Monique Faison Ross's Blog

Twice I have taken the Enneagram Personality Inventory. Both times the result is the same – Type 8. I can finally understand what makes me tick in a psychological way. Why traits that plague me don’t bother others and vice versa.

Leah and I have used the results of our Enneagram over the last year to recognize our blind spots, to strengthen us as individuals and as a couple. Once “typed” the Enneagram can be a vital link between the psyche and the spirit of people. The nine different types ���are further distinguished by unconscious motivations and preoccupations that produce patterns of perception, feeling, and behavior which can be gifts or obstacles.���

Some corporations use Enneagram results as required team building. When the knowledge gleaned is carefully used in conjunction with an Enneagram Coach it can be a tremendous asset. The Wisdom of the Enneagram by Don Richard Riso and Russ Hudson has provided decades of guidance in this area of psychology.

Enneagram Type Eight is known as THE CHALLENGER

Basic Fear: Of being harmed, controlled by others or of being vulnerable in any way;

Basic Desire: Maintaining self-reliance and seeking justice;

Strengths: Good sense of right and wrong; firm, action-oriented, good leader, intense, responsible, takes charge, decisive, fair, and protective of others;

Challenges: Intimidating, controlling, confrontational, aggressive, impulsive, quick to anger, and lustful;

General Behaviors: Think of Superheroes and you���d have a pretty good idea of how this personality type functions. Defender of the weak. Fighter of injustice. Queen of the Amazons. Alpha of the pack. Knight in shining armor. They do not tolerate mind games. Eights do not need to be liked but do have a strong need to be respected.

Personality type Eight is named The Challenger because, of all the types, Eights enjoy taking on challenges themselves as well as giving others opportunities that challenge them to exceed themselves in some way. Eights are charismatic and have the physical and psychological capacities to persuade others to follow them into all kinds of endeavors���from starting a company to rebuilding a city, to running a household, to waging war, to making peace.

Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. Protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be ego-centric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating. Eights typically have problems with their tempers and with allowing themselves to be vulnerable. At their Best: self- mastering, they use their strength to improve others’ lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring.

Eights generally have powerful instincts and strong physical appetites which they indulge without feelings of shame or guilt. They want a lot out of life and feel fully prepared to go out and get it. They need to be financially independent and often have a hard time working for anyone. This sometimes necessitates that the Eight opt out of the system entirely, assuming something of an outlaw mentality. Most Eights however, find a way to be financially independent while making their peace with society, but they always retain an uneasy association with any hierarchical relationship that sees the Eight in any position other than the top position.

Eights have a hard time lowering their defenses in intimate relationships. Intimacy involves emotional vulnerability and such vulnerability is one of the Eight’s deepest fears. Betrayal of any sort is absolutely intolerable and can provoke a powerful response on the part of the violated Eight. Intimate relationships are frequently the arena in which an Eight’s control issues are most obviously played out and questions of trust assume a pivotal position. Eights often have a sentimental side that they don’t even show to their intimates, such is their fear of vulnerability. But, while trust does not come easily to an Eight, when an Eight does take someone into the inner sanctum, they find a steadfast ally and stalwart friend. The Eight’s powerful protective instincts are called into play when it comes to the defense of family and friends, and Eights are frequently generous to a fault in providing for those under their care.

Eights are the true ���rugged individualists��� of the Enneagram. More than any other type, they stand alone. They want to be independent and resist being indebted to anyone. They often refuse to ���give in��� to social convention, and they can defy fear, shame, and concern about the consequences of their actions. Although they are usually aware of what people think of them, they do not let the opinions of others sway them. They go about their business with a steely determination that can be awe inspiring, even intimidating to others.

Eights are willing to ���take the heat,��� knowing that any decision cannot please everyone. But as much as possible, they want to look after the interests of the people in their charge without playing favorites. They use their talents and fortitude to construct a better world for everyone in their lives.

In the workplace, Eights can be found in leadership roles. They instinctively take charge of situations and control their environment. Their preference is to make an impact rather than take on a passive role. The result is that they get things done. They deny their weakness and maintain their self-image of being a strong person who���s in command of their life.

