What Are Five Steps Towards Finding A Way To Do Something In Your Life?

Michael J. Fite

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“If you really want to do something, you’ll find a way. If you don’t, you’ll find an excuse.” –Jim Rohn

Keep this in mind whenever you look at the things you want to do and accomplish in your life.

In your life, the goals and dreams you have had, currently have, or will have will fall into two categories:

  1. You will find a way to make it happen.
  2. You will come up with an excuse as to why you cannot make it happen.

Now you may come back and say the following about some of the goals and dreams that did not come true.

  1. There were extenuating circumstances beyond my control.
  2. Somebody or something stopped you or got in your way.
  3. You did not have the time, money, or resources available.
  4. It was not meant for me to accomplish or have.
  5. It was impossible or too difficult to accomplish.


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You Are A Woman Now! The Green Dog View on Being Female-Part 2


I Am A Woman Now.

Of course, I belong to a different generation. We are working women. Career women. We haven’t been relieved of our duties as wives, mothers and daughters but we gotta be ‘one of the guys’ ! We shouldn’t complain about the uneven playing field, just play the game and work twice as hard. Not too sensitive or demanding with men. Ruthless with ourselves and other females. Criticise men but secretly wish you were one of them. Yes, I’m getting cynical here. My apologies.

We were freer than previous generations of women. We aspired to Everything. Reality somehow fell a bit short.

In my case, as the only daughter of ‘old’ parents (in the late 60s, being a new mother at 41 was considered old), I was responsible for the family happiness. My father had wanted a boy. He wasn’t disappointed after I arrived, however. In any case I was expected to fulfill the expectations of both the oldest son and the only daughter.

The myth of only children being spoilt was, in my case, as far from the truth as the Earth is from the Sun. I was told to be obedient, strong, independent (from everyone but my parents, of course) and questioned for my reasons to do or not do anything and everything, whether it was selecting a pair of socks or choosing a husband. My reasons were never quite good enough.  Because I’m a Woman Now.

I always remember two occasions in which my parents made me feel insecure and guilty. One was when I was 16 and had bad grades in a couple of subjects at school. My dad sat me down and told me off for not trying hard enough, and if that weren’t enough he said that if I slept around and got knocked up, he’d throw me out of the house. Who…ME? The idea made me feel guilty and stupid for feeling guilty. I was not a popular girl. There was a slim chance, virtually inexistent, that I would be so foolish as to ‘sleep around’, or find anyone willing to risk sleeping with ‘The American’.

On another occasion, at the age of 21, I won a week’s trip, with all expenses paid, to Paris given by the Alliance Française  for being an excellent student of French language and culture. I went home delighted with the news. My dad listened quietly and when I’d finished, hopeful that he’d be ok with it, he calmly stated that if I was old enough to decide to go, I was also old enough to find another place to live when I got back. I knew that it was not an empty threat. They’d eventually let me move back, but I’d have to plead and find somewhere to stay for a few days.

Why this attitude? Because I’m a girl, therefore at risk for any pervert or sweet talker to rape me. I am not capable of defending myself because, you know…men are stronger. And I do  not know the difference between genuine interest in me or just a guy wanting to get laid. Because I am not supposed to be that smart. Because I am a girl. Furthermore, why would anyone have any legitimate interest in me? Who would love me if not those who must? Everyone else has a guarded interest in me. Because I’m A Woman Now.

I could have become extremely insecure. Instead, I became extremely responsible and extremely prone to feeling guilty about almost everything that happened in my life, even when logic told me I had nothing to do with it. Why? Because I’m A Woman Now.

Many men want their wife or girlfriend to be not only a partner but  a lover, mother. organiser, coddler, life saver. They, the poor guys, do what they can while their multi-tasking, maxi -stressed woman cannot opt to do much more than care for their ‘baby’, lest they be tagged as a bad, selfish , ungrateful person. It is a tendency that bewilders me. It is also something that isn’t talked about. Why? Because Real Women don’t complain.

