Sunday, March 03, 2024

Second Chances and Trusting the Process

It was unbelievable the way I made it back to Fort Myers Beach in May 2023. I woke up in my favorite place on Earth June 1st last year.

The first time any doubts arose about moving back here came a few months in, maybe 2.5. It was on a hot, summer night, AC barely able to cope, my mind doing too much thinking, that I began to question my future here. I put on a Reiki video and the one leading the YouTube meditation and Reiki session said, “Trust the process.” It was as if she was speaking right into my soul in that moment.

So I let go of worry and doubt and decided to TRUST the Universe. It had gotten me back here after a couple of really tough years.

It was the end of September when I learned, during Revive The Vibe, a one-year Hurricane Ian commemorative event, that my ex-girlfriend from 10 years ago was again single. A couple months later, I learned through another mutual friend that she was living on the beach…the beach we fell in love with.

I blogged in the first two months of our life together in Bonita Springs that I felt like I’d been given Three Chances at Life. It was 2013 and Lynn Farber had caught me completely by surprise and swept me off my feet. But when our relationship stalled and I moved away from our Mango Street rental on FMB, I had no hope of ever seeing her or speaking to her again. She refused to see me in April 2014 when I came back to the beach for my things. And once back on our seven mile stretch of beach last year, she made it her mission to avoid me.

That all changed three weeks ago.

And when the Universe gave us a second chance at love and reconnection, we jumped in with our entire person! “Trust the process,” I was told last summer. I did. I also followed my gut instinct and waited for her to reach out. That first text came three weeks ago, yesterday.

We are both incredibly lucky and grateful to be handed this priceless gift. We don’t take it lightly. We have both committed to giving this relationship our all! I am ALL IN, as is she.

I have my person back!

Many people never find their person. Even fewer get more than one chance to make it work. We squandered our first chance. We’ve learned and grown. We have decided to trust again and make this leap together. Where the Universe takes us is anybody’s guess. I remain open to possibility, all options on the table, no holding anything back this time.



Monday, February 12, 2024

Splintering of the Ex-Scientologist Community


I knew so little about the Cult of Scientology before this show aired on A&E. I was riveted. Already a fan of Leah Remini from her time on "King of Queens" with Kevin James, I became a fan of this docu-series exposing the abuses of this destructive cult. It was enlightening and frightening at the same time.

Fast forward a few years, and about the time that I really start digging into YouTube, making it my primary form of entertainment (ditching cable almost exclusively), the Danny Masterson case heats up and he's about to go on trial. I watched everything Tony Ortega put out. Then I found Aaron Smith-Levin's popular channel, called "Growing Up in Scientology."


It quickly became, and still is, one of my favorite channels on YouTube. ASL is quite entertaining and opinionated. He speaks his mind and often gives the caveat, "But what do I know? I grew up in a cult!" LOL! The first bit of drama about the Masterson case arose when he attacked Tony Ortega for profiting off the stories of ex-Scientologists, many of them victims of childhood trauma and abuse (of all kinds). They do not like each other.

ASL was a board member, and co-founder, of The Aftermath Foundation, which became a household name thanks to Remini's docu-series. They do great work advocating for victims of Scientology and helping them break free of it's seductive hold. Those within the community of ex-Scientology were labeled as "suppressive persons" by the cult (COS). They proudly wear the label and even call their YouTuber community, SPTV, for Suppressive Persons Television, complete with a retro, MTV-esque, logo.


During the Masterson trial, ASL found himself entangled in a romantic fling with a California woman who alleged abuse. He gave his side of the story on his channel months after the fact. He counters her claim and alleges she was the abuser, not him. This caused a great rift within the SPTV community.

"DRAMA!"

And next we know, the board of The Aftermath Foundation is demanding ASL's resignation, the charge led by Mike Rinder, who everyone knows from Remini's show on A&E. Rinder, a once ranking member of COS, who is now speaking out on their mob-like practices from his own personal experience, co-hosted the show. He was apparently not a fan of ASL nor his over-the-top persona and YouTube channel. Rinder gave the foundation board an ultimatum, either "he goes or I go," speaking about ASL.