Examples of other Eights: Golda Meir, Denzel Washington, G.I. Gurdjieff, Richard Wagner, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, Oskar Schindler, Fidel Castro, Martin Luther King, Jr., Lyndon Johnson, Mikhail Gorbachev, Indira Gandhi, Saddam Hussein, Senator John McCain, Donald Trump, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, Norman Mailer, Toni Morrison, Serena Williams, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Keith Richards, Queen Latifah, Courtney Love, Jack Black, Chrissie Hynde, Pink, John Wayne, Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Bette Davis, Mae West, Sean Connery, Paul Newman, Clint Eastwood, Tommy Lee Jones, Jack Nicholson, Susan Sarandon, Russell Crowe, Sean Penn, Harvey Keitel, Matt Damon, Alec Baldwin, Roseanne Barr, Barbara Walters, Rosie O���Donnell, ���Dr. Phil��� McGraw, ���Tony Soprano”

I encourage you to delve deeper into what makes you and those around you tick. If nothing else, it has fascinating results. At best, it can make you aware of your strengths and areas for growth as it has for me. I have thoroughly enjoyed my Enneagram journey.

* Note: many have asked where to “type” their own personality. Please be sure to use an official RHETI Enneagram app (yes, they exist) with the full 144 questions. RHETI are the initials of the psychologists who developed the original test or you may go to the Enneagram Institute’s website. There are other psychologist that have developed their own version.

*Quotes taken from The Wisdom of the Enneagram��� and Enneagram Explorations

The post The Blessing and Curse of Personality Type 8 appeared first on Monique Faison Ross.

Aspiring writers can easily find an endless amount of nasty or rude rejections wielded by literary agents. But not this time.

“Subject: Query

Dear Monique,

Thank you for sharing your work with me–and for your patience in waiting to hear back. You write well, but I’m afraid that I just didn’t have that “Yes! This is for me!” feeling–so I’m going to bow out.

That said, I’d be happy to hear about any future manuscripts you may have. Please see further information below.

Whatever happens, I hope you will continue writing and sending out your work. In case they would be useful to you, I’ve included a list of my favorite resources below.

Again, thank you for sharing this with me. I hope this finds you well–and writing.

All best wishes.”

Thankfully, I have never received a rude rejection. I know this is due to the highly sensitive and difficult emotional content of my memoir.

I have been the lucky recipient of other positively worded – no thanks – in the past. This one happened to be perfectly timed to get me back to writing. Maybe, if nothing else, it was a reminder to stop allowing all of the distractions of life (even the good ones) to get in the way.

Each time I hear yet another story about a person who has endured months or years with a sociopath the more determined I am to tell the story. Not that of a victim but as the purposeful woman who forged the way for my children in spite of my ex-husband’s efforts to derail me at every turn.

Sociopaths don���t change who they are. I don’t know that they can. They masquerade as empathetic human beings continuing to lure others, adapting along the way, by becoming model members of society.

Fortunately, in my case at least, there are documents, fingerprints that were taken on the weapon, statements made by witnesses, depositions transcribed and still, his version of the events of that day just don’t add up. Regardless of how he has attempted to spin the story of that day, the truth will be told.

What happened to me and my children WILL be told with all its ugliness. As the literary agent encouraged, I will continue to write until I get to that “Yes, I want this story because people need to know.”

The post The Best Rejection appeared first on Monique Faison Ross.

William Earl Faison (January 31, 1939 – June 12, 2016).��Most people know him as the former professional football player, a member, in the 60’s, of the Fearsome Foursome with the San Diego Chargers, an occasional actor or as the teacher and assistant principal who inspired countless students.

He was dad to me and grandpa to my four children. At six feet five inches, 270 pounds, he was a man that almost always had to duck his head when entering most homes. His gait slow and deliberate.

When looking at pictures gathered over the 50 years of my life, I am reminded of the times he held each of my children when they were babies, looking more like a giant with them cradled in his huge arms. His voice deep and reassuring.

Since his death, I���ve been reading the condolences online, strangers reaching out to me to express their sorrow and yet each one I read or hear from, feels unfamiliar.