A woman is not the soul of the family, because souls are not ‘human’ or fallible and we need support, even if it’s just a hug. Or having someone do a chore so you won’t have to without having to demand it when you’re so tired that you give in and complain and nag. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m better at chores or that I’ll never tire of doing them.

Now that I Am A Woman, I understand  the famous Simone de Beauvoir quote that says that you are not born a woman, but that you become one. This is not arbitrarily decided by biology, but acquired through daily struggles and through the effort of becoming who you’re meant to become.

Now that I’m a Woman, I value those people who come into my life to make it better and make me feel lighter, the weight of the world no longer on my shoulders.

Now that I’m A Woman, I vow to help as many women as possible realize that they are not alone, they are not selfish for wanting care and attention, that they are not responsible for all that happens in their world.

Now that I’m A Woman, I will hold no one responsible for my shortcomings.

Now that I’m A Woman, I will embrace my triumphs and celebrate myself.

Now that I’m A Woman,  I will fear less, love deeper, dare boldly.


Because I Am A Woman Now.


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You Are A Woman Now! A Green Dog View On Being Female-Part 1



March 19th., 1979. Passaic, New Jersey. USA

I’d been feeling weird for several days, with no real idea of what was going on.  That morning, Saint Joseph’s Day, Father’s Day for Spaniards, I knew that it was because I had left behind my childhood. I Was a Woman Now.

My body had begun changing a few months after my tenth birthday. Strange hair had started growing in strange places like my armpits and my legs and between my legs. Of course, I knew about the changes I would eventually experiment and why. It was called ‘becoming a woman’ and all I could think is that it would really be scary. I envisioned a process similar to a caterpillar becoming a butterfly overnight

I already had acne, which did little to improve my self esteem. I wasn’t the prettiest or the brightest in my class. I was more a tomboy than a little princess. Riding my bike was far more interesting than playing with dolls because I could get out of the house and explore. I had never had much in common with  most other girls so I wondered (and secretly hoped ) if when I finally ‘became a woman’ , I’d also be allowed  into the Secret Female Club that taught you how to be a Real Woman, whatever that was supposed to be.

I’d heard about it very often.

A Real Woman was immaculately clean. You could not be a Real Woman and be untidy. This included your house, your children (because a Real Woman is a mother, always a mother and nothing but a mother from the second she gives birth, which she must think of from her twenties onwards), your husband (and/or your significant others, because you need a significant other), and of course yourself. Always clean, shaved legs and armpits (not shaving equals being slovenly) and smelling of sugar and spice and everything nice. I wondered how such a feat could be achieved by the likes of me. It seemed inconceivable at the time.

A Real Woman must complain about men but comply with all they wish. She must not form any deeper relationship with a woman than she has with the men in her life, for they are the measure of herself that matters. She should criticise them but always making excuses for their shortcomings and the times they let her down. However she should expect more from herself and other women, and feel guilty and responsible for other people’s behaviour towards her.

A Real Woman  should be better than a man but believe herself to be worse. She should not accept compliments but brush them off. She should not think highly of herself but ‘make men respect her’, meaning being ‘hard to get’ for men and denying  them access to her body.
In all, I found it hard to understand and quite illogical.

A couple of years before I ‘became a woman’, I had an incident with a classmate on the school playground. I was standing, hands on waist, looking towards my friends with whom I was playing tag when one of the boys from my class came running past me and flipped my skirt up, revealing my leotard clad legs up their entire length. Then, to my surprise, he just stopped by me and grinned dumbly, as if pleased with his feat. I was angry and shocked but still I reacted lashing out my hand towards his face. I am truly clumsy, so I was surprised to feel my hand collide with his nose. I had no sooner lowered my hand when he stopped smiling and his nose started bleeding. He went running over to where the teachers were and complained to them that I’d hit him. I caught up with him and explained the case, that I had slapped him because he had lifted my skirt in front of the whole school for no reason. He was taken to the nurse. I was taken to my classroom and lectured about how wrong I had been striking my classmate. I said that I wasn’t happy about it but that I had only done it because he had lifted my skirt and then gloated in front of me.

