Both yesterday and today, I pulled Arnie’s retractable leash closer—my thirteen-pound Shih Tzu is no match against murderous talons. A game warden’s tale of fourteen cat and dog collars found in an eagle’s nest along with a Facebook picture of a wiener dog being carried off at the end of his six foot leash, now means I see Arnie’s expanding tether as both freeing and dangerous. Pulling him closer means I breathe easier.

I’m pulling my own leash closer these days. Black Lives Matter, COVID-19, and white supremacy stories stoke my anxiety, threatening to hurl me into a maelstrom of despair. Too much Facebook time, has me believing it’s utterly hopeless to believe we’ll cross the great divide we find ourselves in, united we stand, divided we fall is all but forgotten. Facebook and the news makes me feel like a dog forever distracted by squirrels and treats, unable to focus as I’m anxiously looking for a treat in a story I want to hear; or a squirrel to chase and attack because it’s a story anathema to my beliefs. Both treat and squirrel fling me into an abyss of despair and hopelessness. Both try to convince me it’s an either/or situation, when deep down I know that truth isn’t simply black and white, it’s multiple shades of grey.

How many shades of grey? As many shades as humans on our planet. All our personal histories, experiences and environments contribute to nuances of beliefs and values. There is no black or white, right or wrong, up or down, rather everything is a continuum of opinions. More importantly, no one else’s viewpoint can color my response conforming it to black or white, unless I allow it to. Instead, it’s my job to reach out with curiosity across that great divide, to seek understanding, to say tell me more, and then to listen, not for differences, but for common threads. 

These common threads are the bridge to reuniting America so we can learn from and support each other, bringing us together again to build up all that we have lost. For me to do this, I need to remove my distractions (all treats and squirrels) and pull in my leash by removing Facebook from my phone. And, during this time of abstinence, I pledge to use the extra time to find and strengthen the common threads running through the fabric of my friends, family, and greater community.

 When I feel stronger, less preyed upon, less manipulated, I’ll be back—or not!

This morning, I listened to the news, something I learned to limit pre-pandemic. It felt safer, calmer to avoid the battering political news of me against you, fact or fiction, love and hate. But now, in this pandemic world, I think it’s my duty to listen some, to stay informed, to care about what’s going on in our world. So, I listen to CBS Morning, the only free newscast on my Roku TV. “World in Ninety Seconds” is the brief touch I need as it zips through major news happenings. This morning, I watch the duality of approaches to safety. I see mask and no mask, crowded beaches and boardwalks and I listen to warnings and, what most assuredly is to follow, don’t over-worry.

And then, Caution, what you’re about to see is very disturbing. And, like a moth drawn to flames, I’m at full attention. I see a police officer kneeling on the neck of a man, who pleads he can’t breathe. They say an ambulance is coming because he was in distress even before his throat was pinned to the ground. And I watch him die as the white officers do nothing, hold their ground not wanting to lose their grip.

My throat closes, my belly tightens, my voice quivers as I say to my husband, it must be hard to report on this if you’re black, in response to Gail King, Oprah’s best friend, halting, middle of the road commentary. What I really mean is, I can’t stand this, when will it end, who are we? I suppress the bellowing howl, jump over the beckoning hole threatening to swallow me and pour myself a bowl of cereal, slice a banana, add my almond milk. I feel helpless to do anything more.

I’ve held myself back from this pain before and am humiliated that I don’t remember the names of other racial victims. Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Ahmaud Arbery, the list grows too long. I’m told we must hit bottom before things turn around. But didn’t we do that with pre-civil rights lynching and 1970 riots? Isn’t this just another form of lynching? Why won’t it stop? Each scene is a personal affront to humanity, yet I know my affront is only knee deep. When Trayvon Martin died, the same age as my bi-racial grandson, I waded a little deeper—maybe mid-thigh.

I cringe as I remember years before when my white privilege cautioned my freckle-faced, red-headed son that as a teenager, people would treat him differently, expect him to be doing wrong. Cautioned him to be careful and respectful—but only because it helped him understand why people were trailing him in a store—not because he might die.

All this swirls as I listen to news that consumes my hope and destabilizes my equilibrium. What are these feelings that threaten the steady beat of my life? I dare not open Pandora’s box. Afraid to give it voice, I stop and start—delete a word, a sentence—try to put words to this bubbling belly wound, forever festering in a pandemic world filled with hate, fear and divisiveness. I’d rather soothe it, make it go away, grow a scab over it.

For weeks, a book title has been trying to catch my attention, Love in the Time of Cholera, one of my favorite books, although being one who forgets just as quickly as she reads, I can’t remember why. I dream about writing a new book, Love in the Time of Corona, one of hope and healing, of global love. But I struggle to find a working plot. Maybe, the truth I’m seeking to understand, would be found in writing Hate in the Time of Corona, where we stumble, feel and begin to heal. 

