All posts made on May 8th, 2010...
"This is an exercise for one of my Psy classes, please indulge me as I keep a record of a Daily graditude log on facebook: Today I am grateful for the sunshine. Today I am grateful for the beautiful card from my family in Grants Pass. Today I am grateful for the potted tulips Gary gave me, thank you husband." (Posted by Anita Larsen)
"A good cup of coffee,a great Cd,and a town full of Garage sales....Does a day get any better??...We shall see:)" (Posted by Jauna Hash)
"There is no sweeter commodity than that of time." (Posted by Adrienne Stuart)
"Soccer, cheer, sun, dinner with friends, does it get any better?! :]" (Posted by Andrea Tunick)
"Can you get any better than this ???? Woooo Hoooo !!!!!!!!" (Posted by Tony Michael)
I find it eerily serendipitous when so many people are thinking alike on the same day. On this day, this was just a random spattering of thoughts from my Facebook friends, but everyone was saying the same thing - the best of the best was happening all over the country.
Everyone's best thing was a bit different, but everyone was enjoying SOMETHING. Being grateful, garage sales, soccer, sunshine, time, friends, family, who-knows-what! It just goes to show that people everywhere really do enjoy life. When you are alone in your own world, it is often hard to imagine that the things that would make you happy, make others happy too. That life is just that simple sometimes. That the little pleasures in life are things we all cherish, and regard highly, and sometimes keep us going for weeks after they've transpired.
It fills my heart to know that there are people everywhere making life happen. Going to garage sales, bringing each other flowers, watching a soccer game, having a movie night. Since moving to Las Vegas, I rarely do these kinds of things. It's not because I don't want to, it's because I have no one to do them with most of the time. I'm not so insecure as to never venture out alone, but having fun is better when shared...almost always. I look forward to the day when I meet more people here who actually want to do something besides drink and gamble. :)
Monday, May 10, 2010
Cloning
Posted on May 7, 2010 by Maggie Hadley Crook: "is thinking of cloning herself, but doesn't think she could live with the bitch!"
Well, Maggie, I know just how you feel. There are definitely a lot of days where I'd like another Me around, just so I could get more things done. But I fear this is how the day would go...
Me: Okay, Clone, you go to the grocery store, and I'll stay here and do the dishes.
Clone: Why do I have to go to the store?
Me: Because your purpose here is to do what I say, to help ME.
Clone: Well, I'm not sure I like you making all the rules.
Me: You are ME, so you are really making the rules.
Clone: Ummm...
Me: Drive safe.
Clone: I'm a great driver...you know that!
Me: Sorry, I forgot you were me.
Clone: Your mind is slipping.
Me: No, YOUR mind is slipping.
Clone: Whatev.
Me: Are you going to the store now, or what?
Clone: What do we need?
Me: There's a list.
Clone: Can I get ice cream?
Me: We don't even like ice cream.
Clone: Maybe I like it now.
Me: YOU ARE ME! WE DON'T LIKE ICE CREAM!
Clone: Geesh, ya don't have to yell.
Me: Jesus! Give me the keys, I'm going to the store.
Clone: Want me to do the dishes?
Me: Figure it out.
While I'm at the store, Clone is watching "Real Housewives" marathon reruns, chain-smoking, and making lists of chores for me to do when I get back.
Well, Maggie, I know just how you feel. There are definitely a lot of days where I'd like another Me around, just so I could get more things done. But I fear this is how the day would go...
Me: Okay, Clone, you go to the grocery store, and I'll stay here and do the dishes.
Clone: Why do I have to go to the store?
Me: Because your purpose here is to do what I say, to help ME.
Clone: Well, I'm not sure I like you making all the rules.
Me: You are ME, so you are really making the rules.
Clone: Ummm...
Me: Drive safe.
Clone: I'm a great driver...you know that!
Me: Sorry, I forgot you were me.
Clone: Your mind is slipping.
Me: No, YOUR mind is slipping.
Clone: Whatev.
Me: Are you going to the store now, or what?
Clone: What do we need?
Me: There's a list.
Clone: Can I get ice cream?
Me: We don't even like ice cream.
Clone: Maybe I like it now.
Me: YOU ARE ME! WE DON'T LIKE ICE CREAM!
Clone: Geesh, ya don't have to yell.
Me: Jesus! Give me the keys, I'm going to the store.
Clone: Want me to do the dishes?
