This Valentine's Day...Love Yourself Enough

“Happiness comes from within. It is not dependent on external things or on other people. You become vulnerable and can be easily hurt when your feelings of security and happiness depend on the behavior and actions of other people. Never give your power to anyone else.”

~ Brian L. Weiss

Damn!  Is it Valentine’s Day again already???? This day always sneaks up on me.  I’d rather just skip this day and move on to St. Patrick’s Day.  Valentine’s Day hasn’t been very romantic for me in a long, long time.  Being single, I’ve sat at home on Valentine’s Day the past two years.  During my marriage, Valentine’s Day wasn’t all that romantic either.  Granted our marriage wasn’t very healthy, but my ex-husband did make feeble attempts at being romantic on Valentine’s Day.  He tried giving me a card, and I was disappointed, because he didn’t send flowers.  He tried to send flowers.  I was hurt, because we didn’t go out to dinner.  He tried to make dinner reservations.  I felt unloved, because I wanted flowers.  I definitely did not make things easy for him.

The problem was I had these grandiose expectations in my head of what should happen on Valentine’s Day.  When my husband failed to meet these unrealistic expectations, I felt unloved.  I erroneously defined our relationship by whether he brought me flowers or not. I let my happiness be dependent on someone else. 

I now realize the insanity in this way of thinking.  There is no way I can be happy if I continuously rely on someone else to make me happy.  Happiness comes from within, and I create my own happiness.

So this Valentine’s Day I have a proposal for all of us who have been dependent on someone else for our happiness.  I propose that we forget what others think of us or do for us and just love ourselves!

This Valentine’s Day stop worrying if your husband or boyfriend is going to send flowers.  This Valentine’s Day forget about the chocolate, mushy love notes, and sexy lingerie.  This Valentine’s Day stop feeling sorry for yourself if you don’t have a date.  This Valentine’s Day we start a new tradition.  One that is far more beneficial to our sanity and well-being.  This Valentine’s Day we start loving ourselves.  “How are we going to do this," you ask?  Below are just a few of my ideas, but I’m sure there are many more.

Love yourself enough to stop worrying whether you have a date or not.

Love yourself enough to spend some time on your own.

Love yourself enough to call a friend, read a book, or take a bubble bath.

Love yourself enough to schedule a massage or a pedicure or both!

Love yourself enough to eat chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream while watching “Magic Mike.”

Love yourself enough to take care of your mind and body. Go outside.  Go for a walk.  Go for a hike.  Go for a run.  Just Go!

Love yourself enough to learn new things.  Visit the museum, an art gallery, or the library.  Take a class.  Join a group.  Learn how to juggle!

Love yourself enough to laugh out loud.

Love yourself enough to take a chance.

Love yourself enough to stand up for what you believe in.

Love yourself enough to walk away from those who hurt you.

Love yourself enough to let go of the past.  (If not now, when?)

Love yourself enough to forgive yourself. 

Love yourself enough to live in the present.

Love yourself enough to hope for the future.

Love yourself enough to face your fears.

Love yourself enough to try a little harder.

Love yourself enough to forgive.

Love yourself enough to move forward.

Love yourself enough to open your heart.

Love yourself enough to love a little more.

Above all, love yourself enough to know you are worth it.

Because you most certainly are. :o)

Get Mad Then Get Over It

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes,

I am out of control and at times hard to handle.

But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”

~ Marilyn Monroe

I have a confession.  I have to come clean.  I can’t keep it a secret any longer.  So here it is.  Sometimes I don’t feel so very grateful and forgiving.  Sometimes I am just really pissed off.  And yes, sometimes “I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure.”  And I don’t want to be grateful or forgiving.  I want to be mad.  I want to be angry and rage against assholes and mean people and the establishment.  I want to stomp my feet, pound my fists against the bars of my self-made prison and raise some hell. 

Sometimes I want to tell my ex-husband to “go fuck himself.”  Other times I’d really like to tell my boss to “kiss my ass.”  At times I fantasize telling my dad “to shut the hell up” or asking my mom, “Why the hell are you such a bitch?”

