<![CDATA[LENORA THOMPSON, WRITER - Philosophizing by Lenora]]>Sat, 13 Aug 2022 18:00:38 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Adulthood: Basically Untenable, Definitely Hypocritical]]>Sun, 31 Jul 2022 18:57:22 GMThttps://www.lenorathompsonwriter.com/philosophizingbylenora/adulthood-basically-untenable-definitely-hypocritical
Above my $25 Craigslist dishwasher, hangs this little plaque from our local thrift store. It states simply, "Inside...we are all the same age."

The older I get, the more it's proven true. I may be forty-two, but my brain works exactly as it did when I was a nine-year-old. Straight-forward. Logical. Black-and-white. Idealistic. Fair. Honest.

Please tell me I'm not the only one! My mother always said, regardless of how old she gets, on the inside she feels exactly how she felt at age six!

Now don't get me wrong! I'm not one of these anti-adulthood people. Far from it!  I couldn't wait to become a responsible, independent adult unlike so many young people today who inexplicably cling to their shrieky, silly adolescence for an embarrassingly long time.

Rather, this article is my black-and-white nine-year-old brain attempting to mesh with my wiser shades-of-grey forty-two-year-old brain. This is me saying aloud that adulthood is fundamentally untenable and unavoidably hypocritical. I'm finally admitting that the adults I admired, respected and nearly worshiped as a submissive, traumatized, shame-riddled teenager put up one heck of a strong façade but their feet were made of clay just as mine are today.

Adults aren't all they're cracked up to be, in fact frequently they act far worse than a well-raised child would ever dream of behaving!

It's the adults causing all the problems in the world!

Whew! Sure felt good to get that off my chest!


Adults Aren't Emotional.
P.S. Anger Isn't an Emotion.

How well I remember my father sneering about emotional people. Then he indulged in terrifying blackout rages. Frequently. Because, you see, he made a loophole for himself. In his mind anger isn't an emotion ergo he's not emotional. Everyone else is. Not him.

The hell anger isn't an emotion!

But he was the only member of our little family allowed to be angry. Not Mom and certainly not me. Like a cult, we females had to "keep sweet."

Only smiles and tears were allowed us while  he was screaming, swearing, running through the house like a rabid animal, beating countertops, woodwork and the air with his fists. Once he kicked out a door. Afterwards, Mom told me, he didn't remember what he said and did.

How many "adults" are just like this? How many prisons are filled with "adults" who won't control their emotions.

As a kid, they call it a tantrum. The worst thing that happens is a floor gets kicked. A toy gets thrown. You're ignored and/or spanked and learn your lesson!

Ah, but if an adult throws a tantrum, their victims are traumatized, wounded in body and spirit. Sometimes they even die. But then it's euphemistically called a "crime of passion."

Really it's just an adult who never grew up behaving in a way they'd never allow their own children to behave.

Shocking hypocrisy!

Shame, Projection, Hypocrisy...Oh My!

Maybe I've been watching too much Sex and the City lately but the mention of Miranda's secret "Goodie Drawer" (S3, E3) got me  thinking.

How many little boys have been told that if they touch themselves, they'll go blind..or straight to Hell! Probably most of them.

Then the same adult who shamed that little boy indulges in some much needed "stress relief" with their "goodie drawer."


Of course, my forty-two-year-old-brain understands the situation perfectly while at the same time my black-and-white innocent nine-year-old brain is gobsmacked by the hypocrisy.

Just one of life's little irreconcilable jokes that leads me to often state, "Life is untenable."

And while we're on the topic, I've observed that, for many people, their first exposure to sexuality "locks in" that particular situation as defining sexuality for the rest of their lives.

If a little boy is abused by a male, that first traumatic experience may "lock in" sexuality as being with same sex for the rest of their lives. If his first experience is with a much older married woman, he may develop a sick addiction to her or other older women. 