The SPTV camp began to splinter, catching Remini in the middle. Rinder and the Headley's (Claire is foundation president) in one camp, ASL and his associates in the other. ASL has publicly criticized Rinder, the Headley's and the foundation, which he co-founded. He has also stated his intent to start a new, rival foundation.

What began as a noble crusade to help victims, many of them suffering PTSD from child sexual abuse inside the cult, is now a made-for-YouTube soap opera. It's sad, really.

At the heart of it is oversized egos.

Well, now, Rinder has criticized one of those victims who appeared on "Scientology and the Aftermath." He's come under fire from the ASL camp in SPTV land. He's once again showing his arrogance and complete disregard for the community. It has splintered the group beyond recognition or any hope of reconciliation.

They dropped the ball, lost sight of their primary mission. What was once a shared mission of helping abuse victims and combatting the years of gaslighting by COS, has now devolved into a daytime drama online.

Shame on you people!

Lose the egos, get back on track and quit making all these HOUR-PLUS, self-serving, clickbait videos. It's become tiresome...exhausting really!

Wednesday, January 03, 2024

Caring too much and carrying the weight

I had someone close to me last year tell me they are jealous of my "gypsy lifestyle." I found that characterization quite interesting and not all that far off. But here's the thing...it seems to denote a carefree lifestyle. I'm neither carefree or careless. Quite the contrary, I care TOO MUCH at times.

More recently, a newfound friend and confidante told me that I am effected by other people's energies and so I must be careful. I am careful, especially in avoiding negative energy from others. If it gets too much, I simply walk away.

But her words were true and impactful. Because I care so much (not saying I'm a total empath, but I certainly don't lack empathy), I do tend to absorb people's energy. I want to get down in the dirt with them and feel the sensation of the damp Earth. Embracing someone with the same dirt as you under their fingernails is much more impactful than someone filled with sympathy or pity. Really understanding what another is going through is monumental in fostering and maintaining strong connections.

I might live like a gypsy, but I really do care...not so much what other people think, but what they are going through in their own lives. Being empathetic and absorbing that energy is like helping to carry a heavy load. But you do that for a few close friends and the weight can become too much, unbearable even. You've heard the expression, "Carrying the weight of the world." Well, I believe that's where it came from...an empath who cared too much, absorbed too much and didn't know when to set healthy boundaries.

I said that I'll walk away from someone vibrating on a lower frequency. I don't want to absorb their negative energy. So I have learned to set boundaries. Still, I find myself taking on too much and forgetting about self-care, at times.

My new friend who seems to get me on a cellular level warned me about doing this recently. She is a great friend who I greatly admire and respect.

If you don't surround yourself with people of similar energies and frequency as you, you'll succumb to the level of the company you keep. The weight of their negativity, or just the circumstance they find themselves in, can bring you down. Be healthy. Set boundaries and stick to them.

I think I'll keep my gypsy lifestyle a bit longer. It's not as carefree as it seems, but it suits me.

Wednesday, December 20, 2023

John Varner and my connection to his family

John Varner (1792 - 1870) was born in the Commonwealth of Virginia the same year that the western wilderness known as Kentucky was admitted to statehood. The young Varner (a German surname, not sure of the timeline of immigration) became acquainted with that wilderness south of the Ohio River and joined the Kentucky Militia, serving during the War of 1812, and continuing his service as private for a period of five years.

In April 1813, he married Rebecca McCarty, a Pennsylvania native born in 1795. They lived in Harrison County, Kentucky, at the time, in the central part of the Bluegrass State, between Lexington and Cincinnati.

The following year, due west some 230 miles, upon the banks of the Wabash River, the Rappite community, known as Harmony, was springing to life. Founded by George Rapp in 1814, the river town would become home to a utopian society and renamed New Harmony in 1825. It was during this rapid period of growth, 1814-25, just as Indiana was becoming a state, populated along it's southernmost rivers, that my Mills family moved there from nearby Gibson County.

John Mills (1809-1897), my fourth great uncle, was intrigued by the growth of the town and it's new owner Robert Dale Owen. He married my aunt, Elizabeth L Varner (1814-1894), in Posey County, 22 Mar 1831, and they became involved in the community theater. Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of John Varner, of Virginia. He'd relocated to Harmony (Posey County, IN) sometime in the 1820's during the town's boom. The Varners and Mills obviously became well acquainted by this time and both families appear on the 1830 U.S. Census there.