 

Recently I found these really cool cards that instead of saying “Thank You” say “Fuck You.”  I’m pretty sure these cards could come in quite handy.  First, I could send a “Fuck You” card to my divorce attorneys whom I paid thousands of dollars for absolutely nothing.  While I’m at it, I’d send a little note to the idiot bureaucrat at the Child Support Enforcement Office who lost my paperwork that fondly says, “Fuck You, Asshole.” Lastly, I’d make a list of all the men who have ever pretended to care about me but fucked me over and send them all “Fuck You. With love, Donna” cards.

Colin Powell tells us to “Get mad.  Then get over it.”  Maybe I don’t want to get over it. Maybe I want to be just plain mad.

It is okay to be angry.  Anger is simply a feeling not a behavior.  So while I like to fantasize about sending “Fuck You” cards, I won’t.  As Melody Beattie says in The Language of Letting Go, “Feeling angry – and sometimes, the act of blaming – is a natural and necessary part of accepting loss and change – of grieving.  We can allow ourselves and others to become angry as we move from denial toward acceptance.”  Feeling our emotions is especially important to those of us who may have grown up in an environment where it wasn’t okay to express our emotions.  We were told we were “too sensitive” or “overreacting.”  So we squashed our emotions and lived in fear of feeling anything.  Emotions are a part of living, and to suppress them is not healthy.
 
Recently I met a man at a friend’s Thanksgiving dinner. Over the course of the evening we talked about visiting other countries, our careers, and our sons who are both a little different.  I could see behind his somewhat nerdy glasses and geeky exterior that he could actually be quite sexy.  More importantly, I found him to be genuine.  So I asked him to my office Christmas party, and he said, “Yes.” 

Over the course of the next three weeks, we traded texts and talked on the phone.  I invited him to dinner and sliced vegetables and prepared chili while we talked about our lives.  We shared our pasts, our dreams, and our fears. We became fairly close in a relatively short period of time.  He even read my blog and didn’t run away.  Our relationship was sweet and innocent.  We never even kissed.  He was the wisest, kindest, most gentle man I had ever met.  And he liked ME.  Not the blond hair, blue-eyed, petite me.  But the domestic violence survivor, twice-divorced, and still rough around the edges me.  At least, so I thought.  I am not even quite sure what happened, but he eventually did become scared and no longer wanted to pursue a relationship with me.  He ran away.

I was hurt, angry, pissed off, and terribly disappointed.  I wanted to stomp my feet and pound my fists.  I wanted to scream “Why?!  I don’t understand!”    On the day he told me he didn’t want a relationship, I came home to find a package on my porch containing the stupid dress I had ordered to go to the party.  I unpacked my suitcase and found the stupid scarf I bought at the airport shop to wear as a wrap around my shoulders.  I cried.  And then cried some more.

I hadn’t been looking for anyone.  I was practicing the lesson of letting go - “Let go, and let God.”  I had resigned myself that when the timing was right, the Universe would put the right person in front of me. So I thought this kind man was that person.  What hurt most was thinking that if this kind and gentle man could not find it in his heart to care for me, who would?    

Melody Beattie continues, “We won’t stay angry forever.  But we may need to get mad for a while as we search over what could have been, to finally accept what is.”

I know I won’t stay angry forever.  But I’m allowing myself to be mad for a while longer as I come to terms with what I thought the relationship could have been and accept how it really is.  I have a right to get mad.  If a man does not have the courage to accept me with all my scars and broken pieces, to hell with him.  I should get pissed off and stomp my feet and yell at the top of my lungs.  Because “if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”  I love, I laugh, and I cry.  And if you allow me to care for you yet don’t have the guts to follow through, you deserve my anger and rage.  And maybe I’ll consider sending you a “Fuck You” card in the mail along with the others. 

I am reminded of the poem by Veronica A. Shoffstall,

After a While

“After a while you learn

the subtle difference between

holding a hand and chaining a soul

and you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning

and company doesn’t always mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts

and presents aren’t promises

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes ahead

with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child

and you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns

if you get too much

so you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

you really are strong

you really do have worth

and you learn

and you learn

with every goodbye, you learn…”

 
I realize now that after almost two years of therapy and a multitude of self-help books, my heart is still too vulnerable to begin a relationship with a man no matter how kind and gentle he is.  And while it may be tempting to have someone hold me and tell me everything will be okay, the task of healing my heart and becoming strong again must be accomplished alone.  Happiness is an inside job, and healing is a solitary journey.  So I’ll “get mad then get over it” and focus on me.  I will plant my own garden and decorate my own soul.  I’ll cultivate big, bright red gerbera daisies; soft, gentle lambs’ ear; and fragrant, calming lavender.  I’ll plant aromatic Asiatic lilies, heirloom foxgloves, and whimsical hollyhocks. 