If shame and pain are the first experience, that's tragically "locked in" as well. If your parent Projects shame over their sexual behavior as a teenager on their own teenager, you bear that confusing, second-hand shame for the rest of your life. I can't begin to tell you how many women have told me that, like me, they were slut shamed by a parent before ever losing their virginity.

Children may blame their bad behavior on a sibling, friend or claim "The Devil made me do it." But an "adult" will shift their bad behavior and project it retroactively on their own child...which is infinitely worse!

Stunning hypocrisy!

"There's no right in a wrong situation."

At the end of the day, this world is so screwed up it's impossible to make a right decision because we make every decision in the context of this screwed up world!

As I've been saying since my brutal introduction to the vile world of Parental Alienation in 2012, "There's no right in a wrong situation" and this world is a very wrong situation indeed.

Yet, somehow, Jesus pulled it off!!! He was perfect in this screwed up world. What the...!?! How'd He...!?!

Seriously, how did He pull off perfection so charmingly that the worst sinners of his day flocked to him whilst the self-proclaimed righteous hated and murdered Him!?!

To you or I, it's unfathomable. Yet somehow He did it without being a push-over, a codependent nor a victim. It seems church nowadays teach the Gospel of Niceness instead of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They confuse people's likes and dislikes for morals. I may offend what you like, but that doesn't mean I did anything morally wrong!


How profoundly comforting but perhaps it goes even further. You can't intellectualize emotion. You can only feel them. By becoming human Jesus felt our emotions keenly...the joy as well as the ugly emotions and still He didn't sin!

The mind reels.

" 'Tis mercy all, immense and free..."


Becoming an adult is incredibly humbling. It's basically untenable. It's made a hypocrite of me.

I need a Savior badly because I'm well and truly and totally screwed. Every decision I make is inherently wrong. Every judgment I make is fundamentally hypocritical. 

I crave Grace. In the words of my mother's favorite hymn.

And can it be that I should gain
An int'rest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God,
should die for me?

'Tis mystery all! Th'Immortal dies!
Who can explore His strange design?
In vain the firstborn seraph tries
To sound the depths of love divine!
'Tis mercy all! let earth adore,
Let angel minds inquire no more. [Refrain]

He left His Father's throne above,
So free, so infinite His grace;
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And bled for Adam's helpless race;
'Tis mercy all, immense and free;
For, O my God, it found out me. [Refrain]

Long my imprisoned spirit lay
Fast bound in sin and nature's night;
Thine eye diffused a quick'ning ray,
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;
My chains fell off, my heart was free;
I rose, went forth and followed Thee. [Refrain]

No condemnation now I dread;
Jesus, and all in Him is mine!
Alive in Him, my living Head,
And clothed in righteousness divine,
Bold I approach th'eternal throne,
And claim the crown, through Christ my own. [Refrain]

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<![CDATA[Why Has Life Become a Competition!?!]]>Thu, 28 Jul 2022 01:46:09 GMThttps://www.lenorathompsonwriter.com/philosophizingbylenora/why-has-life-become-a-competition

From the moment a new little American takes their first breath, everything in their lives is already a competition. Heck! We can turn anything into a competition. A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G!

Our parents brag about whose baby was the first to roll over. To talk. To take their first wobbly step. Our progress is anxiously charted against sundry baby books. We're enrolled in baby swim classes, baby language classes...and rushed into public school almost before we're out of diapers!

At school, the competition ante is upped or at least it was when I was in Baptist school. Who gets the most A's on their report card. Show-and-tell. Gym class. Mathletics. Sports. Languages. Homecoming King and Queen. All competition.

By the time you hit adulthood, competition is ingrained in your DNA. It's an instinct you don't think twice about. It's only taken me forty years to figure out that turning Life into a competition is bullshit! (Sorry, Nancy. Language! I couldn't help myself.)

Competition Has Its Place

Don't get me wrong: Competition has its place but like OCD, it's a good servant but a bad master.

Huh? What!?!

Don't worry. I'll clarify.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is DNA-deep, passed down through generations. I should know. I'm a fourth generation obsessive. But at its core, OCD is merely a mechanism to relieve stress. To symbolically remove the "ick" from our lives when we can't control it any other way.