I was told I must apologise, to which I agreed. I thought I had explained my case and that we would both apologise. When he returned to the classroom, I was made to apologise in front of all the class. He magnanimously accepted and sat down.

I looked at him in disbelief and then I looked at the teacher. I asked  her why he hadn’t apologised to me. She looked at me and shook her head. Apparently, I hadn’t suffered any damage while he had had a bloodied nose. I answered, a little too loudly it seems, that he had ridiculed me and lifted my skirt up for no reason. She took me aside by the arm, told me to pipe down and explained that I had not been physically hurt and that I should be flattered because the boy had done it because he liked me. I was sure I had heard wrong.

So  I learned a lesson: if a boy liked me he would tease me, make fun of me and even ridicule me. Was that what I could expect of men? I thought I must have misunderstood.

The following school year, I pushed a boy I liked and was consequently told that it was very unkind of me to push him. When I replied that I liked him and we were pushing each other, just playing, I got a strange look from the teacher along with some useful advice: girls that are too loud and too rough will never be liked by boys. This was said in a tone that implied that being liked and valued by boys was a very desirable thing.

Things were uneven for me, as for other girls, from the school playground up.

But back to The Day I Became A Woman… In a way, it was a relief to know, once and for all, that the uneasiness and physical tiredness and the minor aches and pains (luckily for me) were only a sign of ‘the waxing and waning of hormones’. That was the definition I found in a biology book in the school library. My mother had explained it to me around the age of nine, along with the admonition that sex was out of bounds until I was married. I remember asking her if boys had to wait til they got married to have sex. She looked at me shaking her head and said that if a man reached a certain age without having ‘sown his wild oats’ he would be useless, as he was more probably than not, gay. So I learned the lesson: boys could do what they wanted.

They could have sex with the slutty girls or -gasp- with other boys,  but the good girls had to keep away from them even if we loved them. Especially if we loved them. A man would lose interest and respect for you if you slept with him before having a ring on your finger. So I asked her what was so good about being a good girl. She said that it was the best thing because a good girl didn’t need a man, only as a father for her children. So women are better than men? No, of course not. We need men.

Gosh, this was a mess. I needed men but I couldn’t/shouldn’t ‘give in’ because they wouldn’t respect me. This would all change when I got one to put a ring on my finger.
I wasn’t too interested in boys at the age of eleven, which made me think that I could, at least, learn about other aspects of being a Real Woman, like makeup and high heels to camouflage my acne and elevate my 5 foot frame a little higher. When I asked my mother about using lipstick and buying a pair of high heeled sandals, the look of disbelief and disgust I got back was enough to make me understand that this was, again, something out of bounds.

And then it got really weird. She told me that I was just a girl, that I’d have to wait til I grew up. My jaw dropped. Wasn’t I A Woman Now? Wasn’t bleeding five days a month tribute enough to pay for wearing a dash of lipstick or a pair of heels? I had to be wary of men, but men didn’t look at girls, did they? What was all the fuss about, then? I couldn’t play like I always had but I got nothing in exchange for my new status, for my lost days of exploring and hanging out with whoever I wanted?

In the end, my dad bought me a pair of black leather pumps like Olivia Newton John wore in ‘Grease’. I tried to ride my bike with them. I fell off a few times, so I ended up giving them to a friend of mine who was three years older than me and who everybody considered old enough to do the heels justice.

Some things were out of my reach in spite of Being A Woman Now.

There were things that I could do now that I Was A Woman, though.

I could speak more softly.

I could mind my manners and sit like a lady.

I could wear a bra to keep my breasts covered, although I barely had any,  and I wore oversized clothes most of the time.

