Thursday, August 11, 2011
A decade of lessons learned the hard way, or what I know at almost 30, that I didn’t know when I was 20.
Of course, I understand that in order to get to where I am right now, I needed to go through some things, sort through some things, and figure things out at what seems at times to be a ridiculously sluggish, painfully slow pace...and yet, I can’t help wondering where I’d be today if I only “knew then, what I know now”...just typing those words makes me sound ancient, and yet, despite my natural fear of growing old (I’m not talking 30 here, I’m talking geriatric phases that I wouldn’t dare ascribe a number to in writing), I wear the wisdom (the little I’ve acquired) that comes with age proudly (simultaneously, I humbly acknowledge that I have so much more to learn.)
If I could go back and tell my 20 year old self a few things to make the last decade go a little more smoothly, these are the 15 that come to mind as the most important things I’ve learned along the way:
-People matter. More than things, more than tasks, more than ideas. Treat them that way, and let the ones who matter most, know that they do while you still have them around.
-You have two choices. You either help people understand you as only YOU can, or accept being misunderstood. There really is no in between, and not every relationship is worth the time and effort that it will take to acquire the former (so cherish and be patient with the ones that are willing to learn), and sometimes you’ll have to learn to relish the latter...instead of feeling misunderstood, think of it as being mysterious :)
-There is equal pleasure to be found in crowds and solitude. Balance them. Learn from others but realize that audible voices are not the only ones worth listening to.
-There are a million things in this life that you will really really WANT but will have to let go of and a few things that you really really NEED but will find hard to hold on to. When you come across the first kind, open your fingers and accept that we’re not meant to have our every whim. When you come across the second, be relentless, and steadfast in your grip, and grateful that it came into your hands to begin with.
- Everyone has a story that they want to tell someone. If it turns out that you are that someone, listen without judgement and realize that you’ve just been given a gift, what can you learn from it? (*note: give yourself extra time at the grocery store, you will get a lot of stories from people here for some strange reason)
-”First do no harm” is not just for doctors. Hurt no one intentionally, right your wrongs when you can, and resist the urge to match or exceed the hurts done to you. No good can come from vengeance.
-You are by your very nature a little bit meddlesome, supremely wordy, over-analytical, something of a control-freak, and have addictive tendancies. Quit fighting these things and harness the power of your weaknesses. Meddle only where you can do good, or bring clarity or in acts of sincere charity. Use your words to build up and affirm the people who deserve and need to hear them. Analyze situations, people, and use your perception to make good decisions, give good advice, know when to stick around and when to run for the hills! Control yourself and steer your life in a way that is purposeful. Allow yourself to become addicted only to things that will bring health...like loving, giving, laughter, acts of kindness and...exercise!
-When how you look matters least to you, is about the time you’ll start hearing people say you look better than you ever have. Its a cruel world baby...that’s just the way these things seem to work. You’re never gonna look like you think you should, and you’ll always look back at how you looked now and be confused by how hard you were on yourself.
-You are your own worst (and most of the time ONLY) enemy. I know its hard to wrap your brain around that, but the sooner you do the better off you’ll be!
-Pain means something is wrong...if you listened to your body more closely you’d avoid a lot of trauma...and Connor would have gotten to be baby Jesus in Aunt Ginny’s Christmas pageant!!!
-Don’t try to cover your freckles. Their your birth-right and one day you’ll be sad to notice they are fading.
-Embrace your history, appreciate your family, the past makes up about half of who you are, you decide on the rest.
-Don’t waste too much time looking ahead, trying to predict what’s coming, or hoping for the next best thing. See what’s right in front of you, understand that you’ll never see the best or worst coming so there’s no sense looking for it, find the perfection in every moment...its there, in time you’ll hardly have to look for it anymore.
-Stop being so scared. There’s some rough stuff coming, but you’re not alone and you’re stronger than you think.
-Embrace the dork...you’re only cool when you’re having fun and being you..and “cool” is relative...fun is fun!
-Buy Apple Stock...when you’re 30 you’ll thank me!
Monday, July 4, 2011
A Booby Trapped Life
Somewhere along the line, we all realize that life is full of surprises. Many of these surprises are wonderful ones, the kind that fill your heart to overflowing and make you feel like someone has just put the candle in your Jack-O-Lantern to light you from the inside. Unfortunately though, this life has less desirable surprises in store for us as well: foiled plans, gloomy weather, sudden separations, unexpected loss, bad news, bad hair and traffic! It is these less desirable surprises that have us looking over our shoulders, and walking around haunched over to keep ourselves protected from the blows. I always feel sad when I hear someone profess “I hate surprises!” (Warning: I also feel the inclination to change that notion by providing that person with as many happy surprises as I can think of) because I really feel that our preferences are generally a result of our experiences, and so a person who hates surprises has probably had too many unpleasant ones. In any case, I am ever learning and working toward accepting the fact that much of this life is out of my control, but I am determined to be proactive and engaged in the parts that I can control. Happiness, however illusive and fleeting for some, seems to me to be among these semi-controllable things. Enter the idea of booby-trapping one’s own life with happy surprises. If this sounds completely crazy to you, you might as well stop reading because I assure you, I am about to get weirder! If however, you are intrigued by this idea of proactive happiness prompting, read on, and feel free to steal these ideas to booby trap your own existence and that of the ones you love most!
1) Show me the money!:
This is probably the most widely-known of my traps among my friends and family, and has gained me much chastisement from my frugal husband who believes very strongly in the bank system. However, it works for me, and so I shall continue. The idea is simple. Before I put away my winter coats for the warmer months, I put whatever cash I can find into the pockets, and forget about it. When the cold rolls around and I put my hands into those toasty pockets for the first time, I am pleasantly surprised (yes I do manage to feel surprised even though I do this regularly)! Added happiness factor: share the wealth, with the $20 I found in my black pea-coat this year, I treated some friends to Starbucks which made my trap even more successful! Also, try shoving some green in the pockets of things before you donate them, make someone else’s day a little brighter!
