Running In The Rain....

This morning greeted us with snow.

Yup. Snow in OCTOBER. WTF?

Anyway.

P and I have a 5k tomorrow morning so we had been debating on which clothes to wear and eying the weather. For those who don't know, my daughter Parker (P) is seven and already an amazing athlete. Not because I push her (I wish she'd sit still or slow down just a little quite frankly) but because ever since she was born she has just had this urge to RUN and tumble.  Once she found her legs she would lap the giant center island of our kitchen over and over and over. 20, 30 minutes at a times. She'd just run and run. She may be the only child that when bored will run laps in the house. We have a long gallery of hardwood that's about 25 yards and many days I will hear her just start. She runs from one end, to the other....then back, then forth, then back. Etc. She makes me tired.

Last year, Captain Awesome and I were doing our first 5k together (wow, has it only been a year?) and he suggested we take P with us so she could do the 1k kid's run. We did and she nailed it in about 5 minutes and a few seconds. I was stunned. She LOVED it.

"More, Mommy! More!" she said.

So I signed her up for a one mile with me this past Spring. She polished it off in 7:31.

Wow.

THEN she wanted a 5k just like mommy because one mile was "a warm up" she said.

Okay.

So I let her run her first 5k in September. She nailed 31:08 as her first 5k time at age seven.

Wow.

I am in awe of her. I share this because I don't push her. I don't drag her out to run. I don't even ask her to. But if she even senses me easing towards my running shoes she is all over me, "I want to go, too! Take me! I want to run!"

So I do. Night gear with reflectors, she is on her SECOND pair of Vibram VFFs and has her first pair of Saucony's for when it's colder or damp. I even got her a Road ID like mine.

So....this morning I asked her, "Do you want to run in the snow and do a gear clothing shoe check for tomorrow's race?"

I really hoped she'd say, "No".

But she burst into a smile and RAN to get dressed.

Sigh.

I showed her how to layer and we talked about the difference running in weather and she insisted on the VFFs so I let her walk out the front door in them and get halfway down the drive in them in the slush and the sleet then asked if she wanted to go back and switch shoes....she did. lol

BUT she did not want to quit. Even though, I confess, I did.

Shoe change and back out we went.

I grew concerned because the drive and street was pretty slushy and all it would take was one good slip to take one or both of us out. We warmed up with a walk and my knee twinged and said, "I swear to Nike that if you run on me in this shit I will totally fuck your ass up. Understand?"

I understood.

I told her that mommy was going to just walk this one but she could run it out (we have this set of loops so I will sort of set her off like a boomerang so she comes back to me in loops so I can see her at all times and yell if there is a car coming).

I let her run after I told her to keep it slow and careful.

Then, off she went. Slow. Careful. Deliberate. This slight little one. All of 39-42 pounds depending on how much pizza she eats the night before. Thin but solid muscle from running, gym workouts with her kids training class and gymnastics team. She was in little black running pants and layered with a long sleeve technical shirt, a fleece, and her LL Bean Windbreaker over it all due to the rain snow mix. Hood up....she ran that little run so careful (she can run like a Kenyan when the weather is good) and I just stopped (my knee said to) and watched her loop. She looked like a miniature version of an Olympian runner. Plodding along. Rain and sleet is hammering down and she just trots along, head down, smiling.  She had insisted on testing the run with her red devil tail since tomorrow is a Halloween theme costume run and so the little red devil tail with a poof of bright red feather boa peeks out from under her rain jacket.

Wow.

What a moment.

She looped back to me and was smiling and asked if there was an icicle on her nose. I told her that was snot and we both laughed. I told her mommy wanted to stop and I was worried about us slipping and getting hurt before tomorrow. She confessed she had splashed in a huge puddle and her feet were now soaked and cold. I suggested home and a hot shower and she agreed.

So we did.

We didn't run very far. I didn't run at all. She made one loop.

But that was such a moment to see her, head down, running.... Not because I made her or told her or pushed her.

Because she simply loves to and wanted to and enjoyed it. I'll never forget that little blue hooded figure with the little red devil tail poking out behind it wagging as she dashed off away from me.  That's my little girl.

We are showered and have some plans for today and as I typed this she started to run laps from the front door to the back of the sun room. Back and forth, back and forth.

I don't tell her not to run in the house....because I am glad she can and does. 