After all that has happened in my past, I could evolve into a selfish, heartless bitch.  I could harden my heart to caring about anyone ever again.  At times I think I probably should.  It would be easier.  But that’s not who I am.  For some reason, I still believe in the goodness of people.  Even men.  I still believe in love.  I still have hope that somewhere, someday I will meet a man that truly cares for me.  If not, at least I will have me – the blue-eyed, blond hair, broken but put back together with super glue and duct tape, authentic me.

 

Listening to My Heart: How Much Involvement Should an Abuser Have in Their Child’s Life?

“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart.”

~Carl Jung

I’ve struggled for months to write this part of my story.  I finally realized I didn’t need to know all the answers to write this post.  I only needed to write it.

So this is how the story goes.

I married my abuser for my son.  I didn’t know he was an abuser at the time.  I hardly knew him at all.  We had worked together for a year.  We had dined together at restaurants, toured the streets of Prague, hiked around Czech Raj and danced at the nightclubs in Hradec Kralove.  But as with most relationships, I could not predict how cohabitating and raising a child together would be.  I only wanted a father for my son. 

And now I struggle every day with determining the level of involvement that father should have in my son’s life. 

How much involvement should an abuser have in their child’s life?  There is no easy answer, and there certainly is not just one answer. 

One of my fears when separating from my husband was how it would affect my son.   But at first, the thought of my ex having any contact with my son scared the hell out of me.  After my ex began his Anger Management program, I allowed my ex to visit with my son in public while I was present.  I was hesitant, but I needed to see with my own eyes the interaction between my son and his dad.  During the next visit my ex had my son alone for the day, but brought him home at night.  As my trust slowly strengthened, my son spent the weekend with his dad and stayed at our neighbors’ house.  

Let me be clear.  This was not easy.  But as per our agreement, my ex was allowed to visit my son every other weekend.  With each visit I was confronted with tightness in my chest and queasiness in my stomach.  Each visit I was a bundle of nerves thinking of the myriad of possible outcomes.  I realize that much of the anxiety and worry was manufactured in my head.  But please know that as I stood on that Florida beach on my wedding day in front of our families seven years ago, the thought of being assaulted by my soon-to-be-husband never ran through my mind.  Once a previously unimaginable assault is perpetrated by your best friend and lover, your reality is irreversibly and significantly altered.  What could I possibly believe was true?  What was real and what was imagined?  I had no idea anymore.  And I still don’t.

The first time my son was to spend the weekend with his dad alone, I agreed to allow his dad to pick him up from school.  I dutifully left the booster seat and a bag of clothes in my son’s classroom.  My ex was to fly in and head straight to my son’s school from the airport.  This whole prospect scared me. I had no idea what evil plan may lay in my ex’s mind.  I tried to have faith that everything would be okay.  But as Ronald Reagan was fond of saying, “Trust, but verify.” 

I called my ex shortly after he was to pick up my son from school.  No answer.  I waited 10 minutes and tried again.  No answer.  I tried to reassure myself that maybe his cellphone had died.  Maybe he left his phone on the plane.  Maybe my ex was just being an asshole and purposely not answering.  But because I could no longer trust reality, I imagined the possibility that my ex had kidnapped my son and at that very minute was headed to the airport for a flight to England.  Or heaven forbid, worse.  These negative thoughts made me nauseous. Because how could I without a doubt know what was realistic anymore?  And how could I live if something happened to my son?

I realize there are those who would say, “Now, Donna, that’s just crazy talk.  You worry too much.”  Yes, maybe.  But maybe not.  How am I supposed to know anymore?  My world has been turned upside down.

After a torturous 40 minutes, my ex finally answered the phone.  The two of them had gone through the school’s book fair, and my ex had supposedly left his phone in the car.    