Me: Figure it out.
While I'm at the store, Clone is watching "Real Housewives" marathon reruns, chain-smoking, and making lists of chores for me to do when I get back.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Change is Good
Posted on May 6, 2010 by Lindsay Bradbury: "Change is good...only if you are ready."
I tend to believe that change is generally good, even if you're not so ready for it. But what makes us ready, anyway? Careful preparation and weeks of planning? Lists all checked off? I suppose it depends on what it is we are changing.
If we are changing the place we live, often times weeks of planning is a pretty good idea. But what about the woman who takes her child and leaves in the middle of the night because he would kill her otherwise? It's definitely a good change, but not necessarily one that has taken a lot of planning.
If we are changing our job, looking for a new one first is definitely a good idea. But what about the man who gets laid off without notice? Might he find that in the weeks to come, his circumstances changed for the better? That he learned more about his children, more about himself, more about how to survive?
If we are changing our relationship, careful talks and willingness are for sure crucial. But what about the woman who goes out on a limb and says, "I love you" before he said it? Will it end the relationship, or make it stronger? Whichever change should happen, is likely for the best, don't you agree?
If we are changing the paint on our livingroom wall, the sheets on our bed, the kind of socks we wear, the thoughts in our head... if we are changing the lightbulbs to "green" ones, the tires on the car, the way we look, or the way we feel... isn't it probably true that on some level we are ready, already? Without the lists, the careful planning, the weeks of preparation? When things happen sometimes, forcing us to change, isn't it generally the only time it could have changed us?
The adaptability of a human being never ceases to amaze me. Whether we think we're ready for it or not, we change, we grow, we learn, we live, and we love.
I tend to believe that change is generally good, even if you're not so ready for it. But what makes us ready, anyway? Careful preparation and weeks of planning? Lists all checked off? I suppose it depends on what it is we are changing.
If we are changing the place we live, often times weeks of planning is a pretty good idea. But what about the woman who takes her child and leaves in the middle of the night because he would kill her otherwise? It's definitely a good change, but not necessarily one that has taken a lot of planning.
If we are changing our job, looking for a new one first is definitely a good idea. But what about the man who gets laid off without notice? Might he find that in the weeks to come, his circumstances changed for the better? That he learned more about his children, more about himself, more about how to survive?
If we are changing our relationship, careful talks and willingness are for sure crucial. But what about the woman who goes out on a limb and says, "I love you" before he said it? Will it end the relationship, or make it stronger? Whichever change should happen, is likely for the best, don't you agree?
If we are changing the paint on our livingroom wall, the sheets on our bed, the kind of socks we wear, the thoughts in our head... if we are changing the lightbulbs to "green" ones, the tires on the car, the way we look, or the way we feel... isn't it probably true that on some level we are ready, already? Without the lists, the careful planning, the weeks of preparation? When things happen sometimes, forcing us to change, isn't it generally the only time it could have changed us?
The adaptability of a human being never ceases to amaze me. Whether we think we're ready for it or not, we change, we grow, we learn, we live, and we love.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Nicknames
Posted on May 5, 2010 by Josh Cordell: "i don't know if there is anything better than giving someone a really great nickname... no matter how they feel about it! :-)"
I quite agree, Josh! My family is one of the most nicknamey families I've ever seen. It all started with my Grandpa. He had nicknames for almost everyone! And there are a lot of us. There's just something about getting a nickname, or giving one, that brings you a little closer to each other. It's a bond of sorts, a right of passage, a badge of friendship or love. It's often inside information, a key to a memory from long ago.
Some of my Grandpa's nicknames for us:
Me (Julie), I'm Jellybean. My Grandpa named me this shortly after I was born, I'm not sure why, but it stuck. There have been lots of variations over the years. Sometimes he shortened it to just Jelly, my brother has now morphed it into Jellybug, my cousin teasingly and meanly morphed it into something quite wicked - Jubee Squib - and no, I will NOT tell you the circumstances in which that name came about.
Aunt Karen is Tuh-Tuh. This is apparently what one of my uncles used to call her when he was a baby because he couldn't say Karen correctly. It stuck. Interestingly enough, her daughter (my cousin) Kristie, was nicknamed Tee-Tee by the young daughter of a family friend years later, for virtually the same reasons.