2) When you’re in a good place, write notes to yourself for when you’re in a not-so-good-place:
This one I started when I was about 6 years old. I had made myself so sick about my yearly check-up and corresponding booster shots that I could think of nothing else. When the big moment actually came, and the shot was over, I was a little disgusted with myself. I mean, I wasted an entire day of childhood bliss worrying about a 2 second pinch in the arm!!! I went home and wrote my future self a note. I don’t remember the note verbatim, but it went something like “Dear 7 year old Chrissy, don’t be such a big baby next time, the shot is no big deal! Have fun with your friends, eat your lunch, and when the moment comes, close your eyes and think about space camp!” This habit stuck and has since evolved to more adult situations. Now, after I feel I’ve successfully gotten through something, I will often write my future self a note of memorandum and advice.
3.)Bubble Wrap:
This one has to be personalized to your particular “bright spots”. We all have them, those simple pleasures that provide us with a giddy moment in our everyday lives. I myself have many such pleasures, ranging from the wielding of a gravity hammer in Halo Reach to popping the bubble wrap that comes in packages. My bright spots are the things that always make me smile despite myself. When I was young, my mom always saved me the bubble wrap from her packages at work. I kept strips of it under my bed to pop when I needed a moment of bliss. Now I still keep bubble wrap tucked away in drawers in my kitchen. This morning, my children found my stash and we paraded around on our bubble wrap dance floor with Lady Gaga singing our praises! I’ll have to restock on bubble wrap, but I’m not too worried, I keep plenty of things on hand to that same end. A book of Pablo Neruda poems and a blanket will bring me to a happy place in my backyard, a slow whiff of the coppertone sun screen I keep in my desk drawer at work never fails to capture sunshine for me and make me smile, and juicy fruit gum transports me to lazy summers spent with my cousins at Breezy Point. I keep these things on hand and have no shame depending on them when there’s a need!
4.)Play it loud:
This one is not for everyone, but I have an ever-rotating playlist of some of my favorite feel-good songs of the moment. This list is on all of my electronic devices (Thank you itunes) and I even burn CD’s of it to keep in my car. Make the list, update it often, name it something silly, find the list, set it in motion, and play it loud! For me this is most effective in the car, sunroof open, windows down, open road!
5.) No man is an island:
Jon Bonjovi had it right. No man, or woman is an island. We need each other, we make each other better, and the best way to booby trap your life with happiness is to cultivate relationships that make you happy. I have been fortunate enough in my life to have many such people, the ones who make me happy just by being exactly who they are! A chat with a family member or friend never fails to bring me some good surprises...like I’m surprised how much I love yet ANOTHER thing about you!
6.) Think ahead:
The other night I was out with one of my best girlfriends. We were finding a parking spot in a downtown garage and planning to spend the next few hours appreciating the art scene of our city (already a happiness booby trap just having this night on my calendar!) As we passed many open spots in the garage I kept driving (despite my friends confusion) until we got to the rooftop parking. Of course she asked me why on earth we were parking all the way on the roof when there were so many perfectly acceptable spots down below, so I let her in on my secret. Although we were parking in the daylight, by the time we got back to our car we would have a clear and up close view of the night sky, and the city (gargoyles and all) all lit up for the night... a beautiful and happiness-inducing end to a great night!
7.) Pay it forward:
My absolute favorite happiness inducer is booby trapping the lives of the people I love! Leaving a note, sending a quick message, picking up a thoughtful gift, taking over a dreaded chore...really any of the things you do to booby trap your life can be done for someone else...so pay it forward! Spread the love around, and make the world a happier place-Added bonus, this is like a boomerang, the more happiness you CAUSE the more happiness you FEEL! <3
1) Show me the money!:
This is probably the most widely-known of my traps among my friends and family, and has gained me much chastisement from my frugal husband who believes very strongly in the bank system. However, it works for me, and so I shall continue. The idea is simple. Before I put away my winter coats for the warmer months, I put whatever cash I can find into the pockets, and forget about it. When the cold rolls around and I put my hands into those toasty pockets for the first time, I am pleasantly surprised (yes I do manage to feel surprised even though I do this regularly)! Added happiness factor: share the wealth, with the $20 I found in my black pea-coat this year, I treated some friends to Starbucks which made my trap even more successful! Also, try shoving some green in the pockets of things before you donate them, make someone else’s day a little brighter!
2) When you’re in a good place, write notes to yourself for when you’re in a not-so-good-place:
This one I started when I was about 6 years old. I had made myself so sick about my yearly check-up and corresponding booster shots that I could think of nothing else. When the big moment actually came, and the shot was over, I was a little disgusted with myself. I mean, I wasted an entire day of childhood bliss worrying about a 2 second pinch in the arm!!! I went home and wrote my future self a note. I don’t remember the note verbatim, but it went something like “Dear 7 year old Chrissy, don’t be such a big baby next time, the shot is no big deal! Have fun with your friends, eat your lunch, and when the moment comes, close your eyes and think about space camp!” This habit stuck and has since evolved to more adult situations. Now, after I feel I’ve successfully gotten through something, I will often write my future self a note of memorandum and advice.
3.)Bubble Wrap:
This one has to be personalized to your particular “bright spots”. We all have them, those simple pleasures that provide us with a giddy moment in our everyday lives. I myself have many such pleasures, ranging from the wielding of a gravity hammer in Halo Reach to popping the bubble wrap that comes in packages. My bright spots are the things that always make me smile despite myself. When I was young, my mom always saved me the bubble wrap from her packages at work. I kept strips of it under my bed to pop when I needed a moment of bliss. Now I still keep bubble wrap tucked away in drawers in my kitchen. This morning, my children found my stash and we paraded around on our bubble wrap dance floor with Lady Gaga singing our praises! I’ll have to restock on bubble wrap, but I’m not too worried, I keep plenty of things on hand to that same end. A book of Pablo Neruda poems and a blanket will bring me to a happy place in my backyard, a slow whiff of the coppertone sun screen I keep in my desk drawer at work never fails to capture sunshine for me and make me smile, and juicy fruit gum transports me to lazy summers spent with my cousins at Breezy Point. I keep these things on hand and have no shame depending on them when there’s a need!
4.)Play it loud:
This one is not for everyone, but I have an ever-rotating playlist of some of my favorite feel-good songs of the moment. This list is on all of my electronic devices (Thank you itunes) and I even burn CD’s of it to keep in my car. Make the list, update it often, name it something silly, find the list, set it in motion, and play it loud! For me this is most effective in the car, sunroof open, windows down, open road!