I have always felt that relationships of all types are a two-way street. Parent-child relationships are no exception. My dad knew that. He came to know many of my views and thoughts through my writing. He read everything I wrote and we discussed many of my website posts, and yet, we never seemed to find a comfortable rhythm as father and daughter.

My father was Christian, I am Jewish. We could not have been more opposite with regard to politics and religion.

I hope to glean insight according to Jewish law, during these 11 months of mourning my dad, that I currently do not have.

I will miss his quick wit, intelligence and humor. If I had known the end was near, I would have flown out to him. But he did not disclose that information and yet he knew it. I have to accept that that was his choice.

I am grateful for the valuable lessons he imparted; for example, teaching me to drive and how important saving 10 percent of every paycheck is. He attended all but one (due to illness) of my children���s bar and bat mitzvahs. He did not hesitate to comment on my cooking both positively and negatively.

My dad did, on occasion, include us in some high points of his career. My son was able to accompany him to San Diego when he was inducted into the Chargers Hall of Fame and my dad proudly introduced his grandson around to other football legends.

He regularly communicated his approval of my parenting. He sent me cards to let me know and told me in person or over the phone, ���they always seem to land on their feet and will do just fine,��� he would say as I occasionally worried about one thing or another.

Our father-daughter relationship never reached the level of understanding that I would have preferred, and I guess he would have too, but time escaped us. Though it was imperfect at times, I knew he was always there, until now.

As those of us in the Jewish community say… may his name be for a blessing.

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I am currently reading The Gifts of Imperfection by Bren�� Brown and have only begun to explore the depth to which she writes.

I don���t think I have ever finished a self-help book except hers. She studies and then writes about the things that get in the way of living fulfilling lives. There is transparency in her words. I like that.

While reading I had a light-bulb moment – I despise my story. The emotions that I struggle to cope with have everything to do with shame and guilt.

���Shame needs three things to grow out of control in our lives: secrecy, silence, and judgment. When something shaming happens and we keep it locked up, it festers and grows. It consumes us��� In this way, we need to cultivate our story to let go of shame, and we need to develop shame resilience in order to cultivate our story.��� Bren�� Brown

I thought I was shame resilient. To be honest, it is an embarrassment to me that I married a socio-path, even though I was only 18 at the time. I consider myself smarter, tougher and certainly independently minded enough to know better.

The author really brought it home with��� ���The stories of our struggles are difficult for everyone to own, and if we���ve worked hard to make sure everything looks ���just right��� on the outside, the stakes are high when it comes to truth-telling. This is why shame loves perfectionists ��� it���s so easy to keep us quiet.���

I know I have said it before but 17 years later, I still do not understand why he tried to, and thought he had, taken my life. His words while checking my pulse ���you���re not dead yet,��� replay like a horrible movie I can���t stop in my brain. The tears come and I fight them. The disbelief never disappears.

What bubbles up is anger and humiliation. Anger at myself for still being so emotional this many years later, for wishing the first time I left him I had never returned; for trying to help him not be killed by the police and for so many other things. Being killed by the police. He certainly did not value my life, why did I value his? If I had known what his plan was all along, none of the above would have happened. I would not have cared about his safety.

I continue to be dismayed by everything that happened during the stalking and ultimate kidnapping. I was blind to the red flags that so many others could see. It was not that I was blind with love because that was not the case. It was that I was incapable of comprehending the unimaginable. We read about those things happening to other people.

After a few chapters, I was finally able to answer my own lingering question. The reason I will never understand ���why��� is because it is not within my mental framework. Efforts to answer that question are futile.

Despite all the unwelcome emotions that this book has conjured, I truly have enjoyed it and look forward to reading another book by the same author.

When I tell my story, people say things like, ���telling your story helps others.��� Well, I hope so because I wish it wasn���t mine to tell. I despise it for myself and even more, for my children. They should not be saddled with the mistakes I made. All the unconditional love I can possibly give them, is not enough to stop the painful memories and ultimate betrayal we all feel.

I sound like a walking contradiction. I guess I am. I am working to publish a story I hate. With time, I will continue to work through the emotions and keep writing about it. Maybe my story will become a gift of imperfection.

The post Shame vs Guilt appeared first on Monique Faison Ross.