GREED

I have seen a number of people arguing this entire Wall Street Occupation for days now. I sit back and watch like a tennis match because, in my OPINION, no one is really addressing a key point.  PERSONAL GREED. Oh yes, we have heard it from the mountains about the big evil rich corporations and how bad and awful they are. But, until my fried David Harris posted this today, no one had stepped up to smash the sacred cow of the masses: their OWN greed.

“The proletariat masses that are looking to shift blame off of their own sorry shoulders need to look in the mirror and see that they are equally to blame for the current state of the economy. People losing their homes because they accepted a mortgage payment at 95% of their monthly worth, quite frankly, DESERVE TO BE HOMELESS! Fuck 'em. No one held a gun to their head and made them sign a mortgage contract. They had the data in front of them, and were so blinded by the notion of owning their "dream home" that it never occurred to them that maybe, just maybe, they couldn't afford it. This whole nation lives beyond its means, and now the public, the irresponsible sheep that they are, are reaping what they've sewn. And as for the "criminal banker" that gave them the mortgage? All they did was say "Here's the deal. Do you want it? Yes or no?" The public is to blame for this... mostly. Was the bailout a load of shit? Of course it was. No argument there. And after the stupid bailout, with the current administration touting increased taxes for the rich, who could blame them for pocketing what they had? I would have done the same thing. If you're going to take what I have coming in, of course I'm not going to spend what I already have. I'm hanging on to it until you go away.” 

~David Harris

Many years ago, I sat in a little office on a home site, wanting to own my own home. The sales lady asked us how much we made annually and we told her. She wrote down….50k more than we said. We stopped her and corrected her. We did not make THAT much money.

”Oh….no worries,” she said, “We just do that for the finance people.”

“But won’t the finance people calculate whether or not we can afford the home based on that number?”

“Well, of course.”

“And if you put that number it won’t be an accurate analysis of what we can afford?”

She looked at us like we were morons.

“Look, I am just trying to help you here….don’t you want this?”

Pause….

We did. We wanted a home very much. We were so sick and tired of living in an apartment. Carrying groceries up flights of stairs. People jumping and stomping above us. Indian curry smells wafting from below. We wanted our own place. So bad. But…not that bad. She tried desperately to make the sale. Even invoking the “everyone else is doing it” clause.

We walked away. And tried again. Time and time again we got sales and finance people pushing us to overextend or just flat out lie.

I am not a super genius. I am not brilliant. But I am smart enough to know that if I only make $10 a month and my mortgage is $20 dollars a month, lying and saying I make $30 a month AIN’T GONNA PAY THE FUCKING MORTGAGE!

How many people did that? Let those sales people suck them in and talk them into ignoring the truth because they were so greedy to have that home so they could boost their ego or make their wife happy or impress the fellows at work?

How many of those protesting RIGHT NOW are those same salespeople who knew very well what they were doing was bullshit and did it anyway to line their own pockets.

That wasn’t the corporations. Those sales people could have refused to be dishonest. Those people who bought could have done just what I did and said, “No thanks. I can’t afford that.”

And it’s not just houses. Look at credit card bills… Yes. Some people hit hard times and used them to buy groceries and put gas in their cars. I am not ranting at them.  But I am pointing a slender delicate razor sharp red fingernail tipped one at those who loaded up on things they didn’t NEED out of GREED:

• Video games and systems
• Expensive furniture
• Designer clothes, shoes and bags
• Jewelry
• Clutter from: Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel, Ikea, Best Buy, or Target etc etc etc
• More expensive clutter from more expensive stores.
• Trips they could not afford
• Crap for their whiney kids they can’t say no to.
• Expensive gear/electronics/smart phones etc.