5.) No man is an island:
Jon Bonjovi had it right. No man, or woman is an island. We need each other, we make each other better, and the best way to booby trap your life with happiness is to cultivate relationships that make you happy. I have been fortunate enough in my life to have many such people, the ones who make me happy just by being exactly who they are! A chat with a family member or friend never fails to bring me some good surprises...like I’m surprised how much I love yet ANOTHER thing about you!
6.) Think ahead:
The other night I was out with one of my best girlfriends. We were finding a parking spot in a downtown garage and planning to spend the next few hours appreciating the art scene of our city (already a happiness booby trap just having this night on my calendar!) As we passed many open spots in the garage I kept driving (despite my friends confusion) until we got to the rooftop parking. Of course she asked me why on earth we were parking all the way on the roof when there were so many perfectly acceptable spots down below, so I let her in on my secret. Although we were parking in the daylight, by the time we got back to our car we would have a clear and up close view of the night sky, and the city (gargoyles and all) all lit up for the night... a beautiful and happiness-inducing end to a great night!
7.) Pay it forward:
My absolute favorite happiness inducer is booby trapping the lives of the people I love! Leaving a note, sending a quick message, picking up a thoughtful gift, taking over a dreaded chore...really any of the things you do to booby trap your life can be done for someone else...so pay it forward! Spread the love around, and make the world a happier place-Added bonus, this is like a boomerang, the more happiness you CAUSE the more happiness you FEEL! <3
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Ode To Summer
lots of unfinished thoughts in the blog doc- but here's one I could actually complete- an ode to summer on this the first day!
Ode To Summer:
Here’s to summer!
To slow morning cups of coffee,
the boost of my engine as it catches up with my foot on the gas pedal,
To soft, cotton, dresses with pockets,
long walks to no where in particular,
Open-air farmers markets,
ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles from the truck,
open-toed shoes,
no dress code,
new freckles,
old friends,
pink cheeks,
catching fireflies,
catching up,
making wishes,
watching stars.
Here’s to summer,
late nights talking,
quiet hours remembering,
stolen minutes sorting out life,
figuring it out,
changing your mind, starting fresh tomorrow.
Here’s to summer,
spontaneous gatherings,
well-laid plans,
sand under feet,
fresh cut grass.
Here’s to summer,
ice clinking in glasses,
kids giggling and running,
shimmering water,
tanlines.
Here’s to summer,
music pumping,
shoulders shimmying,
lights glimmering,
loved-ones laughing.
Here’s to summer,
to time-
time to share,
time to spare,
time to move,
time to improve,
time to listen,
time to drown-it-out.
Here’s to summer,
for all that you are
all that you may be,
is all that we make you!
Ode To Summer:
Here’s to summer!
To slow morning cups of coffee,
the boost of my engine as it catches up with my foot on the gas pedal,
To soft, cotton, dresses with pockets,
long walks to no where in particular,
Open-air farmers markets,
ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles from the truck,
open-toed shoes,
no dress code,
new freckles,
old friends,
pink cheeks,
catching fireflies,
catching up,
making wishes,
watching stars.
Here’s to summer,
late nights talking,
quiet hours remembering,
stolen minutes sorting out life,
figuring it out,
changing your mind, starting fresh tomorrow.
Here’s to summer,
spontaneous gatherings,
well-laid plans,
sand under feet,
fresh cut grass.
Here’s to summer,
ice clinking in glasses,
kids giggling and running,
shimmering water,
tanlines.
Here’s to summer,
music pumping,
shoulders shimmying,
lights glimmering,
loved-ones laughing.
Here’s to summer,
to time-
time to share,
time to spare,
time to move,
time to improve,
time to listen,
time to drown-it-out.
Here’s to summer,
for all that you are
all that you may be,
is all that we make you!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Harold and The Purple Crayon (A Sequel)
For Alana who wondered what happened to Harold when he grew up or his crayon ran out.
And for my fourth graders who will be writing story sequels this week, and drawing their own paths in the years to come.
Sequel: Harold and the Purple Crayon
Harold continued drawing his world the way he wanted it to be for a long time. One day, a grown-up Harold looked down at his purple crayon and realized that it was almost all used up. Soon there would be nothing left of it at all, and he realized that a decision had to be made. He took his shard of purple crayon and tucked it lovingly into his pants pocket. He patted it twice to reassure himself, and then he lifted his arms up over his head, grabbed a hold of the white wall around his purple bed and ripped the wall down. The paper crumbled under his grasp, and soon he was surrounded by a lifetime of purple drawings shredded at his feet while he stood in his actual bedroom by the light of his actual window. He climbed out.
It’s a strange thing to see the world the way it actually is after years of drawing it the way you wanted it to be.
Harold was wonderstruck.
It was the color mostly. Of course there was purple, he noticed that first as it washed across the expanse of sky, but the sun was a brilliant infusion of orange, yellow, and red, colors he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. He stood entranced and engulfed in the warmth that his purple sun could never provide. He felt assured that he had made the right choice.
He walked on down a road that he did not draw, and enjoyed the mystery of where it might lead him. The loneliness he had known for so long seemed to fade as other travelers (some going his way, some going their own) passed by him on the winding road.
He made friends, smelled flowers, got lost, found his way. He saw things he would never have thought to draw, and felt things that even his best purple crayon scribblings could never have allowed him to feel. He was alive and aware, intrigued and inspired, he was happy...except when he wasn’t.
Sometimes, this actual world made Harold want to run back to his paper fantasy and hide. The faces he met in this world were not always smiling, the mysteries he encountered weren’t always solvable, and there were still waves that wanted to swallow him but no purple boat to rescue him from their grasp.
He thumbed the waxy piece of crayon in his pocket and wished that he could use it here, wished that he didn’t have to choose just one way to be Harold. If only his purple crayon could change sad eyes to happy ones, darkness to light, confusion to understanding. He decided that things had been less complicated when he was the author and illustrator of every part of his own story, and he sat up one night under the light of the real moon, contemplating covering his walls and window with paper once again.