���I could never do what you���ve done.��� I realize, while listening to my friend, she was not referring to my surviving a targeted attempt on my life, she meant, my ‘switching teams.’

People often assume my wife, Leah, is the first woman I ever dated but that is not the case. Actually, my first relationship with a woman lasted 22 incredible yet tumultuous months prior to my dating and marrying my wife.

That first relationship was completely responsible for where I am today. I doubt my ex would appreciate knowing that piece of information but it’s true. She and I used to call our ill-fated ‘experiment’ a beautiful mess. The complexities of life got in our way and it was rife with pitfalls. Nevertheless it was one of the most loving adventures of my entire life.

Before Leah and I dated, we were close friends and colleagues. We helped each other through struggles and made sure to celebrate happy times.

When events turned into serious concerns with the first woman in my life, who else should I take my questions to, but my friend, the expert. Leah has been gay all her life and one thing she knows well, is women. What Leah and I discovered when each of our doomed relationships ended, was that we had a lot of the same boxes checked for prospective mates. Honesty, monogamy, intimacy, family, a love of travel, kids, and we are both Jewish. Those were a few of the key traits discovered in friendship that we could now explore in a romantic relationship.

Years ago, when the engagement announcement was made at our work place, whispers grew to an unprecedented high. The reality that my time in Leah’s office chatting about work, friends and life, actually served to lay the ground work for us to date and eventually marry.

Once I fell deeply in love with the woman who makes my heart sing, who balances my personality in countless ways and who doesn���t let me stay angry as I usually can for days at a stretch; outside opinions were irrelevant.

When my four children were okay with it all, we decided to build a life together not just enter into a relationship. Leah not only married me but also became mom to my four children. Something that is not always easy because we are a tight group. The kids and I have been through life altering events together.

Leah and I realize that building a life brings commitment and hopes for the future. No one is able to guarantee something will last forever for myriad reasons but we strive to make it work for us. We try to break old habits from failed relationships. Sometimes we find success in our attempts but often there is room for improvement.

My switching teams has allowed me to live my authentic life and be true to who I am. I can���t imagine being anywhere else with anyone else. I believe things were meant to be just as they are right now.

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It was a beautiful fall day when our fourth child was called to the Torah as a bat mitzvah. The trees were showy with brilliant orange and auburn colors.

The bimah in a synagogue is the raised area of the sanctuary where everything happens. When you enter our synagogue sanctuary, you are greeted with warm earthy tones on the floor that perfectly complement the oak pews and walls. On each side of the bimah, floor to ceiling, there are blocks of stained glass windows that remain illuminated when the room is occupied by congregants.

An important part of the bimah is the Ark. The Ark houses sacred Torah scrolls. Each Torah is handwritten by a scribe on parchment paper and is protected by an artfully made cover. Though the Torah is chanted musically, there are no musical notes to help guide the reader. One must memorize. There are trained helpers standing by if someone gets stuck.

Our friends and family were in town for the big event. Our adult children filled our home with a whirlwind only family members can bring. The house was bustling the morning of our daughter’s bat mitzvah, with breakfast items strewn on counters; some siblings practicing, again, their own Torah reading and the hurried voices of needing to leave on time. On time – a concept lost on a large family. Bathrooms were filled with hair products, towels flying, and clothes everywhere. Our son and future son-in-law ignored our three girls having critical discussions about service outfits and party attire.

With our family in tow, Leah and I were ready by 8:30 a.m. All seven of us arrived without a hiccup.

It had only been 13 years since we had adopted our beautiful little girl when she was just five adorable weeks old. She had been named when she was a baby in the same synagogue by our rabbi.

The service begins with rhythmic sequences of prayers led by the cantor. I was overcome by a tremendous sense of pride seeing our youngest on the bimah. I was truly grateful to be there, in that place, at that moment. After almost losing my life years ago, for me, moments like these, are not to be taken for granted.

As the seats continued to fill, one by one our adult children read their Torah portions, close friends and other family members read too. Our daughter���s godmother, grandparents, a great-grandmother, and other close friends and family members came up, each having a vital role within the service. Our bat mitzvah girl chanted all of her assigned readings almost perfectly. She had a very significant amount to chant and memorize in the two years of continuous practice that led us to this day.

