Center of Attention

Sophia Vergara, President Barack Obama, Lady Gaga, and our dog, all like to be the center of attention.

Me? No. Yet people - including dear friends - think I enjoy being center of attention. Or maybe crave attention. And because of this perception, I am teased. I get embarrassed. I want to instantly crawl under a table or just disappear.

Don't get me wrong. I like getting attention, but in a more balanced approach: one on one attention, or maybe on days that are important to be thought of like our wedding or my birthday. Of course I like to get attention all the time from my husband, my parents, my dog. In reality, I don't always get what I want. I digress...

I just don't like a room or table full of people to all of sudden shine a spotlight on me. It makes me uncomfortable because that's the modest part of my personality . Sure I like to look presentable and cute; this is simply saying I respect myself and I respect my company (and maybe I have a body to wear a nice pair of jeans and I own some fabulous lipsticks).

Attention for Performing vs. Not
Performing...
As an artsy, creative thinking Aquarius, I have an adoration for performing. This started at a very young age when at 8 months, I said "Look mom! I am walking!". My mom was smart enough to enroll me in dance classes at age 4 in which I naturally took to the stage and was gifted with long, lean limbs for ballet. I loved performing. It could be during training, at recitals, ballets, or even in front of friends and family at home. I wasn't me anymore; I was a performer, free to be whoever. On stage, I felt alone, blinded by the lights. The movement and music were my audience. Performing in a ballet and getting a standing ovation is euphoric.

Then there was the time I was a competitive swimmer. I wanted to do my best for my team, for me. When the team was tasked to raise money for a charity - $.10 for every lap - I was determined to swim the most laps over anyone else. I swam for 10 hours straight. When I got an applause for my efforts, I knew I had done my job.

Another time I knew I was a performer was when an older boy always asked for a foot race after lunch. He didn't like that I told him I was faster and stronger than him. Yet I always won our little playground races, and stood proud amongst my friends, even when I lost my lunch a couple of times.

Today when I race, I may not be racing a specific competitor, but I am performing. I can't stand at a start line and not give it my all. I thrive amongst the spectators because I am a performer. I live for the finish-line.

...vs. not.

Being a Valentine baby means a little extra attention than non-Holiday baby. I actually enjoy it, except one time I will never forget: third grade.

My teacher and I shared the same birthday and I loved this because I loved her. When I arrived to class that February 14th morning, all the desks had been rearranged; they were all in a big circle with one desk in the middle: mine. She said the Valentine birthday girl got to sit in the middle. Though I enjoyed the birthday cake and class singing Happy Birthday, I felt like everyone was staring at me all day.

When Performances Get Awkward
Some performances though, have gotten the wrong attention. Not all attention is good and sometimes it is just dang akward for the audience and embarrassing for the performer.

I was once tasked to give a presentation to my department, which was approximately 60+ people. It wasn't my largest crowd (400+). I had given presentations before to my department, my group, Toastmasters, school. Some go well and some should come with a rewind button. This was one of those times. I decided to add some humour to my opening presentation, but when the audience wasn't laughing (or hardly smiling), I knew my jokes had fallen flat and I'd have to quickly move on to business. (Now I know comedians have the hardest job next to POTUS!)

Another performance I can think of was not me, but an entertainer: Angelina Jolie who was on the 2012 Academy Award stage to present an award. Angie was dressed to the nines in this gorgeous black, strapless gown with a huge front split over the right leg. As an entertainer to entertain us, she came up to the microphone and threw her leg out to strike a pose. For whatever reason, the pose wasn't working and she attempted about 3 times to get it right. You could hear her chuckling during this time, whether to mask the awkwardness or purposefully to sound a bit devilish. Either way, it was jaw-dropping and left us speechless (and media-frenzied and some women very pissed off, but that's another blog post).

What is my Point?
What is my point to all of this? I guess I felt I needed to still try to understand why certain attentional circumstances make me uncomfortable when I purely enjoy performing on stage and welcome an audience/spectators' attention.

Now I understand. We are all unique through our complex personalities. Amen to that.

Michael Vick Wants a Dog

"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future." ~ Oscar Wilde

Like I occasionally do, I was flipping through a silly magazine when a headline grabbed my attention. Like I rarely do, I read that article under that headline in that silly magazine:

Should Michael Vick be allowed to own a dog again?

Vick stated he would like to own a dog. Someday. If the court allowed him after serving probation.

When I read the short article, this news bothered me immediately, because I am a dog lover. The acts Vick allowed on those dogs - dog fighting - was vile. I remember how mad I was when I first heard the news. The anger I had and sadness I felt made me physically ill.