While he thought, he doodled with his crayon a picture of all the things in this real-world that he would miss most of all, when he was finished, his drawing looked a lot like a family. He realized that this family he had drawn was not real, was not his and although he could draw them near to him, and smiling he couldn’t make them exist. The sun shining over them could never bring them actual warmth, the holding hands he illustrated could never bring him true comfort, the kind eyes he drew could never give him sincere counsel, could never shine with pride or recognition, could never fill the empty space that he would know if he left the real world behind.
Harold felt helpless.
He knew he couldn’t live happily in a world that wasn’t real, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to face the unpredictability and disappointment of a world that was. He twirled his crayon between his fingers for a long time, and then he got up.
Methodically he spread his white paper all across his bedroom floor in a line. At the one end he drew the world the way it was, and at the other end he drew it the way he wished it could be. In between the two he drew a bumpy, winding, twisting path. Along the path he drew himself making his way as best as he could, and then with his last millimeter of purple crayon he drew you, because he knew he’d need your help to get to where he was going. He folded up his plan, tucked it into his pocket where his purple crayon had been, and stepped out into the sun.
And for my fourth graders who will be writing story sequels this week, and drawing their own paths in the years to come.
Sequel: Harold and the Purple Crayon
Harold continued drawing his world the way he wanted it to be for a long time. One day, a grown-up Harold looked down at his purple crayon and realized that it was almost all used up. Soon there would be nothing left of it at all, and he realized that a decision had to be made. He took his shard of purple crayon and tucked it lovingly into his pants pocket. He patted it twice to reassure himself, and then he lifted his arms up over his head, grabbed a hold of the white wall around his purple bed and ripped the wall down. The paper crumbled under his grasp, and soon he was surrounded by a lifetime of purple drawings shredded at his feet while he stood in his actual bedroom by the light of his actual window. He climbed out.
It’s a strange thing to see the world the way it actually is after years of drawing it the way you wanted it to be.
Harold was wonderstruck.
It was the color mostly. Of course there was purple, he noticed that first as it washed across the expanse of sky, but the sun was a brilliant infusion of orange, yellow, and red, colors he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. He stood entranced and engulfed in the warmth that his purple sun could never provide. He felt assured that he had made the right choice.
He walked on down a road that he did not draw, and enjoyed the mystery of where it might lead him. The loneliness he had known for so long seemed to fade as other travelers (some going his way, some going their own) passed by him on the winding road.
He made friends, smelled flowers, got lost, found his way. He saw things he would never have thought to draw, and felt things that even his best purple crayon scribblings could never have allowed him to feel. He was alive and aware, intrigued and inspired, he was happy...except when he wasn’t.
Sometimes, this actual world made Harold want to run back to his paper fantasy and hide. The faces he met in this world were not always smiling, the mysteries he encountered weren’t always solvable, and there were still waves that wanted to swallow him but no purple boat to rescue him from their grasp.
He thumbed the waxy piece of crayon in his pocket and wished that he could use it here, wished that he didn’t have to choose just one way to be Harold. If only his purple crayon could change sad eyes to happy ones, darkness to light, confusion to understanding. He decided that things had been less complicated when he was the author and illustrator of every part of his own story, and he sat up one night under the light of the real moon, contemplating covering his walls and window with paper once again.
While he thought, he doodled with his crayon a picture of all the things in this real-world that he would miss most of all, when he was finished, his drawing looked a lot like a family. He realized that this family he had drawn was not real, was not his and although he could draw them near to him, and smiling he couldn’t make them exist. The sun shining over them could never bring them actual warmth, the holding hands he illustrated could never bring him true comfort, the kind eyes he drew could never give him sincere counsel, could never shine with pride or recognition, could never fill the empty space that he would know if he left the real world behind.
Harold felt helpless.
He knew he couldn’t live happily in a world that wasn’t real, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to face the unpredictability and disappointment of a world that was. He twirled his crayon between his fingers for a long time, and then he got up.
Methodically he spread his white paper all across his bedroom floor in a line. At the one end he drew the world the way it was, and at the other end he drew it the way he wished it could be. In between the two he drew a bumpy, winding, twisting path. Along the path he drew himself making his way as best as he could, and then with his last millimeter of purple crayon he drew you, because he knew he’d need your help to get to where he was going. He folded up his plan, tucked it into his pocket where his purple crayon had been, and stepped out into the sun.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
A Generic History Of Love and Loss and Fear and Hope
You know what's wrong with you...You're chicken. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay, life's a fact.' People DO fall in love. People do belong to each other. Because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness. You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, yet you're terrified that somebody's gonna put you in a cage. Well, baby, you're already in a cage and you built it yourself. And it's not bound on the east by Somali Land or on the west by Tulip, Texas. It's everywhere you go. Because no matter where you run, you're always going to end up running into yourself.
-Breakfast at Tiffany's
This is not a sad story.
When you were born, you were a clean slate. A perfect creature, with nothing but possibility on your shoulders. As you grew and changed, the world around you was changing too. The life that would be yours was being decided by broken hearted grown ups that loved you with each jagged piece. You didn’t know. You didn’t understand any of it. So you sang happily and when you learned to straighten your legs and coerce them into making you mobile, you went everywhere those little legs took you with your arms wide open and a light in your eyes. You loved everything you saw and every day was new. Do you remember that time? You don’t. You can’t. But you’ve seen the evidence in aged pictures and home movies. You know it was so.
As time passed, the framework for how you would view the world started to take shape, one event at a time. The first time you realized that you loved a place was the time you drove away from it in a moving van. The first time you realized you loved a thing was when it didn’t belong to you anymore, the first time you realized you loved a friend was the day after she moved away, and the first time you realized you loved a boy, was when you knew he couldn’t love you back. Nothing new here, just life, and so you close your arms just a little, but still move through the world generally unscathed. After all, that hope that was in you on the first day you took breath is still there, its been cultivated by the ones who loved you and worked hard to make sure that you knew it. As you continue to grow though, the changes get bigger, the gaps between you and the rest of the world seem more evident, the hurts heal slower and the scars run into each other. The questions come. You wonder if you’re doing “it” right. You meet people who walk through the world with their arms closed tightly to their chests, you wonder if they are less scarred. You rage against the notion. You go with what feels right inside, and you open your arms again deciding to let the chips fall where they may. You tell yourself, you can take it, you’ve come this far!