 Now silence is a good thing for an introvert like me, but at some point I had to admit that too much of a good thing just doesn’t work. So, I pulled up my big girl pants and reached beyond my comfort zone. One year later my new life on the Canadian border is nothing short of a miracle. A year ago I was whining and begging not to be left alone and now I marvel at the new life I’ve created. So instead of commenting on this crazy world we’re living in (I may have to change the name of my blog to It’s All About the Money), I’ll start on a positive note and tell you who and what I’m grateful for.

My cozy home surrounded by trees and fields and Porter’s Mountain.

My walks along Lake Road crossing paths with new friends like Jackie Knox.

Friendly transplants like Sarah Strickland helping me find my way.

New and old friends from Hilltop Campground lead by my brother-in-law Doug Diffin building us a garage—for real!

Fellow Washington, DC Women’s Marcher, Leah McLean. Like-minded souls even in a remote place like this.

Rising Tide Women’s Business Network and founder, Lanette Pottle, connecting me to the action up here.

Passionate young entrepreneurs working hard to create a good life for their families.

My creative neighbor and friend, Bonnie Stewart reminding me that I too can be creative. Expressions Gallery in Machias where I’m trying my hand at felting, glass fusion and even painting.

Polar Treat opening in the cold days of spring (still waiting for Muddy Boots to appear).

Robbinston Historical Society and the opportunity to get involved with our tiny community.

Witty Dottie Johnson and her Out and About column in The Calais Advertiser that featured our Christmas trip to Portland.

Mother’s Day opening of Quoddy Bay Lobster where the best Maine lobster rolls can be found.

My monthly four hour sojourns to southern Maine—all downhill.

Climbing back to the beauty of Washington County where my hubby waits (always with a newly cleaned house).

Does it get much better? Maybe, but for now I’m feeling pretty fortunate. Of course, some of you are saying that’s not what she said last week! But life ebbs and flows, you get the good with the bad, the up with the down, the hot and the cold. It’s the great 50/50 that makes life interesting. All we have to remember is to step back with curiosity and embrace what’s around us.

So here I am on Day One, draped in netting to keep the Maine black flies from turning me into a bloody mess. I’m ready for a trek through our 120 acres on old roads that after 10 years of having a “hunting camp” here, I still don’t know even though generations of deer-stalking stories took place on those roads. Those tales fell on deaf ears because I never truly believed I’d be living here.

Here is Robbinston, Maine. Loosely called a town. No town center, no school (the elementary school with 37 students shut down last year), no stores, no gas station, no… no… no. Do you get my drift? Even though I’m a small town girl from rural Wisconsin, Kewaskum had 1,500 residents and Milwaukee was a half hour away. Now the closest big city is Bangor (of King of the Road infamy) and it is 2 hours (with only one rest stop) away.

So here I go, my official Day One, properly garbed, I’m walking up the Quinn Lane—I know that one—almost a dirt road, up a hill into the woods, only a few wet spots to jump over. The dogs trotting along beside us; Arnie running free—Random on leash. She can’t be trusted, I don’t want Richie down the road appearing at my door again asking “is that your dog in my truck? Is that Wayne yelling in the woods?”  I say, “I don’t know, didn’t know they were gone.” And, “do I know you?”

Anyway, an hour later, I’m on Moss Road (I do remember that one and all the deer that got away on it).  I never imagined it so beautiful. Covered in its soft, lush namesake it sure beats walking the paved roads of my old Freeport neighborhood. Freeport, that quaint Southern Maine town of 8,000, home to LL Bean and countless outlet stores. Now that’s the Maine I’m talking about.  Small town living with big city goodies only minutes away. Everything a girl could want.

Then why am I here?  Good question. That’s what I hope to find out. Stick with me—I’m not ready to be alone up here yet!

“Money is the reason my marriage failed,” my new coaching client said.

Damn, I thought … once again, money became the uninvited partner that knocks the sense (and cents) out of two, once-upon-a-time-madly-in-love individuals. Not knowing when, why, or how money took over their most intimate relationship, divorce was now a fact of life.

And that’s the thing—money doesn’t overtake your marriage overnight. It likely isn’t one single big event you can point to and say, “That’s the day when it all changed.” Money takes charge gradually … day-by-day, month-by-month, year-by-year, until it’s no longer just the two of you without money. You’re now a threesome (and not the fun kind)!

So, how does money take over your marriage until you’re at the brink of divorce?

Well, let’s just say, if you want to RUIN your marriage over money, make sure to do the following faithfully …

1. Avoid conflict. Starting from the first date when you both wonder who’s going to pay, avoid conflict by keeping your opinion and preferences to yourself. It’s much easier to keep things “nice” and not rock the love boat. Instead, just make your partner guess what matters to you about money … and then resent them if they guess wrong. That’s fair, right?

2. Remain silent. Even if your parents taught you how to save money, they likely didn’t talk to you about money on a deeper level (because they didn’t know how). As a result, you probably grew up avoiding money conversations because they cause fights, stir up shame (and blame), or felt just plain impolite. Whatever the reason, you learned it’s best to not ask questions about money. Definitely stick with this plan.