At the end of the article, a question was posed:

"Even if he's a changed man, should [Vick] be granted the privilege of pet ownership?'

 And it made me think: Should Vick get that opportunity? Doesn't everyone want a second chance? Should we give others a second chance, especially if they have been through rehabilitation, if they have served time for their crime, and if they are seriously remorseful?

There are only two choices, in my opinion: Yes or No.

Time Served
Since Vick was released from prison over 19 months ago (after serving 23 months in prison), he has been on probation (3 years, slated to expire Nov. 2012), agreed to federal authorities' request to provide $1 million for the care of the confiscated dogs, and as part of probation, volunteering for the Humane Society.

Remarkably, he has become a spokesperson for the Humane Society against the atrocities of dog fighting; an anti-violence advocate.

Courtesy of The Humane Society

Redemption
The American dream can mean many different things. Usually what comes to mind, for example, is the boy who grew up in the projects only to become one of the best National Football League players. Such as Michael Vick.

The American Dream can also mean redemption. Getting a second chance after falling.  Falling hard.

We see it often in Hollywood. Such as the drunk actor who makes antisemitic remarks only to come back with an award winning movie. Or the songstress who goes off the deep end only to come back with one of the best selling (and listening!) albums of her entire career.

We see it in ourselves. I look back on my erroneous ways and I can't even count on both hands how many second chances I have had in my own life. I see in myself the imperfections. And when I have fallen, all I want is a kind guide to lead me out; to learn from the mistake; to be forgiven, and to be granted a second chance to prove myself. I think now, where would I be if it wasn't for my parents, my friends, my employers, my husband, if they hadn't given me a second chance; if I hadn't forgiven myself; if I hadn't taken to their help to guide me to safety? Who knows! But I probably wouldn't be in the safe haven I am in now. I don't take my mistakes for granted. I am grateful for my falls, grateful for getting up, and grateful to learn and move on.

So there are two key ingredients, I believe, that give my "Yes"  if Vick wants a companion dog:

1. Vick has to learn from his horrific mistake (& that will only be between him, God, and the Federal Judge) and doesn't do it again.
2. Like you, you, me, and all of us, Vick deserves a second chance. 

Because who are we to make that judgment call? Who are we - all sinners, all fallers, all receivers of second chances - to judge Vick, who in the present, is making a dutiful effort to redeem himself, make good of what he made so bad, and move on for himself, the dogs, his family? 

We are not worthy to judge him.

And just like we have come back from the bottom and done good for others, I hope that truly happens for Vick and that he sees the real beauty between man and dog.

__________________________________________________________________

Have an opinion on this matter? Share with me what you think: 

If Michael Vick is a changed man, should he be granted the privilege to own a dog/pet?

We Change.

About 5 years ago, I had set up a blog account via Blogger. I got as far as a blog name and profile picture.

Stop.

I didn't get much further than that. Either blogger.com wasn't intuitive enough for me to figure out, I didn't have time, or it felt too self-absorbing. I believe it was the latter.

If we think about it, blogging - if used as a personal outlet - is minor narcissism.  Talking about ourselves. Our thoughts. Our opinions. Assuming others care.
(In my case, I don't know who would really care about what I think, other than those who really love and know me.)

Or... an outlet to document one's life.

We change.

This is the conclusion I have came to after all these years. A blog is a place to memoralize personal experiences, memories, thoughts. A place viewed like a yearbook: looking back at how we have changed; or not changed.

In the aspect of to blog or not to blog, I have changed. My opinion of the matter has changed. I am open to it (obviously). And I also want to have an outlet to practice my writings. I am rusty.

After 11 years in corporate at a single company, I got burned. Energy zapped. Inspiration lacking. Thoughts felt dead. Filtered to death by the political-correct organization. Years of fitting into a mold that came with choosing PC words, and sentences that wouldn't offend anyone. This, unfortunately, drifted into my own personal life. I allowed it.
(Does walking around on egg shells 24/7 sound fun to you?)

During those 11 years, my writings became less about me and more about work. My work was writing. Writing for the industry. Technical writing. Training writing. Communication writing. I didn't have energy to write a poem, a love letter to my sweetheart, or practice article writing outside of the industry I worked for.

We change.

In the last 4+ months, I went from corporate to unemployed-lady-of-leisure to self employed. In less than those 4 months, I got back the joy of writing. My energy bank is now FULL. I see inspiration constantly. I have changed.

I now see the PURPOSE in blogging. I have since forgiven myself for being so judgmental about the act of blogging. I now look forward to sharing my purpose, my thoughts, my opinions, my writings, if for anyone, for myself.

Because we can change.