You are so naive. You are the fawn roaming unaware onto the freeway, you’ll never see it coming. You love some more. You love a lot. You are unafraid. You’ve built the sandcastle in such a way that when the waves come like you know they will, they can only take a little piece of it, the rest will still be there, and you’re always building. You’re working hard at loving all of it, and making yourself as deserving of their love as possible. You love places, people, things and circumstances. Your heart swells. You meet someone, who sees your scars and loves you still. You are on top of the world. The waves come, and take pieces of the castle, it is of no consequence.
And then one day...
The fawn looks up and is suddenly demolished. You never saw it coming, you are folded over with the loss that took you by surprise, the regret that laces the poison of it. You are undone. Every old scar is open, every forgotten pain made new, and you fold your arms tight to keep your insides from spilling out. They were right, you think. One more blow like that would be the end of you.
Time passes. You are resilliant, the love is still there, it brings you back slowly, but you are changed. There is a fear that dictates now, that keeps your heart in check. You know that whatever and whomever you love has the power to destroy you, and so you keep the world at arms length...at first.
Because this is not a sad story, I am happy to report that the fear grows quieter, and your scars start to fade. You are different, but you are not lost. You still believe and hope and choose to see. There is a tentativeness that was not there before, you are guarded, you tell yourself you are wiser. The reckless abandon has been replaced with cautious optimism, and a deep sense of responsibility to never cause what you are recovering from. You start off slowly letting yourself love a place, a group, a job, a hobby, ignoring the whispers of “what if”. Then without realizing it, in your efforts to protect the ones you love, you just love them all the more. In your attempts to grow and change you let a few more in, build another wing to that sandcastle. The fear is always there, you know it always will be, but then you look up at how the stars brighten the darkest of nights and you think to yourself that maybe, the presence of fear makes it all the more meaningful each time you find yourself willing to take the known risk.
“You have to give to the world the thing that you want the most, in order to fix the broken parts inside you.” Eve Ensler
-Breakfast at Tiffany's
This is not a sad story.
When you were born, you were a clean slate. A perfect creature, with nothing but possibility on your shoulders. As you grew and changed, the world around you was changing too. The life that would be yours was being decided by broken hearted grown ups that loved you with each jagged piece. You didn’t know. You didn’t understand any of it. So you sang happily and when you learned to straighten your legs and coerce them into making you mobile, you went everywhere those little legs took you with your arms wide open and a light in your eyes. You loved everything you saw and every day was new. Do you remember that time? You don’t. You can’t. But you’ve seen the evidence in aged pictures and home movies. You know it was so.
As time passed, the framework for how you would view the world started to take shape, one event at a time. The first time you realized that you loved a place was the time you drove away from it in a moving van. The first time you realized you loved a thing was when it didn’t belong to you anymore, the first time you realized you loved a friend was the day after she moved away, and the first time you realized you loved a boy, was when you knew he couldn’t love you back. Nothing new here, just life, and so you close your arms just a little, but still move through the world generally unscathed. After all, that hope that was in you on the first day you took breath is still there, its been cultivated by the ones who loved you and worked hard to make sure that you knew it. As you continue to grow though, the changes get bigger, the gaps between you and the rest of the world seem more evident, the hurts heal slower and the scars run into each other. The questions come. You wonder if you’re doing “it” right. You meet people who walk through the world with their arms closed tightly to their chests, you wonder if they are less scarred. You rage against the notion. You go with what feels right inside, and you open your arms again deciding to let the chips fall where they may. You tell yourself, you can take it, you’ve come this far!
You are so naive. You are the fawn roaming unaware onto the freeway, you’ll never see it coming. You love some more. You love a lot. You are unafraid. You’ve built the sandcastle in such a way that when the waves come like you know they will, they can only take a little piece of it, the rest will still be there, and you’re always building. You’re working hard at loving all of it, and making yourself as deserving of their love as possible. You love places, people, things and circumstances. Your heart swells. You meet someone, who sees your scars and loves you still. You are on top of the world. The waves come, and take pieces of the castle, it is of no consequence.
And then one day...
The fawn looks up and is suddenly demolished. You never saw it coming, you are folded over with the loss that took you by surprise, the regret that laces the poison of it. You are undone. Every old scar is open, every forgotten pain made new, and you fold your arms tight to keep your insides from spilling out. They were right, you think. One more blow like that would be the end of you.
Time passes. You are resilliant, the love is still there, it brings you back slowly, but you are changed. There is a fear that dictates now, that keeps your heart in check. You know that whatever and whomever you love has the power to destroy you, and so you keep the world at arms length...at first.
Because this is not a sad story, I am happy to report that the fear grows quieter, and your scars start to fade. You are different, but you are not lost. You still believe and hope and choose to see. There is a tentativeness that was not there before, you are guarded, you tell yourself you are wiser. The reckless abandon has been replaced with cautious optimism, and a deep sense of responsibility to never cause what you are recovering from. You start off slowly letting yourself love a place, a group, a job, a hobby, ignoring the whispers of “what if”. Then without realizing it, in your efforts to protect the ones you love, you just love them all the more. In your attempts to grow and change you let a few more in, build another wing to that sandcastle. The fear is always there, you know it always will be, but then you look up at how the stars brighten the darkest of nights and you think to yourself that maybe, the presence of fear makes it all the more meaningful each time you find yourself willing to take the known risk.
“You have to give to the world the thing that you want the most, in order to fix the broken parts inside you.” Eve Ensler
Saturday, March 12, 2011
The Pursuit of Happiness..another fable of sorts.
The pursuit of happiness.
Reader, Imagine for a moment that you and I are friends. Its raining outside and we are sitting in a coffee shop, or your living room (wherever you feel more enlightened) We’ve been talking for a while about where we’ve been, where we’re going, and what it would take in this life to be truly happy. I feel at a loss because happiness is such a mystery and one I want so badly to unlock, not just for myself but so that I could give you answers as well. I ask you, “Have you ever heard the story about the girl on the pursuit of happiness? “ Your eyes flash recognition and I see you searching your brain for recollection so I interrupt your process and assure you that No, you haven’t. You think you have because this is something that many people have talked about, over cups of coffee, glasses of wine, or sobbing over half-gallons of ice cream. The quest implied by the title of this story is strewn across magazines and thematically impacts many works of literature, its message is embedded in music of all genres, it’s part of the constitution even. But you haven’t heard this story, because this story I’m just making it up right now as we sit together contemplating the stuff of life, watching the rain drops travel down the glass of our window.