This is not something I have gone into but another huge disconnect with douche bag was his attitude towards money. When I first met him he was (or appeared to be) very responsible with his money. If he wanted something he would save up for it and buy it with cash. I was delighted that he seemed so responsible. Problem was, he simply had not had the means to be irresponsible. Once he got that first credit card it was like he went mad. If I said no, I was a bitch. If I tried to point out that he already had three game systems and with him being laid off we didn’t need a fourth he would yell and scream and rant. He wanted EXPENSIVE everything. From his tequila to his sweaters to his cigars. And when a time came he had to PAY for it all he ignored that and wanted to spend more. I tried to talk sense into him and he would pretend to agree with me…but then he would just buy something else. Tell me, “honey, I paid the AMEX bill this month so you don’t have to worry.” So stupid me just believed him.  I am the type of person that when I went to London, the plane tickets were paid off before I went. London was paid off before I went to Hawaii. Hawaii….well….STILL paying that off. But I am not going anywhere else until I do. His perspective was, “Who cares? We will all die in 2012 according to the Mayans so why not?” Yes. He said that. He actually said that. And when he met the people who over extended themselves and then just filed bankruptcy and it was all hunky dory…. I lost what teeny tiny amount of influence I had in trying to get him to be responsible.  How many times did he go behind my back to buy something? Too many.  How many times did he hide the credit card statement from me? Too many. Should I have paid more attention? Yes. But I thought I was supposed to trust my husband. I thought I could. I thought wrong. (This is a heads up to any man who wants to get with me that I will never just trust them with money again and will always have my nose in that business and an iron grip on the purse strings).

What so many people are failing to address is this:

The big evil corporations didn’t force everyone to want their products or services. No one is forcing Absolut vodka down your throat when you can just as easily get the cheap stuff.  Look around at the people who are out there wearing designer this and exclusive that. Who idolize the celebrities carrying $14,000 purses. $14,000 for a fucking purse? Bitch, please. I don’t think ANYONE who carries a $14,000 purse should be allowed to open their mouth about corporate OR individual greed.

If you are not one of these people, then you know I am not talking to you.

But I bet you know them.  There are plenty of people out there that are greedy and have no sense of personal responsibility. THEY are the ones that gave that power to the corporations/designers/etc. Those people made money, sure. But they made it off the GREED of the herd. And the herd wants to ignore that and sweep it under the rug.  At least I am honest about my own greed and want and desires. But I see so many others who aren’t.  I am the 1%. That’s true. The one fucking percent that says it like it is. Greed is not “bad” or “wrong” or “evil”. It’s what you do with that greed and how it affects yourself and others that is an issue.

Greed can be a motivator or an impetus or a catalyst. Or it can be a curse, a sickness, or even your death.

As a great man once said, “Indulgence. Not compulsion.”

Next time you see people complaining, take a long hard look.

Next time YOU complain….take a long hard look.

If this is not applicable to you, then you know that.

But if it IS….then you know that, too.

What this looks like to me is that there is a large percentage of people who were greedy as all hell and got screwed by their own greed and are now pissed off they can't keep their crap or get more. This is not applicable to everyone but many other people are now being asked to pay THEIR bill. Perhaps when people start to live within their means and stop giving power to the corporations they rage against....the tide will turn. If you want to hit them where it hurts: be responsible and hit them in their pockets with your right to say no to their crap, their marketing, their overpriced goods. This is not all the fault of the corporations. The people who allowed this shoulder some of the blame as well by feeding the machine as long as it gave them what they want.  Now they all want a special code to type in for free energy, free money, free level ups or immortality. 

Life is not a video game and you can only cheat for so long before it bites you in the ass. Take responsibility for your actions and the consequences of them. And don't get caught up in the propaganda that is spewed by the media or those who don't want to own their own role in the mess.

That is all.

But Does He Know What You Look Like....?

"I married you even though you aren't that pretty or thin....most men wouldn't have."
"I could leave you because you gained some weight....but I won't since I am a nice guy."
"I wasn't worried about him wanting you...I mean....really...he was just messing with you."
"I don't worry about you cheating on me. It's not like many men would want you."
"I kind of like that you aren't perfect because I don't have to worry about someone wanting you."

And on and on and on and on....

I like to think I am a smart woman. I am academically, I suppose. But after 12 years of hearing things like that ad nauseum.... I recognize how my thought process has been skewed by his words. He was never mean. More just like he was kidding or joshing or reminding me what a great guy he was by settling for/with me.

Then, it got worse.

"When we were in France, I was ashamed to be seen walking with you. Embarrassed for me and for you."
"I can't possibly get hard around you. No man could."
"Not even I am generous enough to love you despite your looks."

Etc.