As time passed, his dad’s visits became less frequent.  A month would go by.  Two months.  Three months.   Each time I was initiating his visits.  “Hey, your son asked about you.”  “Hey, your son’s piano recital is soon, and he asked if you were going to be there.” And “his birthday party is coming up.  Do plan on being there?” 

The most heart wrenching occasion I called his dad about visiting was last summer. 

My son became obsessed with building a “gerbil house.”  At the time my son was fascinated with “inventions” and drawing building plans.  He had drawn up “plans” for the design of a five story gerbil house complete with bathtub, lights, and a motor-driven treadmill.  We spent an afternoon in the garage rummaging through the toolbox and reviewing tools we might need to build the gerbil house.  He then insisted we take a trip to the local Home Depot to research possible materials we would need to build this gerbil house.  We examined wiring, tile, plumbing, carpeting, roof tile, and plywood.  We spoke with the man in the lumber department about the best way to install the floors and how thick the plywood should be.

I knew what was coming next.  Eventually, he would want to actually build this crazy, five-story gerbil house.   And as independent and mechanically inclined as I like to think I am, I was not relishing the idea of using a saw or other power tools I might need for this project.  Hammer, yes.  Electric drill, yes.  Electric circular saw, no.  Besides, I didn’t even own any electric saws much less felt comfortable using one.

I thought this would be an excellent father and son project.  So, I called his dad.

I’m not sure why I bothered.  Sadly, his dad wasn’t interested.  His dad said, “No.”  I could not believe it.  I knew his dad was a jerk, but to pass up an opportunity building a woodworking project with his seven year old son was inconceivable.  But he did.

His disinterest bothered me more than I thought.  I was astonished.  I was disheartened.  What kind of dad doesn’t want to hang out with his son in the garage hammering and sawing all day?  It blew my mind.  Then it broke my heart.  Much to my surprise and disgust, I cried. 

I cried for the little boy who was the most precious thing in my life.  I cried for the sweet, innocent boy who didn’t have a mean bone in his body and did not deserve any of this.  I cried for the boy with a beautiful soul and big heart that deserved a hell of a better dad than the one he was stuck with.  And maybe I cried a little for myself that day because I had let my son down by marrying his stupid, selfish dad.

But life goes on.  So I dried my tears and reviewed my options.  Ask a male co-worker to help my son build his dream gerbil house?  Too awkward.  Build it myself?  Definitely not safe.  Ask my brother who lived four and half hours away?  Nah, he had a six month old son at home.  Ask my dad?  My dad was 70, retired, and has some health issues, but he had power tools and knows how to use them.  Hmmm, it just might work.  But would he be willing?  I wasn’t sure, so I gave my ol’ dad a call. 

Being retired and on his own, my dad was delighted to be needed and acted like a little boy before Christmas.  The next weekend he happily drove the four hours from his house to ours with the trunk of his car full of power tools and various electric saws.  He was more than happy to have a project to work on and to be of some use to his grandson.  My dad, my son and I spent the weekend measuring, sawing, and hammering my son’s gerbil house.  My son directed my dad and I on building the house, measured and marked the wood, and learned to hammer a nail.  By Sunday, we had built my son’s five story gerbil house to his specifications.  And the weekend was as much a bonding experience between my dad and I as it was for my son and his grandfather.

These days my son’s dad visits maybe once every two or three months which I think is just fine.  I am still a bit anxious during these visits, but I try to have faith and not worry.

Over the past year, I have learned much about acceptance.  Where I was once forcing the visits to happen, I now accept I cannot control my son’s relationship with his dad.  I cannot force his dad to visit.  I cannot force his dad to care.  I cannot force my son and his dad’s relationship to be perfect.  The best I can do is to observe my son and listen to my heart.  And while my son does not specifically talk about his dad or his feelings, he does not exhibit any signs that he is frightened to see his dad.  And he does not express any sadness or loneliness to live his life hanging out with just his old mom.  Instead he joyfully explains to me his “inventions” and “gerbil house plans.”  He excitedly informs me what Hermione, Ron and Harry are up to in his current Harry Potter book.   He looks to me when he asks, “How is lightening made, Mom?” and “Where do bald eagles live?”

So I will continue listening to my son and opening my heart allowing it to guide me.  