The story begins with a girl, (I’m picturing her with long dark hair and freckles, but for your own purposes, you should picture her looking a little more like you, even if this means she doesn’t look much like a girl at all anymore...she won’t mind. ) Anyway, this girl is traveling, and like most travelers she has a destination, she calls it “happiness”. The path she travels is long and she has no real map to guide her. She makes several stops along the way, veers off the path in several directions, and gains and loses traveling companions for different stretches of the journey. There are pleasant and unpleasant distractions on her quest, but after a time, she always continues back to the original path and forges ahead with renewed resolve on the pursuit of happiness. At long last she becomes weary, disheartened, and confused about the quest. She feels as though she should have arrived by now, so she sighs and humphs, growls and makes all manner of gutteral sounds until she realizes she is being watched. (Yes this is the part where I introduce the wise old man..somebody has to come along and provide some clarity! Blame my affinity for Yoda or say I have “daddy issues” if you’d like)
Thus emerges, an old wrinkly man, with the look of wisdom in his eyes. Of course, the girl looks to him for the answers she’s been searching for, who wouldn’t? She stops him and (because girls don’t have trouble with this) asks for directions. The man considers her question for a moment. Truth be told, she is not the first to come across this old man and ask him how to find happiness, he’s seen her kind before. He assures her that he can help her but in return she must sit down with him and for as long as it takes, she must recount for him every step of the journey she has already taken. He warns her that he is not interested in hearing just the pretty parts, that he will not stand for picking and choosing, she must start at the beginning and tell him every part. Of course, the girl is confused about this request, and torn about leaving the path to sit with this wrinkly being, when possibly, happiness could be waiting for her just around the bend..but when he says, “I have to know where you’ve been before I can tell you where you are going.” her hope is ignited and her decision is made.
So the girl sits down and tells the wise old man about all the days of her life gone by. The story she weaves is just like yours, parts of it shadowed with darkness, other parts drenched in light, moments laden with sorrow and stages bursting with joy. As she speaks her eyes well up with tears at the remembrance. There are thunderous bursts of laughter and junctures of quiet despondence as she recounts her tale. In the telling, she beams with pride and shrinks with shame at different junctures, and all the while the man listens and his eyes mirror each emotion that she feels, beckoning her to continue. At last, the story ebbs and flows and tapers off at the very moment that led her here, to this place, asking the old man for directions. “So you see,” she tells him, “I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I need to know if I’m going the right way and how much longer until I get there?” The man smiles and tells the girl that she has a beautiful story. Having just told it, she can’t help but agree. Nevertheless this is beside the point, and so she presses him again. (This is the part where the wise old man scaffolds the girl to her own understanding *teachers smile knowingly*) He asks her to describe the happiness she is seeking. She thinks for a moment, searching for an illustration, and concludes for him that happiness is like an unexpected hug that finds you when you’re cold and low and makes you warm with nothing needed in return. The man tells her that she’s describing friendship, which has already been part of her story, silly to search for something you’ve already found. She thinks again and says that happiness is when you are doing that thing that you know you were always meant to do. The man smiles and tells her that she is describing a sense of purpose, something else she has shared has been a part of her journey. She offers other examples of “happiness” which prove to be other things entirely: Love, Security, Accomplishment, Adventure, Fulfillment, Contentment.
As anyone would, when searching for the way to describe with words that thing that you just understand innately but cannot explain, the girl becomes exasperated. She feels a bit lost, not sure that the thing she has spent her whole life searching for even exists, but also absolutely convinced that it does.
Back to the rainy day in the coffeeshop/living room, you are leaned forward and listening intently (I have to tell you I’m impressed you’ve stuck with me this long). I take a long sip of my coffee and secretly savor the drama of this moment in time. I ask you, “How is it that the girl is sure happiness exists?” You offer at once, that the girl knows happiness exists because she has tasted it, experienced it during different parts of her journey. I smile. You smile. More sips of coffee. You say, “Am I right?” Long pause. More rain watching. Deep breath. I tell you what I always tell you, (because we are friends and I trust you to still like me after the admission), that I really haven’t got a clue! But, I offer this thought, sometimes I wonder if we miss the really good stuff in life because we are too busy looking for it. What if the pursuit IS the happiness?
“Is that what you think?” you ask me.
I don’t know.
Of course you ask me how the story ends, and because I’ve just been making it up, I don’t know that either, but I tell you that what I think happens, is that the girl recognizes the happiness she has already had in her life, that she finds more happiness in that recognition, more still in realizing how far she has already come, even more happiness in having someone (even if he is wrinkly and old) to share her story with, and even more happiness in the realization that if she keeps moving forward on her journey there is happiness wrapped up in the possibility of what lies ahead.
Although you don’t say it, I can see you are disappointed that my story doesn’t end as strong as it began.
Sigh.
You ask me if I’m on the pursuit of happiness. I think for a moment and concede that I probably am. But, I offer this last thought, that this moment, right now has happiness in it, and I’m going to drink it in, just like this last sip of coffee, I’ll savor it before I ask for any more.
Reader, Imagine for a moment that you and I are friends. Its raining outside and we are sitting in a coffee shop, or your living room (wherever you feel more enlightened) We’ve been talking for a while about where we’ve been, where we’re going, and what it would take in this life to be truly happy. I feel at a loss because happiness is such a mystery and one I want so badly to unlock, not just for myself but so that I could give you answers as well. I ask you, “Have you ever heard the story about the girl on the pursuit of happiness? “ Your eyes flash recognition and I see you searching your brain for recollection so I interrupt your process and assure you that No, you haven’t. You think you have because this is something that many people have talked about, over cups of coffee, glasses of wine, or sobbing over half-gallons of ice cream. The quest implied by the title of this story is strewn across magazines and thematically impacts many works of literature, its message is embedded in music of all genres, it’s part of the constitution even. But you haven’t heard this story, because this story I’m just making it up right now as we sit together contemplating the stuff of life, watching the rain drops travel down the glass of our window.