I think the final straw came a few months after we had seperated. He had come over to spend a few hours with our daughter and he immediately had to brag to me about how many women he had bedded and how happy he was with how amazing they looked and how wonderful their bodies were. He was bragging and going on and on and then paused dramatically to inquire how MY love life was doing. I maintained a calm and cool face while inside I was screaming, "Love life? Love life?  I don't have time for a fucking love life. I am now a single parent with no child support working a full time plus job in a high stress environment home schooling our daughter on the side and trying to get a house ready to sell and legal papers drawn up to divorce your sorry ass and besides all that you fucking raped me twice the last night we were together so it's not like I can just go out and fuck some guy like I'd order a pizza or go trick or treating you stupid fucking......"  Etc. But...I just said it in my head.

He started to dig at me. Sort of this sympathetic tsk tsking that...oh he's so sorry, he shouldn't have asked, he sort of forgot how much harder it would be for me to find someone to have sex with considering my looks and age etc.  I was incensed but maintained calm. Desperately wanting to refute him but being on the spot as to how, I mentioned that Ace and I were discussing getting together but hadn't finialized the plans yet. His eyes positively fucking SPARKLED as he said,

"But, does he know what you LOOK like?"

I have been sprayed with OC spray in a tear gas base and kick boxed for three years in the 90s so have taken a number of kicks and punches to the gut but I have never in my life felt the breath knocked out of me like I did when he said that.

I recovered with a "Yes." To which he rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah. Sure."

Then off he went to play a board game with his daughter.

It does not help when HIS perspective/opinion is reinforced by the media, marketing, and the plethora of men I meet in real life who are all obsessed with perfection and sometimes down right mean if you don't possess it. I actually had a man come up to me in Starbucks all smiley and flirty and sexy. He acted like he was about to introduce himself. Instead he purred in my ear, "You have such a pretty face....too bad the rest of you doesn't match".

I should have kicked him in the nuts. The only thing stopping me was the assault charge and potential loss of my clearance if I had.

Now. I am not a horrible ugly hideous woman. I have healed enough to say that.  I have some wonderful men in my life who know me, know what I look like, have spent time with me and know I am not young, perfect, that I have scars and am not skinny and a few wrinkles around my eyes.  Captain Awesome loves to wrap his arms around me and hug me. Thomas thinks I am luscious and delicious and beautiful. AM seems to enjoy finding excuses to touch my shoulder or stand so close to me I can feel him pressed closed. Ace is ready for action as soon as we can sync our geography. Even my mystery man spent several hours giving me deep passionate kisses and is looking forward to our next date so that he can give me more....and even more....

I recognized my brain was "washed" so to speak. I recognize the "truth" is not what I thought it was. However, it's a process to change the default. It's a process to not cry when I look at myself in the mirror. (He used to make fun of my nose all the time...I am almost to the point where I don't think it's hideous). I tell others and they look confused. My nose is normal. Cute. Perky. Adorable. FINE.... But when I look at it, I see a "witch nose" as he would call it. It took two men who care for me to sit me down and convince me I did not need plastic surgery.

I wrote this today because I had a very bad panic attack. Anxiety attack. My daughter has a dinner at the country club this evening as a graduation for her manners class. She was picking out which dress she wanted me to wear. I was doing fine but for some reason I started to shake and get a lump in my throat and feel like I was going to cry. Why? At the thought of how horrible I would look. At how ugly I would look. I was ashamed to even leave the house and torture others with my appearance. Of course, I kept this all in and didn't say a peep to my daughter. Don't need to spread my nuerosis to her. But it was a struggle to pretend to be all chirpy and happy and excited. To not come up with some excuse not to go so I didn't have to be seen and embarrass HER.

I took deep breaths. I washed the dishes...a sort of zen calming thing to focus. I sat down to write this piece to work things out in my mind.

I know I am not horrible. I know I am actually rather pretty to some men. Some men even think I am gorgeous. I look forward to the day I can see myself as I really am and not how he made me think I was. 

Perception....

Last night I had an interesting moment with my daughter. She has this book that she loves and has read cover to cover hundreds of times. It is called “Body Drama” and is one of the books we use for her home school lessons in health and science.