Some people smoke for stress relief. Some people drink. Because of my OCD, I tweeze my eyebrows too much, well, I did until I temporarily lost 25% of my eyesight. When I couldn't see to tweeze, my brows grew in and I'm glad of it.

People obsess about their OCD which is, in itself, even more OCD. If your OCD doesn't hurt you or anyone else too much, use it as a stress relief but don't let it control you. Make it  your servant; don't let it master you.

The same goes for competition: If competition inspires you to excel at something you love, so be it! Use it as your servant to make you happier and the world a better place. But don't let it control you.

Competition OUT of Place

Competition becomes a bad master when we blindly carry it from our High School football field into our adult lives.

Every facet of our lives becomes competition: Who we marry, what house we select, which vehicles we drive, how "impressive" our children are. All needless competition!

It took me forty years to figure out Life is not a competition.

Life is for living/surviving. It's not a game.

But if businesses can hoodwink us into continuing our High School mindset of competition, they can make billions off us. Follow the money!

Keeping Up With the Joneses

While I was growing up, my parents acquired two new (always used!) cars. Immediately, both of our nextdoor neighbors rushed out and acquired new-new cars within a week. It was ridiculous!

They were participating in a who-has-the-nicest-car competition alone because we certainly weren't competing with them. We just needed reliable transportation.

Later, in 2011, when I bought a five-year-old foreclosed townhome, my mother insisted I video the whole place so she could show it to her mother. Shades of my childhood as the Poster Childhood for how great they were as parents. The Little Lego Kid. The Project raised to reflect well on them.

I felt like, once again, Mom had stuck me to her refrigerator with a magnet. I resented having to put my sanctuary of solitude on display, but being an obedient codependent, I quietly obliged.

Later, when I sold the townhome to embrace the Simple (Cheap) Life, we moved to this 1912 cobbled-together cottage...and no one wanted a video.

You see, our cottage isn't impressive. We'd stopped competing.

Calling it Quits

It sees like such a stupid simple thing but to me it was an epiphany when I realized that, unless your an entrepreneur or something, life has nothing to do with competition.

Survival, yes. Enjoyment, hopefully. Competition, no.

Society tells me I should start Botox in my twenties. Why!?! Does it trouble them that I've laughed a lot in my life? Heck! I could have fun in a paperbag! Oh wait. They just want my money.

I guess that's why I loved the bluegrass/old-timey/Celtic music crowd. There's no superficial competition. How you look doesn't matter. They just want to hear you fiddle!

At the core, competition is about three vices: greed, pride and judgmentalism. I'm guilty of all of them and pretty damn sick of!

Here's Where I Get Off

So I'm getting off the competition merry-go-round. Well, I never was really on it except mentally. This is where I get off it mentally.

Nothing about my life is ideal nor impressive and that's hunky-dunky with me.

My husband has one of the rarest lung diseases on the planet and lives with chronic pain. My dog flunked Obedience Training. (She was bored!) My cat, Cuddles, is defective: she falls off everything. Michael's cat, Snuggles, eats dog food. The kibble is a little large for her but Snuggles ain't no quitter!

The kitchen linoleum is patched with duct tape. The paint work could use some work. The carpet is old. We don't have a bathtub, just a shower. The dryer died years ago.
Everything is just a little eccentric..but all our needs are met. We're warm, clean, safe and fed.

What our cottage lacks in impressiveness it more than makes up for in sturdiness: ancient rough hewn oak beams! Good bones!

It ain't gonna win no bozo buttons for looks but it's Home.

Why the heck are our homes a source for competition, anyways!?! They should be about warmth and shelter.

Why are our children a source of pride? They should be about love.

Why are our hair and faces a source of judgmentalism? "Wrinkles are just where smiles have been" but wrinkles don't pay for plastic surgeon's vacations in the Maldives!

I'm done! Done with all my pride, done with other people's greed and judgmentalism.