The story begins with a girl, (I’m picturing her with long dark hair and freckles, but for your own purposes, you should picture her looking a little more like you, even if this means she doesn’t look much like a girl at all anymore...she won’t mind. ) Anyway, this girl is traveling, and like most travelers she has a destination, she calls it “happiness”. The path she travels is long and she has no real map to guide her. She makes several stops along the way, veers off the path in several directions, and gains and loses traveling companions for different stretches of the journey. There are pleasant and unpleasant distractions on her quest, but after a time, she always continues back to the original path and forges ahead with renewed resolve on the pursuit of happiness. At long last she becomes weary, disheartened, and confused about the quest. She feels as though she should have arrived by now, so she sighs and humphs, growls and makes all manner of gutteral sounds until she realizes she is being watched. (Yes this is the part where I introduce the wise old man..somebody has to come along and provide some clarity! Blame my affinity for Yoda or say I have “daddy issues” if you’d like)
Thus emerges, an old wrinkly man, with the look of wisdom in his eyes. Of course, the girl looks to him for the answers she’s been searching for, who wouldn’t? She stops him and (because girls don’t have trouble with this) asks for directions. The man considers her question for a moment. Truth be told, she is not the first to come across this old man and ask him how to find happiness, he’s seen her kind before. He assures her that he can help her but in return she must sit down with him and for as long as it takes, she must recount for him every step of the journey she has already taken. He warns her that he is not interested in hearing just the pretty parts, that he will not stand for picking and choosing, she must start at the beginning and tell him every part. Of course, the girl is confused about this request, and torn about leaving the path to sit with this wrinkly being, when possibly, happiness could be waiting for her just around the bend..but when he says, “I have to know where you’ve been before I can tell you where you are going.” her hope is ignited and her decision is made.
So the girl sits down and tells the wise old man about all the days of her life gone by. The story she weaves is just like yours, parts of it shadowed with darkness, other parts drenched in light, moments laden with sorrow and stages bursting with joy. As she speaks her eyes well up with tears at the remembrance. There are thunderous bursts of laughter and junctures of quiet despondence as she recounts her tale. In the telling, she beams with pride and shrinks with shame at different junctures, and all the while the man listens and his eyes mirror each emotion that she feels, beckoning her to continue. At last, the story ebbs and flows and tapers off at the very moment that led her here, to this place, asking the old man for directions. “So you see,” she tells him, “I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I need to know if I’m going the right way and how much longer until I get there?” The man smiles and tells the girl that she has a beautiful story. Having just told it, she can’t help but agree. Nevertheless this is beside the point, and so she presses him again. (This is the part where the wise old man scaffolds the girl to her own understanding *teachers smile knowingly*) He asks her to describe the happiness she is seeking. She thinks for a moment, searching for an illustration, and concludes for him that happiness is like an unexpected hug that finds you when you’re cold and low and makes you warm with nothing needed in return. The man tells her that she’s describing friendship, which has already been part of her story, silly to search for something you’ve already found. She thinks again and says that happiness is when you are doing that thing that you know you were always meant to do. The man smiles and tells her that she is describing a sense of purpose, something else she has shared has been a part of her journey. She offers other examples of “happiness” which prove to be other things entirely: Love, Security, Accomplishment, Adventure, Fulfillment, Contentment.
As anyone would, when searching for the way to describe with words that thing that you just understand innately but cannot explain, the girl becomes exasperated. She feels a bit lost, not sure that the thing she has spent her whole life searching for even exists, but also absolutely convinced that it does.
Back to the rainy day in the coffeeshop/living room, you are leaned forward and listening intently (I have to tell you I’m impressed you’ve stuck with me this long). I take a long sip of my coffee and secretly savor the drama of this moment in time. I ask you, “How is it that the girl is sure happiness exists?” You offer at once, that the girl knows happiness exists because she has tasted it, experienced it during different parts of her journey. I smile. You smile. More sips of coffee. You say, “Am I right?” Long pause. More rain watching. Deep breath. I tell you what I always tell you, (because we are friends and I trust you to still like me after the admission), that I really haven’t got a clue! But, I offer this thought, sometimes I wonder if we miss the really good stuff in life because we are too busy looking for it. What if the pursuit IS the happiness?
“Is that what you think?” you ask me.
I don’t know.
Of course you ask me how the story ends, and because I’ve just been making it up, I don’t know that either, but I tell you that what I think happens, is that the girl recognizes the happiness she has already had in her life, that she finds more happiness in that recognition, more still in realizing how far she has already come, even more happiness in having someone (even if he is wrinkly and old) to share her story with, and even more happiness in the realization that if she keeps moving forward on her journey there is happiness wrapped up in the possibility of what lies ahead.
Although you don’t say it, I can see you are disappointed that my story doesn’t end as strong as it began.
Sigh.
You ask me if I’m on the pursuit of happiness. I think for a moment and concede that I probably am. But, I offer this last thought, that this moment, right now has happiness in it, and I’m going to drink it in, just like this last sip of coffee, I’ll savor it before I ask for any more.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Things I (Choose to Believe that I) Know For Sure
What is it with our kind? Always trying to figure out what we believe in, and then as soon as we do, feeling the urge to question, challenge and reexamine it? Really, it’s exhausting all the soul-searching and philosophy-defining, just plain tiresome! I think perhaps, long ago, this sort of belief challenging was reserved for religious matters, but these days it feels like one is expected to have a firm position or general belief system on just about everything. Religion, politics, education, love, relationships, medicine, technology, food, entertainment, family, and on and on. Is it any wonder, that most of us feel so scattered when our minds are being stretched out in every direction, and we are constantly trying to mesh all of the information we are taking in with the things that we believe to be true and the experiences we have encountered without alienating anyone or closing our minds to the possibility that we might just be...wrong. I’m probably more guilty of this than most, so don’t think I’m pointing a finger, but today in a quiet moment I found a sliver of clarity amongst the usual angst of my philosophical wanderings. I’ve decided to make a list of things that I know to be true. Nope, that’s a terrible idea. I don’t know anything, really. In fact if I were to make such a list that would be the only thing on it.