There is this two page spread with around 20-30 naked woman on it. All different sizes, shapes, proportions, colors, and compositions. Big tall thin girls with no boobs, short thin girls with huge boobs, etc etc etc. The point of the page is to show how “real” women look and are all different. So the moment occurs when she is looking at the spread and points to a girl and says, “I think that’s what I am going to look like, Mommy.”  I think she picked well and fairly accurate considering her body type, composition and her current exercise level (she runs and does gymnastics). It was a normal girl with smaller breasts (unlike mine) and I told her the only difference might be that she may or may not get a little extra in the boob department depending on whether or not she had genes around that from me. No problem. THEN…she says, “Which one do you think looks like you, Mommy?”  I was frozen. My daughter is seven and I do my best to not talk about my own body in negative terms even though my ex did it. I keep things upbeat and when she tells me that I am beautiful I agree with her and say, “Just like you!” I keep my own neurosis to myself, in other words.

So I am looking at all the women on the page and I zero in on the biggest, fattest, most enormous woman. Okay. To be honest, I looked for one BIGGER but there wasn’t. I did one more scan trying to find a bigger woman and my eyes did glance across this one gal who was a bigger gal but had pretty curves like the woman in the chair that I had posted a pic of a few days ago… As I am pondering this and wishing I could look like her because even though she wasn’t thin or “perfect”…I thought she was pretty. Apparently I am taking too long to answer so my daughter asks me, “Mommy, do you want to know which one I think you look like?” Loaded question. My gut wants to say “NO” but as a mommy, I say, “Sure, honey.” And expect her to point to the same biggest fattest one on there because I am being honest with myself that this is, indeed, what I look like and it’s not going to upset me if my daughter calls a spade a spade and I won’t get mad or upset because there is no reason to it just means I need to work harder and do more and and and and….

She points to the smaller more curvy girl.

I was stunned. I thought to myself that she was just trying to be nice but, really…anyone with a seven year old knows they just call it like they see it. I was very quiet and she was smiling and asked if I agreed. I hummed and pretended to be studying them some more and asked, "I don’t know. What about this one?" 

I pointed to the original one (biggest and fattest) on the page. She looked at me like I was a moron or just being silly and said, “Oh, no. You don’t look anything like that, mommy. You look like her…” and pointed back again to the smaller one. Now, keep in mind that she did not pick a toothpick or a super model or an athlete’s body. She did pick a woman that many men would consider “fat” but (like that girl in the wicker chair picture), not immense or elephantine. I smiled and said that I thought she was right and she must be since she knows what I look like.(We shower together and do girly stuff like try on clothes and outfits).

This morning, I was taking my shower and I bravely looked at my naked body in the mirror thinking that by some magic my perspective would be fixed after that moment with my daughter. Sadly, it wasn’t. I wonder to myself WHY can’t I see what she sees? Why can’t I see what others tell me they see? But somewhere in the back of my head I hear this soft little voice. Of the woman with the soft white skin and pretty curves and strawberry blonde hair on the third rown down….and she says, “You aren’t as ugly as you think you are.”  I have decided she is right. And that’s the first step towards maybe one day being able to see through the fog and filters that are there now. One day….

But she is there now….and I actually feel prettier. Even if I can’t see it yet.

Sometimes The Hardest Thing To Do Is To Quit....

Drying my tears as I wrap up a conversation with my trainer, Captain Awesome. Two weeks ago I experienced a subluxation of the patella (that's a partially dislocated knee cap to you non medical folks) while playing in my adult co-ed soccer league. I have spent the last two weeks being gentle to it, resting it, icing it and not exercising. My doc finally gave me the thumbs up to go back to the gym and I was elated. I managed a light one mile run on Saturday and was so happy.

Then I went out tonight. I had delusions of 5k in my head since Saturday went so well and I was absolutely crushed when during my first section of running I felt a weird wobble in my knee. No pain. But it was almost like it was warning me. I slowed to a walk and took a deep breath and then at the next chime (I use the C25k app) I started to run again very gently. No more wobble or weird and I was very slow and careful but about halfway through I started to feel some discomfort. Not pain exactly but...just off. This resulted in me bursting into tears and wanting to kick myself.

I'll just stop running, I reasoned with myself. I'll walk the rest. Don't give up. Don't be a quitter. I continued on in the pitch dark with the cool Autumn wind chilling me and tears drying on my face. Do not give up. Don't be a quitter. Chime. I thought, let me try this one more time. I did one more minute of running. Again, no pain but I just felt like I was being warned so...

I quit.