My Uncle Gary is Short. And he kind of is...hence the name. His brother, Harvey was, for a long time Denny, because he looked like Dennis the Menace when he was little. I didn't even know his real name was Harvey until I was in my twenties.
Uncle Gary's wife, Anita, is Taco. She's half Mexican, and that was my Grandma's nickname, so Gramps picked it up and ran with it after she died. It's really a loving name, not derogatory. But in Grandpa's style, anything that caused even little ruffles, proved hilarious to him, and so...Taco remains Taco to this day.
One of my cousins he nicknamed The Village Idiot. I'll say this, Gramps was never one to mince words.
He had lots of other nicknames for us all, sometimes we were all just Myrtle - everyone, men and women. If we put on a few pounds, we were named Skinny. If we lost those pounds, we were back to our original nicknames. Almost every one of us was named The Fish Wife at one point or another - and again, men or women. This was because Gramps owned a fish hatchery and we all helped out during the busy seasons, weighing fish and collecting money, making bamboo fishing poles, and doling out kernel corn for bait.
Everyone in our family called him Grandpa Fishie. And we still do.
I, myself, have had many, many nicknames bestowed upon me. A lot of them are because I have a stupid last name that no one can pronounce. It is Krewina. You pronounce it Crew-ee-na. Pretty simple. But my cousins used to tease me and call me Krewiener, I have an old friend who calls me Crouton to this day. Some of my friends over the years have pegged me with Cruella (maybe I was bitchy that day). Most people call me Jules, Julz, Julsie, etc... and there are variations like Hoolie and Banulie that I also love! I can't say that any of this bothers me in the slightest. When someone takes the time to give you their own pet name, it is generally an honor.
In my circle of friends I have an Eme-Puta, a Jenni-bear, a Banana, a Tracie Lou, a Garb, a Romainiac, a Patty Cake, a Marth, an L-Mick, a Megs-a-bub, a KellyBell, a Lizzer, a Sarangie, a Step-On-Me, a Pagina, and a million Sisters. As I type each one, I remember their faces, I think of a time when we were together and laughing. I smile and know that even though we are far apart, we are always close.
I quite agree, Josh! My family is one of the most nicknamey families I've ever seen. It all started with my Grandpa. He had nicknames for almost everyone! And there are a lot of us. There's just something about getting a nickname, or giving one, that brings you a little closer to each other. It's a bond of sorts, a right of passage, a badge of friendship or love. It's often inside information, a key to a memory from long ago.
Some of my Grandpa's nicknames for us:
Me (Julie), I'm Jellybean. My Grandpa named me this shortly after I was born, I'm not sure why, but it stuck. There have been lots of variations over the years. Sometimes he shortened it to just Jelly, my brother has now morphed it into Jellybug, my cousin teasingly and meanly morphed it into something quite wicked - Jubee Squib - and no, I will NOT tell you the circumstances in which that name came about.
Aunt Karen is Tuh-Tuh. This is apparently what one of my uncles used to call her when he was a baby because he couldn't say Karen correctly. It stuck. Interestingly enough, her daughter (my cousin) Kristie, was nicknamed Tee-Tee by the young daughter of a family friend years later, for virtually the same reasons.
My Uncle Gary is Short. And he kind of is...hence the name. His brother, Harvey was, for a long time Denny, because he looked like Dennis the Menace when he was little. I didn't even know his real name was Harvey until I was in my twenties.
Uncle Gary's wife, Anita, is Taco. She's half Mexican, and that was my Grandma's nickname, so Gramps picked it up and ran with it after she died. It's really a loving name, not derogatory. But in Grandpa's style, anything that caused even little ruffles, proved hilarious to him, and so...Taco remains Taco to this day.
One of my cousins he nicknamed The Village Idiot. I'll say this, Gramps was never one to mince words.
He had lots of other nicknames for us all, sometimes we were all just Myrtle - everyone, men and women. If we put on a few pounds, we were named Skinny. If we lost those pounds, we were back to our original nicknames. Almost every one of us was named The Fish Wife at one point or another - and again, men or women. This was because Gramps owned a fish hatchery and we all helped out during the busy seasons, weighing fish and collecting money, making bamboo fishing poles, and doling out kernel corn for bait.
Everyone in our family called him Grandpa Fishie. And we still do.