Uncle John Mills was a member of the Thespian Society (1839) and active in politics. Later, he became a government surveyor and worked to survey lands across the Wabash River in Southern Illinois. My Mills became pioneers of White County, IL, and are written about in the county history. The Varners also moved to Illinois, settling in Saline County, some 50-plus miles southeast of New Harmony. That's where John Varner died in 1870. His wife, Rebecca, died three years later in Eldorado, same county. There is no record of their burial.

Elizabeth (Varner) Mills also had two siblings who married into my Mills and Hussey family (my Gibson County pioneer ancestors). Her younger sister, Sarah Ann Varner (1821-1908), born in New Harmony, married John's younger brother, my 4G Uncle Samuel Corson "SC" Mills (1812-1887) in Posey County, 10 Sep 1837. Sam and Sarah also moved to White County, IL, in the 1840's. The 1850 U.S. Census shows Sam was a Grayville innkeeper. From there, they settled in Menard County, IL, further north.

Elizabeth and Sarah had a younger sister, Mary Sneed Varner (1823-1904), also born in New Harmony, and she married George Buell Hussey (1819-1843) in 1840. George is my first cousin and his mother was a Mills (John and Samuel's sister, Aphia, in fact). His uncles probably influenced his move to Posey County from Gibson and introduced him to the Varner family. But unfortunately, he died three years into his marriage before the families moved to Illinois. His widow did move and remarried in White County in 1847.

Interestingly, John and Rebecca Varner had a son in New Harmony in 1827. They named him Robert Dale Varner (1827-1913). He didn't marry into my family, but I found his name interesting. Robert Dale Owen had purchased New Harmony from the Rappites two years earlier.

So my family was very connected to the Varner family, from the moment they arrived in [New] Harmony around 1820. John Varner started out as a shoemaker, according to his Kentucky Militia record, but soon went into farming, an occupation he held in Indiana and Illinois.

My Uncle Samuel "SC" Mills, remained connected in business to my 4G Grandfather, Dustin Mills, his brother in Gibson County, IN. They developed a chain pump for wells, which they sold in Port Gibson when the Wabash and Erie Canal was in operation. Both men were carpenters, by trade, and farmers.

My Mills arrived in Gibson County from Kennebec County, Maine, circa 1811. The Husseys arrived a short while later from the same area of Maine, coming by way of Ohio, where George B. Hussey was born. The Mills were pioneers in Southern Indiana and Illinois.

Thursday, December 14, 2023

ARE ONE-PERCENTERS SCARED, YET?!?!

 


They know how the French Revolution started, right?

Are they scared, yet?

Back at the beginning of the 19th century, it was the "Second Estate" who held all of France's wealth, well them and the Church (i.e. "The First Estate"). They represented TWO PERCENT of the nation's population. In 21st century America, the wealth holders are an even more elite ONE PERCENT. They know what happened to France's Two Percenters, right?

So have they learned nothing from history? You can only stand on the necks of the other 99% for so long before a grumble becomes a revolt becomes a revolution that totally topples your government. I feel we are on the verge.

Ever since the George Floyd riots and the BLM movement came on like a storm, we've seen a shift in the national consciousness. It stands to reason. My daughter's generation is one of the most liberal we've seen since the civil unrest of the 1960's. Millennials are about to take over at the ballot box. And they don't like the choices they are being given--a convicted felon/wannabe dictator or a mostly dead old money Democrat/career politician/baby sniffer. There is no winner in that two-ticket scenario. I'd rather vote for a rotting carcass.

The one-percenters have done their damndest to hold onto power. But rich, old white dudes, I've got news for you. The clock's ticking and you're not getting any younger. Shoot yourself up with collagen, dye your hair, hell, cryogenically freeze yourself and blast your frozen self into space, your time is up. The revolution is coming for you!

I've been preaching this to my daughters since they were in middle and high school. "Get involved and TAKE BACK YOUR GOVERNMENT!"