I stopped. Turned off my C25k and walked home. In the tumult of thoughts as I walked I remembered when it was the hardest thing in the world for me to finish that same run. I struggled and struggled and struggled and the whole time I said to myself "Don't quit. Don't be a quitter."  Now, here I was, a year later. What a huge difference in my fitness and ability level and now the hardest thing to do was...to quit.

I supposed I should see that as the silver lining to all this. I reached out to Thomas and he told me how proud he was of me and that I was still healing so not to be so hard on myself. Then I reached out to Captain Awesome who kindly and gently told me to cool it. He told me all it takes is that 1% of not being totally healed to re-injure it.  I was devastated and beside myself. I asked him to say something ambiguously motivating so I didn't feel like such a schlump for being a quitter. He promptly told me:

Live to train another day...
This is but a hiccup in the journey...
Remember the BIG picture.

And, suddenly I felt a teeny tiny bit better. I told him that I was not a quitter or lazy...I was being smart and careful.  He assured me more and agreed.

On my left forearm, I have a tattoo. It says, "L'amour est patient, L'amour est gentile". (Love is patient, love is kind). I reminded myself that I must be patient with myself (and that includes my knee as part of myself) and I must be kind to myself by not calling myself names or insulting myself. I recognize the tendency to do that stems from years of living with a man who was verbally and emotionally abusive and I am simply knee jerk mimicking his behavior towards me because after 12 years it got into my system. But, no more.

Now, I have wonderful men who love me. Who don't think I am lazy or a quitter if I get hurt. Who show me support and kindness as I heal. Who are helping me reprogram my perspective. So, I shall "cool it" as Captain Awesome said. I have my knee up with ice on it. I am not going to be a martyr and run AGAIN tomorrow night although I intend to take a walk on Thursday and do spin again on Friday. P and I have plans to run this Saturday with NM so I am going to allow P to run and I will just do a good strong walk and test the running again. I will be patient with the healing process and I will be patient with myself. I will be kind to myself and not mentally parrot all the crap douche bag used to say to me.

And, I will tell my men thank you and how much I appreciate their love and support.

What Do I Want.....

Today, a male sent me an email. He asked me:


"What is that one thing you want from man that WoW's you to come back for more."

I thought about this for a while and realized I had never defined it. So...I did. This may scare many men off. No worries. At least they won't waste my time. This may anger some men. That is their right, it is  not directed at anyone in particular. Even more will claim this is a fantasy man...men like this do not exist. That would be incorrect. They do. I know them...

I want a man who has a brain. Who can think and ponder and analyze and and dream and create and investigate and explore.
I want a man who has a heart. Who can love, cherish, adore, and protect me because the thought of me being hurt or injured causes him distress.
I want a man who has a sense of humor. Who can laugh, chuckle and smirk with me.
I want a man who has an ego that is neither too absurdly big that it does not know any boundaries nor is it so small as to negate that he even exists as an entity.
I want a man who has self confidence. Not arrogance.
I want a man who is assertive. Not an asshole.
I want a man who can take charge. Who can make a decision, decide what's for dinner, which hotel we should use, and plans special events on his own.
I want a man who can make a decision. Who won't sit and waffle or wriggle or wait for someone else to make it for him.
I want a man who has a memory. Who can remember my birthday, our anniversary, my favorite flower, my favorite color and my favorite flavor of ice cream.
I want a man who has an adventurous spirit. Who will not sit home on the couch endlessly playing video games and watching NASCAR.
I want a man who has some culture. Who delights in visiting foreign lands, strange new places and amazing new worlds.
I want a man who likes the finer things in life. Who appreciates a good Chianti or French Champagne and the feel of delicate Egyptian Cotton sheets against his naked skin.
I want a man who likes the simple things. Who can hike to the top of a mountain with me and read me poetry while we watch the sun set.
I want a man who is a good lover. Who is not simply a mindless mechanical fornication machine but an amazing and energetic and creative and adventurous partner in bed, in the car, in the woods, in the library, in a dark ally, or anywhere the two of us look at each other and get the spark. 

Don't tell me this kind of man does not exist....because I know one that does.

This is what wows me in a man. This is what makes me come back for more.

I am not a whore. I am not a slut. I am a connoisseur.

A man does not have to be rich or gorgeous or perfect. He simply has to spark my soul. Sadly, so few men do....

I settled once. I will never settle again.