And as I open my heart in the quiet of the night after my son is in bed, this is what it reveals. “My son is healthy, happy, learning and thriving just fine without his dad.”  And that is all a parent can ask. <3

Living a Life in Limbo

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
...for people just waiting.

~ Dr. Seuss

One afternoon a couple years ago, my son, who was five, was watching a DVD about the Spanish Amada or maybe Sir Francis Drake.  He proceeded to tell my mom all about the history of Queen Elizabeth I and the war between England and Spain, then went back to watching his DVD.  My mom amazed at his knowledge said “One day, E is going to be teacher.”  I responded, “I’m hoping he’ll be a lawyer or a professor.”  At this point E realized we were talking about him and decides to contribute in his five year old worldly wisdom, “I think I will just be myself.” 

With a clarity and simplicity about the world that only children possess, he decisively reminded us silly adults that his choice of profession is ultimately insignificant as long as he remains true to himself.  Adults insist on labeling, classifying, judging, deciding and affirming everything and everyone.  Adults must shove, push and squash everyone into a nice, clean, concise category when we really need to Let Go.

I was reminded of this recently while visiting the orthopedic doctor’s office for pain in my left hip.  I was asked to fill out the New Patient Forms as is the case when visiting a new doctor.  I sat down with the clipboard and pen and dutifully filled in my name, gender, date of birth, and address.  I came to “Marital Status.” I stopped.  My choices were “Single, Married, Divorced, Widowed.”  Hmmmmm.  Where’s the “Separated for Over a Year, but Ex is an Asshole and Will Not Sign the Settlement Papers” choice?  I was unable to find it.

I never gave this question much thought in my married days.  But now being neither married nor divorced, what should I answer?  How about Nothing?  Why do they care?  What the hell does my marital status have to do with treating my hip anyway?!  Will the doc give me different medication if I am widowed as opposed to divorced?  Will I have different physical therapy if I am single opposed to married?  Hell, I gave my emergency contact as my mom, can’t you figure it out?

And so I left it blank.

I am living my life in limbo in "The Waiting Place."  I am no longer married, but I cannot yet call myself divorced or single.

So what am I?  For the most part I live my day to day life as if I’m divorced.  I call my son’s dad, my “ex” rather than my “soon-to-be ex”.  “Soon-to-be-ex” is much too complicated to explain to my co-workers and acquaintances.  However, the law would say I am “legally separated.”  I would say I am none of the above.  

I am myself.

My not being divorced is not for lack of trying.  My ex and I physically separated 18 months ago and legally separated 14 months ago.  But I still don’t have those stupid signed separation settlement papers in my little fist.  I have no documentation on file with the court to dictate custody, child support, visitation, etc.  We do have an unsigned set of papers that we loosely adhere to.  However, according to the papers, my ex has visitation every other weekend.  He doesn’t visit.  My ex has my son every other holiday.  He doesn’t take him. 

What he does do is pay child support late every month.  He visits roughly every two months on some random schedule only known to him.  He continually threatens to stop child support.  He insists he shouldn’t be required pay the agreed amount regardless that it’s less than the state’s calculated child support amount.  And he threatens to move back to England every other week, so he doesn’t have to pay anything at all.

Basically, he tries to manipulate and control me.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  As a narcissistic abuser, he will continue believing he is above the law.  He will continue thinking he is superior to everyone else.  Could I survive without child support?  Yes, I could.  Would it be easy?  No.  But why should I let him walk away from his duty as a father?  My ex now makes double my salary.  Double.  So, will I continue taking his money?  Hell, yeah.  I’m going to make him pay for his son as is his duty as a father and as required by law.  I’ll keep taking his child support until he makes good on his threats and moves back to England.

In the meantime, I can deal with his manipulation and controlling behavior.  I have to admit it does bother me at times.  But I am in a much better place emotionally than I was a year ago or even six months ago.  I’ve learned to realize there are things out my control and things in my control.  I’ve learned not to overreact, to take deep breaths, and then calmly decide what to do.  His threats and his actions are out of my control.  But how I respond to his threats and manipulation IS something I CAN control.