3. Judge each other (harshly, and often). Even though you never really talked about money and therefore never fully understood what was going on, you added your own personal spin of misunderstanding to the topic and made that your personal gospel truth. So, how dare your partner do, think, or say something different?! You think, What the hell? They clearly don’t have a clue. Good thing you’re the expert.

4. Embrace shame. Although your partner doesn’t know what they’re doing (a “fact” you point out to them often), never let on that you don’t either. Keep that secret tucked away in a dark corner of shame. Rather than working together to get on the same page about money, work even harder to keep money your own dirty little secret.

5. Recycle the blame. With each money conflict you avoid, judgment gets bigger and blame gets stronger. It’s a vicious cycle that gains steam until every thought, word, or action further drives a wedge into your marriage. By all means, keep this fantastically destructive pattern going (it’s clearly working for you). Before long, you’re miles apart with no way to bridge the gap. Congratulations!

Following these five toxic steps, you’re sure to lose track of each other and forget why you’re together. Let money take over your choices, your conversations, and your values. Instead of money being a supporting role in your life, it now has the starring role in the greatest divorce story of all—YOURS.

Don’t like that not-so-happy ending? Well then, perhaps DIFFERENT choices than the ones above are worth considering. Yes? Money can either fuel your dreams or burn your relationship to the ground. The choice is yours.

Originally published @ YourTango.com.

Your bank account hasn’t been breached … but your THOUGHTS have!

In an odd and unusual turn of events, an accountant, a therapist and a TV producer created a program that combines dollars and sense, money psychology and entertainment. Recently released, The Money Dynamic is worlds apart from Dave Ramsey and Suze Orman’s programs of blame & shame and gloom & doom. CPA Jane Honeck, psychotherapist Spencer Melnick and Joe Thomas of LBD Productions combined their expertise to deal with the root cause of money problems–not just the symptoms–and they do it in an easily accessible and entertaining way.

Face it, traditional money programs are dry, impenetrable and don’t get to the root of the problem. The root of the problem isn’t WHAT you do with your money, it’s WHY you do it! You’re unbalanced and that makes you unhealthy. That’s it. You’re not irresponsible or stupid, you simply have an unbalanced approach to decision-making – and that keeps you running the hamster wheel, making real change difficult and impossible to maintain.

The free, Money Dynamic self-assessment shows you where you’re off-balance and unhealthy. It introduces you to the four master elements, their benefits and the 4 x 25 target. It helps you understand how inherited beliefs, mixed money messages, neuroscience and stress make and keep you off-kilter, unbalanced and unhealthy. Raising your awareness of both the internal and external factors lets you side-step their influence and gives you personal power for making better choices.

The Money Dynamic gives you a new approach that is easy and accessible in every situation. The program gives you everything you need to use all four master elements on a daily basis. Now feeling bad about money can be a thing of the past and it can happen without any pain!

Twelve hundred miles from home, I left my extended family. My four sisters, mom and dad were no longer part of my daily routine. At first it didn’t matter, I was young and free and could easily fly home for family events or the holidays. At least a few times a year, I could bask in the warmth and chaos of my extended family.

And later, I had my own little family in Maine: husband, three little boys, Grammy and Poppa. Not a large family, since the boys’ dad was an only child, but there were aunts and uncles around for gatherings and holiday celebrations. My blended family was becoming abundant.

But then, even that small family shrunk — diminished by divorce. I worried over the consequences of a broken family and what it meant to my three small sons. How would they feel secure with a separate mom and dad and where would they find the loving support from that extended family and the fun times of those big family events that were so important to me? Holidays felt dismal; the same three of us for every event and even my most creative holidays felt like a sham. All I could see ahead were years and years of these lonely, holiday charades.

And now 20 years later, my three sons are one of fourteen step-cousins celebrating a family wedding. And, that’s not all. They are step-brothers to 2 new brothers and 2 new sisters. They are uncles to 3 nephews and 5 nieces. They are nephews to 2 uncles and 1 aunt. And none of this new family even includes my side still 1200 miles away. Clearly tiny family gatherings are a thing of the past.

And that’s not all, these same family gatherings includes the exes — all of them. Husband and new wives, wives and new husbands along with new grandparents. Instead of hosting separate birthday or graduation parties we do them together and that’s where we see the network of support that’s waiting for everyone when we focus on family and the love we all have for our children.

Here’s my truth — In spite of 41 percent of first marriages ending in divorce and 60% of second marriages ending in divorce and 73 percent of third marriages ending in divorce, there is stigma and shame of divorce for all of us who make up this statistic. We’re conditioned to carry the shame and guilt because we believed that marriage is forever and that we divorced people are less than. I see it every day when a new coaching client reluctantly tells me they’ve been married before.

That shame and guilt keeps us from the loving, supportive network of this new extended family. When we get out of our own way and move beyond that outdated fairy tale, we remember that before divorce there was love. When we do, we find a new extended family — one that’s a true blessing to our children and proof that love can indeed, conquer all.

Originally published on YourTango.com.