I, myself, have had many, many nicknames bestowed upon me. A lot of them are because I have a stupid last name that no one can pronounce. It is Krewina. You pronounce it Crew-ee-na. Pretty simple. But my cousins used to tease me and call me Krewiener, I have an old friend who calls me Crouton to this day. Some of my friends over the years have pegged me with Cruella (maybe I was bitchy that day). Most people call me Jules, Julz, Julsie, etc... and there are variations like Hoolie and Banulie that I also love! I can't say that any of this bothers me in the slightest. When someone takes the time to give you their own pet name, it is generally an honor.
In my circle of friends I have an Eme-Puta, a Jenni-bear, a Banana, a Tracie Lou, a Garb, a Romainiac, a Patty Cake, a Marth, an L-Mick, a Megs-a-bub, a KellyBell, a Lizzer, a Sarangie, a Step-On-Me, a Pagina, and a million Sisters. As I type each one, I remember their faces, I think of a time when we were together and laughing. I smile and know that even though we are far apart, we are always close.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
A New Bike
Posted on May 4, 2010 by Suzanne Silvonen: "i really, really, really want a new bike!!! ugh!!!!"
Hahahaha, I think the last time I said this, I was maybe 6 years old! Suzanne is actually a very athletic person, always posting updates about running marathons and working out. I commend her! If only I was so motivated...
Let's take a trip back in time, shall we? When I was 6 years old, in first grade, I wanted a bike so bad I could taste it. Some of my friends not only had bikes, but had bikes with no training wheels. I had a bike, a little piece of shit, with training wheels that rattled their plastic nonsense all around the playground's asphalt. Mocking me. I wanted a REAL bike, a big girl bike. And I wanted to ride it without restraint, with the wind blowing in my hair, like the big kids.
Lo and behold, for my 7th birthday, I got a real bike. My cousin Nikki was the only brave soul who would embark on the challenge of teaching me to ride it. It was summer and I lived across the street from my school, so we had a huge open playground in which to perfect my new-found big-kidness. Nikki's method of teaching me to ride a bike was, to say the least, a little mean. I think I remember her saying something like "don't be a pussy, just go for it." And I wanted to. It was so scary, climbing on that real bike, wobbling to and fro, wanting so bad to just get it right. I fell and fell and fell. And Nikki just told me to get up, try again, and don't be scared. At one point, after giving me a push, she ran away and hid. And I rode that bike. If Lance Armstrong would have been known at that point, I could have rivaled him on any bike...at least for about 20 feet, until I fell again. When I got up and looked around to celebrate with Nikki, she was gone. I yelled for her, and she yelled back from her hiding place, "good job goober, do it again!" I was shaking. I was angry. I was determined. I didn't need her anyway. I got on that bike, gave myself a little shove with my foot, and pedaled like my legs were on fire. I rode, and rode, and rode, in big circles all around that playground. I heard Nikki yelling, saw her waving her arms out of the corner of my eye, turned to look at her, and almost ran into the monkey bars. But I didn't. I corrected myself, wobbled a little, and pedaled on, all the way back to where she was jumping and flailing about. She had to reach out and grab me to help me stop - we hadn't really gotten to that part yet, and otherwise I'd have been in a big heap on the ground, bloody and broken for sure.
Nikki taught me to ride a bike. My first real bike. She actually gave me a hug in the end and told me she was proud of me. We high-fived until our hands turned red. We danced around a lot, and did some cartwheels. She knew what I needed - independence - and she gave it to me. Or, she got bored and wanted to sit inside the big tractor tire on the playground and pick her nose. I don't know. But what I do know is that it is one of my favorite memories with her. I think, a time we both learned something...about life, about freedom, and about each other. And I wouldn't give it back for a million new bikes. Or a million dollars. Thanks, Nikki.
Hahahaha, I think the last time I said this, I was maybe 6 years old! Suzanne is actually a very athletic person, always posting updates about running marathons and working out. I commend her! If only I was so motivated...
Let's take a trip back in time, shall we? When I was 6 years old, in first grade, I wanted a bike so bad I could taste it. Some of my friends not only had bikes, but had bikes with no training wheels. I had a bike, a little piece of shit, with training wheels that rattled their plastic nonsense all around the playground's asphalt. Mocking me. I wanted a REAL bike, a big girl bike. And I wanted to ride it without restraint, with the wind blowing in my hair, like the big kids.