They want to see a government that works for them and regular people and stops treating corporations like they are the weary and poor. Sidenote: Why do we call it socialism only when it benefits real, breathing human beings??? STOP CORPORATE WELLFARE AND BANK BAILOUTS!!!

Start listening to the populous or they'll be forced to demand your attention at guillotine point. How fond are you of your heads?

Are you even listening one percenters?

Those who don't learn from history...and we've been going down this Revolutionary Road for some time now. If January 6, 2021, taught us nothing else, we are ripe for another 1776 moment. Instead of fighting a monarchy and parliment an ocean away, it'll be our very own government on these shores...on the very steps of our Capitol. Sad that it has come to that, but do you see another way out? (NOTE: I don't condone the Jan 6 attacks in ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM. It's not the politicians who are to blame anyway, it's their corporate backers. Go after them!)

The one percenters aren't going to let go of the levers of power, not until we pry them from their cold, dead fingers. Yet the vast majority of you will sit there, all cozy, in your whitewashed suburban paradise with two cars tucked safely in your garages, thinking nothing can be done to fix Washington DC.

Well, Trump certainly wasn't the answer. He didn't drain one centimeter of the swamp. Nor is the mostly dead Commander-in-Chief. WE NEED NEW BLOOD! And if you think AOC is "out there," wait until you see what's coming!

Millennials are hardcore leftists, by and large. They could give a shit about your blue blood or your institutions. AND I'M HERE FOR IT!

Housing prices are astronomical, as are groceries, fuel and other staples of our Western civilization. You can't keep expecting hard-working people to hold three jobs while trying to raise children and maintain a home. It's just not sustainable. And why should it even be that way? So rich, white, old men can keep lugging their 350-pound frames into their Wall Street brokerages, smoking thousand dollar stogies and laughing at the rat race we continually run for their amusement? 

We're tired of running on the hamster wheel. It's time to get off.

We've let them control the narrative for too long. And look what they've done with it! Divided us, that's what. They've painted us into left and right boxes, playing on our fears to keep us separated, when there's a whole lot more that unites us. Our hatred of the one percent, for example. But like sheep...

I'm not a sheeple. I see the writing on the wall.

Do they?

Tuesday, November 28, 2023

On Becoming Orphaned

I know it’s a funny word choice at my age, but feeling orphaned after losing your parents is real. And as we approach the 8-year mark since Mom’s passing (tomorrow), I’ve been more reflective. I’ve made several posts on social media to memorialize her.



Since losing Dad two years and two months ago, almost, I’ve had that feeling of being an orphan, parentless. And though I’m well equipped at 55 to face life without them, it still sucks. I can’t send Dad an e-mail or post to his Facebook funny memes, favorite songs, or pick up the phone to tell him I’m thinking about and thankful for him. Nor my Mom, though she loathed social media. She’d pick up the phone once a quarter and catch-up for an hour or so, if she hadn’t heard from me.

I miss their presence in my life even if it wasn’t immediate. Just knowing they were a phone cal, an e-mail or a Facebook post away gave me great comfort. Now that they are gone, there is a noticeable void in my life.

And forget my family! That unit disintegrated the moment my Mom was gone. We knew right away she had been the glue holding us together. Grief and sibling rivalry took over. It’s been a slow decline ever since. I still have two siblings I don’t associate with, especially since Dad’s passing in October 2021.

It was bad enough losing them, but losing our sense of family? That’s made it doubly rough.



My parents were young lovers who first met during middle school. They didn’t attend the same school, but lived just blocks from each other in the Tower Heights neighborhood of Princeton, Indiana. Dad says he first noticed my Mom while delivering the newspaper. He was smitten.

They were just 20 years old in the photo above, standing in the snow outside my grandparent’s house, holding a young Christopher. I was blessed to have young, hip parents who were cool to hang around. All my childhood and high school friends liked them. I like to say we grew up together, my parents and I.

We didn’t always remain close. My leaving the church around 2005 was difficult for them to accept. My divorce seven years later was even more so and drove a wedge, particularly between my mother and I. But her cancer diagnosis in 2014 changed all that. Just months after my failed attempt during Spring Break in Panama City Beach to bridge the gap, my mother called me with the news. We cried together, then came together that summer. I’ll never forget our conversation on her back porch in Noblesville, IN, when we finally reached understanding.