Every single person sung beautifully, except for me.

Many Shabbat mornings we attend services; we’re pretty regular. We look forward to the service, the sermon and then sitting down to nosh and have a chat with our friends afterward.

The same blessings are sung week in and week out so it was surprising, even to me, that my mind went blank when it came to the Aliyah blessing.

Leah and I stood next to our youngest and the room seemed to get even more quiet. It. Was. Gone. The prayer I know in my sleep, disappeared from my immediate memory. I sounded as if I had never attended services. All eyes glued on my stumbling. The more people tried to help the more confused I became. I should have gathered myself and said, ���Please hold, I am starting over.��� That would have been funny to some but not so appropriate in our conservative synagogue.

In the end, hopefully everyone focused not on my complete blunder but on the rest of the incredibly beautiful service.

The moment that filled me with the most nachas (pride) was when our rabbi called our four children up to the bimah facing him and spoke directly to them. He shared with them the importance of being there for each other as they always have and that their continued bond throughout their lives, is essential. It was the most heartwarming moment of the entire weekend for me. Maybe it was because, although our four children do not always see eye to eye, I always tell them, ���The greatest gift I have given you is not only my unconditional love, but each other.���

My youngest pumpkin’s turn had arrived, the last of my four children, and she shined that morning. That evening we partied and celebrated her.

The post Next One up to the Bimah appeared first on Monique Faison Ross.

After the survival of our family’s traumatic events months before, I moved myself and the kids to the northeast from Florida in August 1998.

It began with a call from an old friend, Rabbi Adler, who had relocated his family to West Hartford, Connecticut a couple of years earlier. I had stayed in contact with Rabbi and Leslie Adler after they moved.

���We heard what happened to you. Why not move to West Hartford? There is a Solomon Schechter Day School here for the kids, many synagogues and lots of activities,��� Rabbi Adler told me.

I had always been enamored with the northeast. With its history, quaint towns, small states that make it easy to travel between, four defined seasons and a richness of higher education that is hard to match in other areas of the country. Plus my uncle Rodney lived in Boston.

I flew to Connecticut and spent time with the Adler���s. They showed me around town and I fell in love with the area.

My mind was made up. We would relocate as soon as the kids finished school that year. I would make it work.

I was looking forward to moving to a town where being Jewish and a multi-racial Jew was easy. We certainly did not look like other families in the community but I didn���t care. My children deserved the best education and life experiences I could possibly provide.

The Jewish community represented forty-three percent in our new hometown. Markets carried fresh kosher meats and deli products. Instead of the frozen meat delivery we had grown accustomed to living in Jacksonville that arrived every six weeks from Atlanta. There were nine synagogues in West Hartford and most amazing, schools were closed for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Our first home on Brace Road was a 1920���s soft blue two-family colonial home with white shutters. It had conservative landscape with two unassuming edged bushes in the front and soft emerald green grass.

We entered through one of the two doors at the front of the house, each leading to the upstairs or downstairs apartment. We walked on the honey stained oak floors, and took in the three bedrooms, one bathroom, a sunlit study, living room, dining room, eat in kitchen and utility room.

We found our way around the quaint town, visiting the nearby heavily treed parks, Noah Webster Library, town hall, an ice cream shop and Toy Chest toy store.

My goals were clear. No matter the struggle, my kids would stay active within the community.

Seasons began to change. The heat and humidity would rapidly give way to our first autumn in New England. I was in awe at the auburn and orange leaves that surrounded us on every street. I could barely drive. The vivid colors were nothing like what I had seen in books or magazines. Witnessing the brilliance in person, I knew I was home.

I found a job quickly after school began, through a temporary agency. Winter arrived with an unpredictable force. I tried to budget for monthly oil deliveries for our heat but often juggled bills to pay for heating oil.

I bought us all inexpensive down comforters and the kids, heavy coats, hats and gloves.

We never seemed to get warm that first winter in Connecticut. I splurged on sleds I could not afford and neighbors told us about the best sledding spots. We tried our hand at whizzing down the park hills.