I’ve learned to let his bluster go in one ear and out the other.  He has made his threats so long and often there is no weight behind them any longer.  When he starts yelling and threatening me I hold the phone away from my ear and then, at a pause, I try talking calmly.  If that doesn’t work, I calmly inform him I’m hanging up, I say goodbye, and press “End.”  I can tell you that listening to him rant and not responding in kind brings me so much satisfaction.  Not rising to the occasion means he is no longer in control.  I am.  And what an amazing accomplishment that is!

In addition, I am eliminating his ability to threaten non-payment by filing paperwork with the Child Support Enforcement office.  I’m really not sure why the hell I haven’t done this by now, but my attorneys didn’t think it was necessary originally and it would take too long if we could work out a verbal agreement.  But at this point, our house is sold, custody is definitely not an issue; so why wait for settlement papers to be filed?  The Child Support Enforcement papers will go in the mail on Monday, and then hopefully, there will be no more threats and no more manipulation because his child support payment will be out of HIS control.  Then maybe I can finally make my way through this land of limbo.

Even if our lives are in limbo, because we are waiting on some decision, a date, or a piece of paperwork; we are not helpless.  First, realize what is not in your control, and choose how you will respond.  Your response is in your control.  In most cases, the best choice is detachment and acceptance.  Second, determine what is in your control and take action. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my career that holds true in my journey of divorce is to be proactive.  Otherwise, you are still a victim to others’ whims and wants.  Don’t wait for something to happen.  Form a plan.  Do your research.  Set priorities.  Then execute your plan.  If it fails, so what?  You stood up and took action.  It’s better than sitting at home on your butt waiting for things to happen to you.  Make another plan and try again. As my mom always told me, “If at first you don’t succeed; try, try, try again.”  Eventually, you will get somewhere.  You will transverse the murky land of limbo. You will leave the Waiting Place behind.  And you will do it by taking action, being proactive, and by not being a victim.

You are a survivor.  And more importantly, you are yourself. :o)

15 Things I've Learned Since Sending My Husband to Jail

"Once you stop learning, you start dying."

~ Albert Einstein

1.        Being alone is okay and actually quite liberating.  It’s no longer necessary to exhaust yourself pleasing someone else.  Being alone means you now have time and energy discovering what pleases you and experiencing the activities you enjoy.  You can learn new skills and grow into the woman you wish to be.  Practice yoga, go running, learn to draw, or go for a hike.  There are a multitude of activities to perform or skills to learn to take care of yourself and be you.

2.       How to change out the battery on my riding lawn mower.  Just remember wear leather gloves and shoes, don’t stand in water, and red equals HOT.

3.       Don’t forget to laugh!  Laugh like a kid.  Giggle.  Laugh so hard your stomach hurts and your eyes water.  Laugh when your day is hectic and stressful and you can’t possibly handle one more thing.  Laughing helps you keep your perspective on what’s important and what’s not.  As long as you are alive, you have a reason to laugh.  Plus, you will achieve the added health benefit of releasing endorphins in your system and relieving stress.

Running with One Headlight: Learning Acceptance

“I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.”
- Maya Angelou

I was having writer's block.  Or maybe it's called blogger's block.  Ideas bounced around in my mind, but nothing was inspiring me.  So I decided to go for a run. 

I began executing my "pre-run" routine.  I began drinking lots of water, ate a healthy breakfast of blueberry Greek yogurt, and some crackers with roasted-garlic hummus.  I took my multi-vitamin and my B-complex vitamin for extra energy.  I put on my wicking performance top, my Athleta running skort, a pair of dual-layer, wicking running socks, and my carefully selected and sized running shoes from a local boutique running shop.  I grabbed my Timex Ironman watch.  As I placed the watch on my wrist I noticed there was no display. The battery must be dead.  Hmmmm. Okay, no problem.  I can monitor time on my iPhone.  Next, I looked for my ear buds so I could listen to my tunes.  My music is a must-have for inspiration during my run.  Where are my ear buds?  Then it hit me.  Damn!  I left them at work.  Okay. This can be easily solved in the modern world.  I hopped in my car and drove to the local CVS pharmacy and bought a new pair of earbuds and a couple bottles of nail polish for later. :o)   Done.  I returned home, opened up the annoying plastic packaging encompassing the ear buds, grabbed my iPhone that acts as my MP3 player, filled up my water bottle, got back in the car, and headed for the running trail.