This time of year—October and November—is especially hard these days. As I mentioned, tomorrow marks eight years since Mom left us. It doesn’t get all that much easier. I just find writing, whether in my journal, this blog or on social media, therapeutic, so thank you for obliging me. Becoming an orphan, even at 53, sucks. It’s difficult to come to terms with. Your parents are monumental in shaping your self image. Once they are gone, you do a lot of evaluating, at least I have. I came away thankful for the gifts they bestowed and the character they helped to shape in me. I know they are/were proud of me, their oldest child. I can take some comfort in that.

Rest in peace, Mom and Dad, your eldest orphan.
 

Tuesday, October 17, 2023

Community: Connections that heal

"We don’t heal in isolation, but in community.”– S. Kelley Harrell

“We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.” – Herman Melville


In my journal this morning, I shared a moment of gratitude for the connections I’ve made on Fort Myers Beach. So many of my friends and neighbors are friendly, kind-hearted folks from the Midwest. I was journaling just how blessed I am to live here.

I acknowledged Goodness & Mercy for bringing me in contact with so many good people. I really love the people on this island. It fills me with a sense of connection to this place, one that I’ve felt for more than a decade.

COMMUNITY

I am blessed to be a part of this island community. I feel a sense of community here that I haven’t felt in over two years.

I understand the importance of it. I am a pack animal. Since childhood, I’ve always been very social. I guess you could say I “came by it honestly.” My mother, God rest her soul, was voted “class flirt” in her 1967 high school yearbook. 😄 Everyone of my high school teachers told my mother, “Chris is always talking in class. If he’d just apply himself…” But that was the best part of attending a small, Catholic high school with kids I’d known for years…some since the first grade!…was being social and honing some basic and crucial life skills. I didn’t realize it as a teen, but I was building community. And a few of those connections have lasted a LIFETIME!

Feeling connected to “your pack” helps provide a sense of belonging. I realize that now that I’m older. I appreciate and cherish those connections. It helps to waylay loneliness and the feeling of isolation.

In the Information Age in which we live, it’s easy to rely on social media for those connections, but it can create a false sense of community. I try to see platforms like Facebook and Instagram as vehicles to maintain those connections and create new ones. I have more of an appreciation for that having been off the latter for almost a year before rejoining in July. It’s so nice when those virtual connections get flesh and bone when I finally meet a new FB friend in person! And since moving back to the island, you wouldn’t believe how many new friends have come up to me excitedly, “I follow you on Facebook!” It always makes me happy. A new member added to my pack.

MY BOULDER COMMUNITY

Meet Nicole Speer, Boulder Town Council progressive now running for mayor. She is part of my pack out there. We met while volunteering to feed and clothe the city’s homeless. My pack included MOSTLY unhoused people, as I was one of them.

I made good use of my time out there in 2020-21 advocating for the unhoused while living with them and volunteering to assist them get a leg up. They WERE my community, a tight-knit family.

I volunteered weekly with Feet Forward, Inc., founded and operated by my friend Jennifer Livovich. Her organization fed me in the park several times, then I began helping her team setup, befriending many of them and earning her trust. In a matter of weeks, I was at her place helping to organize and load supplies for the weekly community meals. It’s where I made many friends, like entrepreneur and Feet Forward board member Graham, and volunteers and community activists, like Nicole.

I met her when she was considering a run for City Council and became a member of her campaign team, helping with social media content. She got elected the month after my father’s passing forced me to leave Boulder for good. And now look at her! I am so proud, as she is a beautiful person inside and out!

But I realized with this morning’s moment of gratitude just how much I MISSED THAT feeling of community.

I left Boulder, buried my Dad and bounced between the Indianapolis area and Evansville for months at a time, 19 of them in all. At the end of May, I landed back on Fort Myers Beach…MY BEACH! This island has felt like home to me since I first landed here the summer of 2011. And not a day goes by that I don’t ride my bike up and down this seven-mile paradise and get waved to, honked or hollered at by a member of my community.

It feels good to be connected again…to have a pack. That’s all.