Spring eventually arrived. Luminous green buds stretched out to full size leaves on all the trees. The grass grew in a plush green forcing the dulled brown back into seclusion. In town, spring sports had started, though it was still a bit cold for us. Despite frequent rain, everyone was outdoors.

With the warmer weather arriving, we were again, walking into West Hartford Center. I watched the kids’ t-ball and soccer games. I breathed in the fresh spring air and felt an energy that was palpable throughout the town. People had seemed to hibernate along with the animals during winter, but now neighbors were wearing a smile and holding conversations once again.

The post Relocation After Trauma appeared first on Monique Faison Ross.

When I wake and am unsettled by an odd or scary dream, I look it up right away. The dream resource that years ago was a book on my nightstand has since been replaced with a search on www.dreammoods.com.

I look up each dream snippet (i.e. the house with no windows, a toothless dialogue companion, a tornado). Details are important. Sometimes, I will copy and paste each researched paragraph from the website into one document so that I am able to absorb the information at one time.

The individual parts of a dream will paint a picture of things that need attention. If I react quickly (before I forget), I will retain enough information to get the full message. I have read a bit over the years about dreams and nightmares. I believe they are messages meant for us to receive and think about.

Since I lack the abilities to interpret my own dreams, I lean on an experienced resource to do that work for me.

This method of dream interpretation works for me the majority of the time. Often what we are dreaming about and whom it entails, is very different from what the meaning is, according to dream dictionaries.

Nightmares are what most of us dread. Though they can be terrifying at the moments we are experiencing them, nightmares are actually a way to alert us to something in our waking lives that we need to look at more closely.

What I described here, is my own interpretation of how I deal with my dreaming. Give it a try after your next dream. Research each individual aspect of your dreams and see if the interpretations make sense to you.

Look for the messages in your dreams and see what you can learn from them. They just might be a clue into what you need to work on or be aware of in your waking life.

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I seem to be the only person I know, that is thrilled and excited to be turning 50. My wife Leah asked me if I wanted a party with friends or if I would prefer to spend my big birthday on a family trip? ���There is nothing that can compare to a family trip. I want to be with just my wife and my children,��� was my immediate response.

I don���t understand why friends and co-workers hate the thought of getting older. I guess as much as I can���t identify with their perspective they can���t comprehend mine.

I deserve to be a half century. Emotionally, I feel my best, though I am not anywhere near the physical shape I���d like to be in.

I am a proud red AARP card carrying member (apparently there is a difference between the red and white cards). The red card is the “official” you have arrived at that age card. I immediately put it in my wallet and with pride! My salt and pepper tresses seem to be mounting a hostile takeover against my dark brown curls. I will not dye my hair because I am enthusiastic about every greyish silver strand growing in at the speed of light.

I do prefer to dress so as to camouflage the more challenging areas of my body. My upper body parts are well supported by expensive brassieres from Nordstrom, whose sales team advises about the most uplifting and flattering of undergarments. At the same time I realize these tangible imperfections are proof that babies were carried and nursed for months, leaving nothing physically or spiritually as it once was. Although gravity is working against me, when I look at my pumpkins, I could care less about the physical repercussions.

Some things about me that have not changed over the years are my being outspoken about wrongs I see. I have a strong appreciation for education, both formal and informal. I like social decorum whether that���s table manners, thank you notes or carrying one���s self with dignity. I have always cared deeply about everyone being treated with common courtesy no matter their station in life.

I like people to show me who they are — that way I can include them more in my life or eliminate them quickly from my inner circle. I have little patience for made up excuses. Just give it to me straight. I have zero tolerance for bigots, homophobic people or anti-Semites. I try to stand on principal, though I may fall short at times. For example, as a single parent, I could have greatly benefited from the low prices at Wal-Mart but even in desperate times, I refused to shop there because of how they treat their employees. I will quickly disassociate myself from blatantly unethical people who try to intentionally mislead others for their own gain. In my younger years I think things were harder for me to judge. Who I am today is not the person I was years ago.

I will not hesitate to cut people out of my life with swiftness and rarely look back. What has evolved over the years, is that I am more tactful in how I pick and choose whom to spend time with. Often there are no announcements made, it is more of a quiet slipping away.

