast, damn it! I don't need a guy ... I can do it my damn self!

Memory

Not an hour goes by that I don't have a memory come into my mind. Mostly happy memories, yet some bad. I relive them, dwell on them, laugh and/or cry. As if the bad ones I can change by obsessing over them (coulda, shoulda, woulda), or the good ones can be relived again in the physical, using all 5 senses. Of course, this is never the case. Something as meaningless as a smell, a word, a sound, a song, throws me back into better times. Memory ... All alone in the moonlight ... Oh, sorry. My bad. </Show Tunes Singing>

And, seriously?, why is it that I can't remember what I had for breakfast, yet I can remember something from 5 years ago, like it just happened, every little detail, playing in my head, clear as day. Daylight ... I must wait for the sunrise ... Oops! There I go again.

I have tried everything to stop the perpetual movies playing in my head. Listening to music? Didn't work so well. Watching TV? The commercials totally break my concentration of not thinking. At night when I'm trying to fall asleep? That's when my mind is the most active! Midnight ... Not a sound from the pavement ... Tee hee giggle giggle, I'm doing it again, huh?

When Kane and I got married (hell, even when we were dating) I had problems letting things go. He would always say "is there anything you can do about it?" and I'd shake my head - usually because I was so hysterical I couldn't talk - "well, then put it out of your mind". Sooo much easier said then done. Over time I learned how to put things out of my mind. I was doing quitewellakshully at it; then Kane died. Everything I had taught myself over the years quickly went right out the window, and those fucking memories came back. With.a.vengeance.

For the first several months anything and everything set me off. Even seeing the bistro table outside would send me into a tail spin of hysterical sobbing, yelling, and rage. Kane and I spent many nights sitting outside, talking, laughing, enjoying wine or our favorite cigar. Every time I saw that table, it reminded me I would never have that again. I would never hear his voice, his laugh, never feel his kiss or his hand on mine. Touch me ... It's so easy to leave me ... All alone with the memory ... Really? I'm sooo adding a link to this song at the end of my blog post so everyone else can get it stuck in their head, too!

The memories were killing me. I knew there was something I had to do. I never wanted my memory to fade, I mean, we had some amazing times! But reflecting on everything caused me to be an emotional wreck. And these memories were so strong, It was totally unpossible to "put it out of my mind".

I started out slow. Anytime I had a memory pop in my head, I honored it. I let my mind play it back. I let the sensations flow through me. I let the tears fall. I let the anger burn. I let the hurt consume me. And when it was done, I moved on. After several months of doing this, honoring my memory, letting it have its way with me, the memories effected me less and less when I thought about them again. Suddenly, a memory that made me break out in gut-wrenching sobbs, actually made me smile, laugh, give thanks and brought comfort.

Remember, your memories are yours. No one can take them from you, tell you how to react to them, and, yes, they will always be with you - would you ever want to forget? I don't. Honor those memories. Feel them, relive them, understand them, embrace them. When you wake up in the morning it will be a new day, and yesterday will be a memory, too. Daylight ... I must wait for the sunrise ... I must think of a new life ... And I musn't give in.

http://youtu.be/ivIT0TQ4vRM

"Once You Label Me, You Negate Me"

The quote above is from Søren Kierkegaard (1813 - 1855). A philosopher and theologian wise beyond his years. And how true is that quote? Our society today is so label happy. Mother, father, divorced, single, widow, widower, wife, husband, employed, unemployed. The minute we step out into the world, we are instantly labeled. A label which we carry around with us that is then used to determine the category(s) we fall into. The labels may change, we may add them or take them away, wish we had a certain label, wear them proudly, or cower in shame from them. These labels others assign us - or we assign to ourselves - often negatively define us as individuals; as if what we do, our circumstances in life, or the choices we make gives an exact blue print to others of who we are. To me, this is complete bull shit.

When you first meet someone, they usually ask "What do you do for a living?", "Are you married/single?", "Do you have children?", "Where ya from?". Each of these questions may be great ice breakers, but the underlined motive is to label you, classify you into a certain category, and deem you worthy or unworthy, before even getting to know you on a deeper level, as a person, an individual.

I am so guilty of labeling others. Good or bad, it helps me remember who they are, to stay away or come closer, trust them or not, to deem them worthy or unworthy of my time. I'm also guilty of labeling myself. I'm single, I'm a widow, I'm not happy, I'm useless. This negative effect of labeling (myself and others) never crossed my mind (thank you societal norms!) until last night.

A long time ago, people told me that my "label" of widow really turns people off. It scares them, it instantly puts out the vibe of death, makes others face what they don't want to face ... the inevitable, and instantly attaches stigmas. Reflecting on this, I usually answer the "are you married" question with a simple no, not yet, or I'm single (unless of course I want people to leave me alone, then ya, I pull the widow card). Not divulging my true status avoids a detailed explanation, and keeps the sympathy card in the deck cuz I really don't need your sympathy. When asked last night if I was single (you know, ice breaker question) I answered yes, and promptly followed it with well, widowed actually. SHIT! I did not mean for that to come out. I was soo afraid of being judged, labeled, or the instant stigma being attached to me because of one word, widowed. Yet, after hearing the word widowed, this person didn't judge, attach a label to me, ask 20 questions about my status, or even bat an eye. For the first time since becoming a widow, I did not cower in shame after saying that word. I wore it proudly, because that experience made me who I am today. The widow chisel has chipped away at the marble block that was once me to form the beautiful sculpture I am today, and for that I am truly grateful. I am not the young widow, or the lady who lost her husband, or the once happily married wife who is now single. No, I'm Nikki. 

So, the next time you chose to judge someone based on a "label" assigned to them, try getting to know them first. Their name is a good start. Don't look at the block of marble that once defined them, rather see the beautiful sculpture their "labels" have created to define who they are today. Like a picture says a thousand words, a name (and the person behind it) says even more.