Lo and behold, for my 7th birthday, I got a real bike. My cousin Nikki was the only brave soul who would embark on the challenge of teaching me to ride it. It was summer and I lived across the street from my school, so we had a huge open playground in which to perfect my new-found big-kidness. Nikki's method of teaching me to ride a bike was, to say the least, a little mean. I think I remember her saying something like "don't be a pussy, just go for it." And I wanted to. It was so scary, climbing on that real bike, wobbling to and fro, wanting so bad to just get it right. I fell and fell and fell. And Nikki just told me to get up, try again, and don't be scared. At one point, after giving me a push, she ran away and hid. And I rode that bike. If Lance Armstrong would have been known at that point, I could have rivaled him on any bike...at least for about 20 feet, until I fell again. When I got up and looked around to celebrate with Nikki, she was gone. I yelled for her, and she yelled back from her hiding place, "good job goober, do it again!" I was shaking. I was angry. I was determined. I didn't need her anyway. I got on that bike, gave myself a little shove with my foot, and pedaled like my legs were on fire. I rode, and rode, and rode, in big circles all around that playground. I heard Nikki yelling, saw her waving her arms out of the corner of my eye, turned to look at her, and almost ran into the monkey bars. But I didn't. I corrected myself, wobbled a little, and pedaled on, all the way back to where she was jumping and flailing about. She had to reach out and grab me to help me stop - we hadn't really gotten to that part yet, and otherwise I'd have been in a big heap on the ground, bloody and broken for sure.
Nikki taught me to ride a bike. My first real bike. She actually gave me a hug in the end and told me she was proud of me. We high-fived until our hands turned red. We danced around a lot, and did some cartwheels. She knew what I needed - independence - and she gave it to me. Or, she got bored and wanted to sit inside the big tractor tire on the playground and pick her nose. I don't know. But what I do know is that it is one of my favorite memories with her. I think, a time we both learned something...about life, about freedom, and about each other. And I wouldn't give it back for a million new bikes. Or a million dollars. Thanks, Nikki.
To Work, or Not to Work...
Posted on May 3, 2010 by Jay Pedro: "monday is the zit on your forehead before the big dance, of the week."
Posted on May 3, 2010 by Christopher Nipper: "first day being unemployed in quite a while...yep, this sucks."
These two posts, from literally opposite ends of the country, obviously say a lot about our economic status these days. One complains about work, the other laments about no work. In fact, I see this every single day. Someone is always complaining about their job at one of the places I work. As do I. I kick myself every time I whine about the state of my workplace, and the job I do there, or how much it seems the owners don't care about their employees. I am employed. And there are many not as fortunate as that.
But when did it become the status quo to just work? And work for people who don't care about you any more than they care about a mere piece of trash? People that throw the common worker away because they can, because it makes the numbers look better, or the equation equal out?
In this city I live in, the world's adult playground, the capital of sin, Las Vegas, everyone is disposable, transient, replaceable. There is no job security. And the people who run things know this fact all too well. They know they have the power to feed a family, or send them to the welfare line. But, I doubt they ever think of it on that personal of a level, because if they did, they wouldn't use such reckless abandon when making these decisions. Or maybe they would.
The reality of our world today is that there are not enough jobs for the people who want, or need to work them. A lot of good, hard workers - with families - are left to beg borrow and steal just to survive. Some of us are fortunate enough to have some stability in employment. A lot more of us are not. Companies are becoming stricter and stricter about who they hire. There are sometimes thousands of applicants for one or two openings. Competition and qualification are the highest rungs of the ladder. And everyone is fighting. To win, to survive, to eat.
Chris, I truly feel for you during this time in your life. I hope you will soon find work and be able to breathe a little easier.
Jay, get your head out of your ass. You have a great job, and dealing with its stresses is something you'd rather have than dealing with the look on your childrens' faces when you can't feed them.
Posted on May 3, 2010 by Christopher Nipper: "first day being unemployed in quite a while...yep, this sucks."
These two posts, from literally opposite ends of the country, obviously say a lot about our economic status these days. One complains about work, the other laments about no work. In fact, I see this every single day. Someone is always complaining about their job at one of the places I work. As do I. I kick myself every time I whine about the state of my workplace, and the job I do there, or how much it seems the owners don't care about their employees. I am employed. And there are many not as fortunate as that.
But when did it become the status quo to just work? And work for people who don't care about you any more than they care about a mere piece of trash? People that throw the common worker away because they can, because it makes the numbers look better, or the equation equal out?