Leah and I like being at home, though we enjoy traveling, and we relish our time alone as a couple. It has upset a few people in the past that didn���t understand that about us. Leah and I actually like each other, as people. We wish we worked together again as we once did. In our first year of marriage, we were trapped in the house for a four-day blizzard, all alone, and we couldn’t have been happier. We understand each other���s strengths and areas that need some improvement. Sometimes we meet after work to have a leisure dinner alone, to chat about our day at one of our favorite restaurants, just because. There is something so gratifying in taking time just for us.

These days, I am even more crystal clear with those in my life on what is acceptable behavior to me, where I might have given more leeway years ago. I have divorced (twice), which comes with its own sense of humiliation of failure and choosing the wrong mate, been completely financially decimated and left alone to die at the hands of my estranged husband, but I still take each day as it comes. If I ever wallow at life���s curve balls it���s for a very short time.

I am embracing getting older but I always have. I listen a lot more even if I don���t always take the advice given. I am comfortable in my own skin though this new endeavor of becoming a writer is my only true trepidation. If I had known I would one day be attempting to venture into the literary world, I would have paid closer attention in my classes.

One lesson that seemed to take a long time for me to accept is the reality that people rarely show who they genuinely are in the beginning. In the initial phases of new bosses or jobs, romantic partners or new friendships, why not be truthful? Invariably the truth does come out, whether someone has been ostensibly candid or not.

In the last decade or so, I have always valued the opportunity to make informed decisions. What���s wrong with making the specifics known? Am I the only one who does? I lay it all out, up front. My oldest child once said, ���Mom who does that?��� Well, I do. I see it as preventing myself from ever hearing someone say: ���I thought������ or ���I was told������ I like to know where I stand and I like others to know too.

I am looking forward to this birthday that is still eight months away like no other birthday before it. I have been at my very lowest in life often over these 49 years and I plan to continue to enjoy every single day that I have with my loved ones. I realized long ago, that life can end in an unexpected moment, especially when it was almost forcibly taken from me. None of us know what tomorrow brings.

As I grow closer to that wonderful pentacle of 50 years old, I hope my children will remember a few of the things I have tried to instill. There have been many pieces of advice over the years but most of these I seem to be the only one saying them. Or, am I the only one saying them out loud?

Here’s a little food for thought for you too:

1) What���s wrong with embracing getting older? Don’t we deserve to celebrate the benefits of experience?

2) Why do people feel we must forgive in order to move on? We don���t.

3) It���s okay to cut people out of our lives if it is necessary for our better emotional health; just do it – you will feel better for it.

4) Give your children your all because the stakes are extremely high and still, there are no guarantees.

5) Always follow your gut. That inner voice is usually right.

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It���s that time of year when college acceptances are appearing in mailboxes, accompanied by what many hope will be a generous financial aid package. I have experienced and survived this process three times so far, with one more to go.

The most important relationship I worked to establish when sending a child off to college was an advocate in the financial aid office. I can even tell you the names of each financial aid ���friend��� I made as my children ventured into the world of higher education.

What parents often do not realize is the classes our children take, the nightmare roommates, who will be bringing the refrigerator or the area rug, all get worked out in the end. What hovers like a storm cloud without a jet stream to move it out of our way is the financial commitment. Our children find (or don���t) ways to maneuver around campus; whom to hang out with and whom to avoid.

There has never been one financial aid package I have not appealed for my children. That has included not only college, but law school and even private day school. Just because I appealed and successfully, doesn’t mean I ever received a full scholarship for them. Educating children or going back to school as an adult is an expensive choice. The optimum word being – choice.

My mission as a parent was to get the best possible financial aid package I could negotiate – every single year. Remember it doesn’t end with the first year. The saga continues.

Each college or university has their own process for aid appeals. I was brutally honest in the letters I wrote to ask for additional consideration – maybe providing more information than any financial aid employee wanted to hear. I even sent checking and savings account statements years ago. Emphasis on transparency was my goal. Be sure to submit your FAFSA as early as possible. That will allow the school to look at your finances before all of the aid has been swallowed up by other families.