If my husband, my hair, my face, my home, my defective pets and my old vehicles offend you, then turn your face and walk on by! I'm in the business of surviving this cockeyed thing we call "Life." I'm not competing. I'm not making my Mommy proud anymore. And I'm certainly not impressive in any way.

In the words of Archie Bunker, "Well, if they don't like, they can lump it. Take it down the road and dump it."

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<![CDATA[Why Write Another Blog?]]>Mon, 25 Jul 2022 20:57:14 GMThttps://www.lenorathompsonwriter.com/philosophizingbylenora/why-write-another-blog
Helene Hanff (played by Anne Bancroft in 84 Charing Cross Road): One of my top 3 favorite writers. Like me, she wrote in her bedroom.
"Why write yet another blog, Lenora?" you ask.

Because I am frustrated!

Yes, I love writing AMERICA: The Blog but America's not the only topic I think about. The entire concept of protecting Freedom is that Freedom protects us and frees us not to think about it so we can enjoy our lives to the utmost.

Limiting myself to only write about America/politics has left me stranded with a backlog of thousands of words about other topics, all jostling in my brain behind a dam labeled, "But It's Not About America" spilling over onto thousands of hand-written journal pages, read by no one but me.

Well, that stops now!

The truth is, philosophizing is one of my favorite hobbies. Okay! Okay! It may well be my only hobby. Be kind!

But what's the fun of compulsively philosophizing if I can't share it with you!? Hence the new blog! It might be a blessing or it might be complete caca. Either way, it's gonna be fun!

I'm Stuck

This  was one of my father's favorite quotes. He oft repeated it with a jaded sigh but until I Googled the quote today, I never knew it was John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

He's spot-on!

When my Real Adult Life finally began in my thirties (it's a long story!), the decade flashed by so quickly I hardly remember it!

Now at age forty-{ummmm-counting-on-fingers}-two, I've come to one huge conclusion: I'M STUCK WITH ME.

We are all stuck with ourselves, no matter how busy we were making other plans and trying to be someone much cooler than who God made us to be.

You're Never Cool to Yourself

PictureThat's me on the right, fiddling with a group at MBOTMA's Winter Weekend event.
Why do little girls want to become ballerinas?

Because of the wonderful feeling they get inside watching Ulyana Lopatkina twirl and float above the stage.

There's only one person who doesn't get that wonderful feeling and that's Ulyana. She cannot thrill herself because she knows only too well the thousands of hours of grueling practice, starvation diet, bloodied toes and bullying directors she suffered to create a beautiful illusion for everyone...except herself.

That's true for each of us. I may think you are just "So cool!" but you don't feel that way about yourself. (And if you did, you'd be insufferable!)

No matter how many nice comments are posted or emailed to me about my writing, I don't feel cool at all. I know too much about me.

So I fled from myself. In my twenties, I took up the fiddle and mandolin to pass the time while waiting for Mr. Right and to attempt to feel about myself the warm glow I felt towards fiddlers who make your toes tap and your heart sing.

It didn't work. I became a decent violin player but I felt like an imposter. My hands cramped, my head ached. I could fiddle alright and indeed fiddling events were some of my happiest moments because I felt accepted but music didn't come naturally to me. It's too mathematical and God has only given me words, not numbers.

So I tried to become an artist, even majoring in Graphic Design in technical college. To this day my desk is overflowing with art supplies I never use because that's not me. My brain works like a spreadsheet, not like Monet and certainly not like Picasso.

Finally I tried to become an amazing cook because I adore books and TV shows about food in all its splendor, but I dislike cooking. I'm clumsy. I haven't got a crafty bone in my body and cooking is a craft that involves fire and sharp knives. Why would I enjoy doing that!?!

In the end, we are all stuck with ourselves. The person God created us to be Will Out. There's no escaping our uncool selves.

Finally, at long last, I've accepted that I'm a philosopher. I think day and night. I write day and night. Can't stop. Don't want to stop because I enjoy it so dang much! But until now I hadn't quite allowed myself to realize nor accept nor say outloud that God created me to be a philosopher.