In this city I live in, the world's adult playground, the capital of sin, Las Vegas, everyone is disposable, transient, replaceable. There is no job security. And the people who run things know this fact all too well. They know they have the power to feed a family, or send them to the welfare line. But, I doubt they ever think of it on that personal of a level, because if they did, they wouldn't use such reckless abandon when making these decisions. Or maybe they would.
The reality of our world today is that there are not enough jobs for the people who want, or need to work them. A lot of good, hard workers - with families - are left to beg borrow and steal just to survive. Some of us are fortunate enough to have some stability in employment. A lot more of us are not. Companies are becoming stricter and stricter about who they hire. There are sometimes thousands of applicants for one or two openings. Competition and qualification are the highest rungs of the ladder. And everyone is fighting. To win, to survive, to eat.
Chris, I truly feel for you during this time in your life. I hope you will soon find work and be able to breathe a little easier.
Jay, get your head out of your ass. You have a great job, and dealing with its stresses is something you'd rather have than dealing with the look on your childrens' faces when you can't feed them.
Destined for Greatness
Posted on May 2, 2010 by Maggie Hadley Crook: "I'm pretty much destined for greatness. I'm just pacing myself so I don't freak you out."
Thanks, Maggie. But I already knew that about you, so hurry up and get to your greatness!
Seriously, though, even if this post is supposed to be funny, there's a lot of truth to it. A lot of people hold back their greatness because of the ones they love. Mothers forget their passions because being a Mom is more important, or so they say. Fathers take jobs they hate, and work them 12 hours a day because they need to support the family. Sons and daughters go to schools or jobs their parents want them to go to, so they can become what their parents didn't.
People hold off on their own greatness, their own passions, their own dreams because they don't want to freak their loved ones out, so to speak. They don't want to ruffle feathers, make waves, or be selfish. But is it entirely selfless to live a life for someone else? To embark on someone else's dreams and adventures? To abandon all inner peace in order to satisfy another person's soul? How selfless do you become, when all at once your actions speak louder than words...you start to have regrets, remorse, resentment? You yell instead of hug. You're too tired to do anything but watch t.v. and go to bed. You feel stuck in your life, a life you didn't choose, a life that strangles you. And you start to hate. And you start to covet. And you start to keep little things for yourself, because it's all you have to call your own. And you start to lie. Or drink too much. Or even worse, just stop talking, loving, hoping, changing, and feeling.
What sometimes, or a lot of times, people miss is that in order to truly be selfless, you must be happy within yourself. You must give to yourself what you want, what you dream of. Or at least try. Your children or mothers and fathers will be much happier in the end if you are passionate, open, and live an honest life. The greatness you achieve, and I promise you this, will forever change the people around you. There's no getting around that. But there is no fear to be had, because the people who mean the most will thank you for it, in some way, forever.
Thanks, Maggie. But I already knew that about you, so hurry up and get to your greatness!
Seriously, though, even if this post is supposed to be funny, there's a lot of truth to it. A lot of people hold back their greatness because of the ones they love. Mothers forget their passions because being a Mom is more important, or so they say. Fathers take jobs they hate, and work them 12 hours a day because they need to support the family. Sons and daughters go to schools or jobs their parents want them to go to, so they can become what their parents didn't.
People hold off on their own greatness, their own passions, their own dreams because they don't want to freak their loved ones out, so to speak. They don't want to ruffle feathers, make waves, or be selfish. But is it entirely selfless to live a life for someone else? To embark on someone else's dreams and adventures? To abandon all inner peace in order to satisfy another person's soul? How selfless do you become, when all at once your actions speak louder than words...you start to have regrets, remorse, resentment? You yell instead of hug. You're too tired to do anything but watch t.v. and go to bed. You feel stuck in your life, a life you didn't choose, a life that strangles you. And you start to hate. And you start to covet. And you start to keep little things for yourself, because it's all you have to call your own. And you start to lie. Or drink too much. Or even worse, just stop talking, loving, hoping, changing, and feeling.
What sometimes, or a lot of times, people miss is that in order to truly be selfless, you must be happy within yourself. You must give to yourself what you want, what you dream of. Or at least try. Your children or mothers and fathers will be much happier in the end if you are passionate, open, and live an honest life. The greatness you achieve, and I promise you this, will forever change the people around you. There's no getting around that. But there is no fear to be had, because the people who mean the most will thank you for it, in some way, forever.
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