I have listened to many overly confident parents espouse how certain they are their honor student with numerous high scores on advanced placement (AP) exams, will save them a year���s worth of college tuition. I have witnessed indignant people adjusting in seats while a stale awkwardness blankets the air, when those of us who have gone before them might have a little insight into this misconception of AP credits.

In social circumstances when I am in the presence of misguided parents regarding this topic, I don���t always divulge the lessons learned. The obstacles faced have been numerous, especially when educating my children.

I choose when to share and when not to. It depends on the posturing of the other parent. If they appear to know it all, why bother? I listen to them telling me all they know about the college process. Usually the ones who think they’ve got it figured out, are the ones with high school students.

I remember sitting next to a lovely woman at a social gathering when she asked me where my then high school daughter attended school. When I told her the name of the elite all-girls private high school, she said, ���Wow I would never think of applying there for my daughter.��� I immediately asked her why not? I sincerely wanted to know. She appeared puzzled at her own answer and said, ���I have no idea.���

Our conversation went on like that for a bit. I explained to the woman that the way my mind works is more in the way of – Why shouldn’t my child (any of them) attend a particular school? I asked why shouldn’t her daughter have that opportunity if she wanted it?

I acknowledge that my children might not get into XYZ school but it would not be because we did not at least try. I encounter that type of parental thinking often. They assume they can���t or shouldn’t for unknown reasons. Sometimes the elite whatever school might not be the best choice for a particular child. Not every child needs the highest ranking school or experience. They need the right fit for them.

Not every parent wants to hear that AP credits will not always save them money on future college costs. The student might not get any credit for high scores on AP exams; not realizing that AP credit to waive future courses is solely dependent upon the college or university they will be attending. In my experience, AP exam credit varies based on in-state versus out-of-state and public versus private college.

Before anyone gets all in a huff, let���s look at the Ivy Leagues for example. There is only need based financial aid. That seems extremely fair to me. Academic scholarships are not given. Nor, do the Ivy���s give AP credit. I had a child attend and graduate from an Ivy and they expected students to take all required courses, no exceptions. One thing about Ivy League schools is they make things straight forward regarding AP credits and aid. I was advised to not fear the Ivys because they have the most in endowments and I listened.

Parents would be aghast to hear that their AP accomplished honor student would not get credit for those high scores on AP exams ��� oh the horrors of it all.

What I do know from educating four children, one not yet reaching college age, is that every school public or private does not fit every student. Not every teen should immediately go to college. Every environment is not right for everyone. Some need small private schools, some large you���re just a number type of school and some none at all.

If you have a student going off to college who needs financial aid (because not everyone does), make a genuine connection with someone in the financial aid office and do it right away. Be honest. Put your request in writing and ask lots of questions. Listen. Absorb a little of what other experienced parents who have gone before you say. We might know a little something.

Other people may not have all the answers or more often, may not have the answers you want to hear. It helps to gather snippets of information as you move through the process.

I have learned an extraordinary amount from others over the last 30 years of raising and educating my children. I am decades beyond my first parenting rodeo. I have received countless pieces of advice that I sometimes store for later reference. I have also ignored a lot of information too and that is equally vital. Not everyone giving “assistance” is on your side especially when it comes to competition between parents, which I think is appalling. We all have those types in our lives and know when to keep our distance.

I follow my gut when it concerns my children. Just because someone else might take offense to the choices I’ve made for my kids, I don���t really care. They have spent a lot of time in private schools and some years in public. I have made good choices and ones I’ve later regretted.

Honestly when it comes to my four pumpkins (as they are often called), I don���t need the approval of public opinion. We as parents blunder at times, but hopefully we are all doing the very best we can.

Other than life altering mistakes, most are fixable. Even ones that involve which college to attend. Choices to delay college, learning a trade or trying to get into the perfect school, can be an enormous amount of pressure for everyone involved.

All of us parents need to be reminded to take our egos out of decisions. It���s not always where your child starts but where they finish. Sometimes they are on their own timeline despite our tireless efforts. These critical years are about far more than having an honor, AP achieved, college graduate. What type of human being are you launching into the world? I know a couple of well-educated professionals who are first class jerks (and that was kind) that no one wants to even be around.

As I always tell my children, ���Be careful the company you keep��� and we as parents need to be careful the ���company��� we are raising.

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