"Deal with it!" (I'm saying that to myself.)

My Inspirations


Who changed your life? Was it a favorite teacher? A grandparent, aunt or uncle? Perhaps even a movie or song?

The three writers pictured above are my inspirations. If I can become half the writers they were, I shall be very well pleased.

I suppose they're the least likely inspirations for someone who, for eighteen months, has written almost exclusively about President Trump and Conservatism.

Anthony Bourdain was a Libertarian, a wild child, alcoholic, reformed drug addict and an atheist who, like all atheists, talked an awful lot about God...but hated Donald Trump.

He burst onto the scene simply because he was a brilliant writer (and his mother pulled strings for him at The New York Times). Vicious. Brutal. He went straight for the throat of every topic. No holds barred. No quarter asked and none given.

You can read Kitchen Confidential over and over without ever getting bored.

Personally, I don't believe he committed suicide. I believe he was offed. More on that topic in a future article.

Helene Hanff: A Jewish New York Liberal who struggled desperately to make a living by writing until a lucky break changed her life in her 50s when her book, 84 Charing Cross Road, became a cult classic that changed my life in 2011.

For decades Helene worked very hard to become a good writer while dashing off the most teasing, acerbic notes to a prim-and-proper Englishman who worked in antiquarian bookshop at 84 Charing Cross Road in London.

When Helene tried to be a good writer, she was mediocre. But when she was herself in writing, she was brilliant!

Without dear Helene, you wouldn't be reading this blog now. I'd still be living in the Twin Cities and never would've met my Michael. It's a long story.

And C. S. Lewis. Dear, dear C. S. Lewis. A former atheist so intensely, deeply, grittily honest that in his writing he managed the impossible: he made Being Human and Being Christian compatible. How many pastors or so-called "Christian" writers accomplish that!?

I suppose I fell in love with Lewis when he wrote about the joy of peeling off a scab. No one else would dare to write something so intensely human and embarrassing but C. S. Lewis did.

Without Lewis, I might've lost all hope in God.

When I fear death, I remember that in death I'll (hopefully) finally get to meet C. S. Lewis and then I don't mind the idea of dying at all.

Honourable Mentions

PicturePhoto by Paul Child
When I'm sitting in the Eye Clinic waiting to have a hypodermic needle plunged into my eyeball (Avastin injection), the only thing that takes my mind off my impending doom is reading My Life In France by Julia Child.

In its transporting pages, she takes you to 1948 post-war France and the meal that forever changed her life...and ours: Sole Meunière.

Large in the pages is her husband, Paul Child, who loved to photograph his beautiful wife and those long, long legs of hers! If the movie Julie & Julia is right, he's a lot like my Michael. Everytime Mastering the Art of French Cooking was rejected by yet another publisher, Paul had one response: "FUCK 'EM!" That's what my Michael says too.

It's nice to have someone in your life who always has your back and believes in your writing. Julie and Paul Child were a great team who changed the world, our cuisine and television itself.

Ah, the wonderful mind of Carrie Bradshaw. It never stops grinding, no pun intended.

Mentally, she chews on every situation in life and then regurgitates it in her column.

I relate, oh! I so relate. Fellow philosophers, dear lady, just with different, ahem, topics of interest.

What Shall I Then Write?

Everything. Nothing is off the table. Everything in life, every situation, every person, every relationship, every hurt, every blessing and every misfortune is grist for the philosophy mill. No topic is out-of-bounds. No detail too small. No subject too embarrassing, too profound nor too simple.

Will I finally make sense out of Life? Nope!

If our best minds have tried and failed for thousands of years, I haven't got a prayer. Nonetheless, it'll be fun to wander through Life together, hand-in-hand, philosophizing about this crazy, untenable thing we call Life.

Welcome to  Philosophizing by Lenora.

As always, my writing is 100% reader supported and my only source of income as a  caregiver for Michael.
No ads, no merch, no distractions.
Thank you for your support!