I could learn to be less impertinent, ask less questions, learn to do more housework…

Wait, what? MORE housework? I could cook, I knew how to make beds, sweep, dust, mop, use a washing machine, wash dishes… which I did on a regular basis. But now I had to learn how to organise a house. This, in case you don’t know, means being able to do all of the above tasks with a smile and making it seem easy. So easy it almost seems like magic. Clothes get washed, dried, ironed and folded magically. Dishes get washed with a snap of the fingers. Chores get done and people get fed without a blink, while you remain perfectly dressed and coiffed. This is the ultimate sign and aspiration of A Real Woman: making everything function flawlessly without letting on that you’re dead tired and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If you must, cry at night when you’re alone, but don’t let your husband hear you. You are the strong one. Men must revere you for your spotless house and gourmet meals, but no mushiness.

Because I Am A Woman Now.

End of Part One

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Native American Women, Invisible Victims Of American Misogyny.

It was only a movie, but the reality was disconcerting.  A white rancher tracked down two white men who had raped and murdered a woman.  Before he killed them, one was incense by the rancher’s determination and wanted to know, “Why?!!  “She was just an Indian squaw!” To which the rancher screamed, “She was my wife!” Unfortunately, even the response, “She was my wife!” was not reason enough for some white men to understand why a white man would kill another white man over the rape and murder of a woman who was “just an Indian squaw”. While the reality of abject prejudice and disrespect for Native American Women may not be so blatantly obvious as was portrayed in the movie, it is not invisible. Vile, obscene, and immoral anger directed at Native American men and women is clearly visible in  social media circles.  And yet, invisible, seems appropriate to describe the Main Stream Media’s ignorance of the life and plight of Native American Women.  Native American Women carry much more than their “fair” share of the personal and governmental based domestic abuse all American women suffer in the aptly named “Conservative (GOP, Republican, Christian Right) War On Women”.  They suffer much more of the personal and governmental domestic abuse in the War On women than some non-native American Women even imagine.  Three years ago when Congress needed to reauthorize the Violence Against Women Act for it to remain in force, some Republican congressmen, including some who later ran for the office of President Of the United States Of America, voted against the act.  Some even admitted that they voted against it because of the “unfair” protection it afforded Native American Women. According to the most current U.S. Census, there are approximately 5.2 million Native Americans in the United States.  Statistics suggest that more than 75% of Native American Women have experienced some form of domestic abuse, domestic violence, rape, and sexual assault.  This is an obscene pornographic statistic for a nation that claims it is committed to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for its citizens.  Almost none of that rings true for most Native American Women. The immoral acts of violence, obscene abuse, rape, and sexual assault of Native American women by various legal arms and departments of the United States Government are prolific and beyond disconcerting.  We will allow two of them here. 1.  The United States Government admitted to forcibly sterilizing 3, 406 Native American Women between 1973 and 19776.  Other estimates claim as many as 70,00 Native American Women  were forcibly sterilized. And before any apologist express outrage over the fact the that was “more than 40 years ago”, the real outrage is that is happened at all.  And it happened long after they had been forced to “live” on “Indian Reservations”.  Even more disturbing, given their numbers in the United States Population, that amount of forced sterilization would be equivalent to forcibly sterilizing more than 400, 000 non-native American Women.  If that had happened, the “Moral outrage” likely would have been resounding.  But it was only “Indian Squaws”, so mostly nobody knows and mostly nobody cares. 2.  Reminiscent of Sandra Bland, the African American Woman who died in jail after a routine traffic stop, violence and mishaps while in police custody are commonplace for Native American Women. Sarah Lee Circle Bear, pictured above, a 24 year old mother and pregnant South Dakota Lakota woman, supposedly “died of a meth overdose” after being in jail for 2 days.  Following her death in police custody, many people knew about Sandra Bland. But very few people know about Sarah Lee Circle Bear.  Like most Native American Women, she was and is invisible, except when it was her time to suffer the abuse too many Native American Women suffer.Two years after the Violence Against Women Act was reauthorized, despite vehement obstruction and objections of it Republican opponents, Native American tribes ar

Origen: Native American Women, Invisible Victims Of American Misogyny.