1. I don’t really know anything for sure. --BLAH
Instead, I think I’ll call my list “things I choose to believe” because then no one can ask me “how do I know for sure” because no matter how scholarly you are, that question will almost always stump you. I’m making this list to remind myself of the things that somewhere inside I know to be true...because I choose to believe them. These things may not all prove true for you, and perhaps I will amend a few of them for myself along the way, but today I needed this reminder, if you make a list, send it my way, I’d love to see what you choose to believe too!
1. God: He is. He sees. He cares. He doesn’t need us to recognize him, but he deserves the recognition.
2. Although my choices matter, and alter my path, I am, in this moment, where I am supposed to be. *"I thought about one of my favorite Sufi poems, which says that God long ago drew a circle in the sand exactly around the spot where you are standing right now. I was never not coming here. This was never not going to happen."
— Elizabeth Gilbert
3. Love is not a feeling, although often (thankfully) feelings are symptoms of love. Love is an act of your will, a choice that you make with everything to lose and to gain every time.
4. Nobody fits in the box you try to put them in. People are unpredictable, surprising, and capable of more than you think on both ends of the spectrum.
5. Faith is believing in what cannot be seen or proven, but that doesn’t stop us from trying to prove to everyone else that what we believe is the right way to believe. This is futile, silly, counterproductive.
6. I will never be the best version of myself, but the only way to be the best that I can hope to be today is to keep trying to be the best version of myself despite the knowing that I’ll never get there.
7. There is a lesson to be learned in every moment. Yup, even this one...and that one...
8. Everyone has scars, everyone has a past, some see these as roadblocks, others see knots to climb on a life-rope. (Cue: R.E.M “Everybody Hurts)
9. I can’t take a firm position on whether change is good or terrifying, but I’m sure that it is coming..it’s always coming.
10. Smiles and hugs are a renewable resource, just like kind words and thoughtful gestures. It’s selfish to hoard these when so much good can come from giving them freely.
11. We CAN make things better, we CAN change the world-- one person, one moment, one generosity at a time.
12. Fear is the thief that keeps coming back and stealing all your favorite things. The door is unlocked, so he keeps coming back..Turn the stinkin deadbolt!
13. Happiness is fickle and fun...Contentment is wise and wonderful.
14. Everyone you encounter is a teacher with an objective that can only be achieved if you are a willing pupil.
15. Knowledge is power, education is a life raft, children are unfinished books with pages that you write on whether you mean to or not. Once it is written, it’s always there.
16. The earth is round, the galaxy is vast, the entirety is wondrous, and awe-inspiring, and meaningful.
17. It is in human nature to dramatize things that don’t matter and trivialize things that do...I’m doing it right now...no biggie!
18. Some day, I will answer for each of the days of my life. There will be times when I stand tall and times where I shrink back, but knowing that the day is coming means I ought to be mindful of creating more “stand-tall” moments when I can.
19. The only way to be completely in control of your own destiny is to make your life devoid of people..(and that’s a terrible idea)..the very fact that we let people share in our journey means that we are surrendering some of that control..Okay, I hate this one...but I still believe it to be true.
20. The best things in life (friendship, love, success) are worth fighting for, working for, and usually require a great deal of effort for us to prove we are worthy of the gift...or tenacious enough to overcome our unworthiness ;)
21. In the end, everything is gonna be all right. I do believe that one...I hope you do too!
Monday, January 17, 2011
For My Daughter
This week, my baby girl turns 6! Every parenting cliche fits in right about here, but I won’t torture you with all of the “it seems like only yesterday” s and “I can’t believe how she’s changed my life!” (although it does and I can’t)
Instead, three life-lessons I’ve learned from the little girl who first made me a mother!
1. The days are long but the years fly by: This is something my mother would tell me when she looked into my tired, desperate eyes after a sleepless night or tantrum-filled day. Intellectually, I knew she was right, but I am only now beginning to really understand it. There were plenty of parenting days with Alana that I thought would never end (I’m sure there will be plenty more), but truly, I can not believe that the tiny little girl who snuggled up in my lap and asked me about “You Nork” (New York) is gone from my life forever...everyday she is replaced by someone equally precious but infinitely different and endlessly challenging. I know that these moments are fleeting and so I try to pour as much in and drink as much out of the time we spend together, completely aware and correspondingly in denial of the fact that in a blink I’ll be gray, she’ll be grown, and I’ll be wondering how it went by so fast. (note to self: read this blog around dinner time tomorrow when aforementioned “angel-girl” is whining at decibels that rival dog whistles and begging me to make her waffles for dinner instead of eating her vegetables. take a deep breath. resume stone-faced insistence of eating vegetables)
2. Everything you need to know about relationships can be found in a Shel Silverstein Book: From the giving tree we learn about sacrificial love, from The Missing Piece we learn about being whole on our own, don’t even get me started on “the Big O” and “Hug of War”. Bedtime stories are constant reminders to me of how to relate to the people in my life, and have served as jumping-off points for plenty of deep and meaningful conversations with my five-year-old that I hope will shape who my daughter grows to be...they are definitely shaping me!
3. At its best, love is both simple and unconditional: We were watching the Disney movie “UP” when a line from the movie caught my attention (as I was, ever the multi-tasker, also grading papers at the time) The dog says (well thinks, and the master hears his thoughts), “I was hiding under your porch because I Love You...can I please come in?” Don’t ask me why, but I found this simple and straightforward declaration to be refreshing and adorable. It immediately became a phrase in our house, even my two-year-old son joins in when we say it. It’s our own special way of saying “I love you, I want to be near you, and you make me happy”. I make a point to break it out at special moments, but also at moments where I am completely frustrated and frazzled with my very strong-willed daughter. I know, that she knows, that I love her even in those most unfavorable and imperfect moments, and knowing that she knows this...makes me feel successful as a parent.
I know I won’t always be her hero. She won’t always think it’s cool to dance with me in our kitchen, bury her dad under pillows and blankets, or discuss books with me snuggled up on the sofa. We’re destined to impress and disappoint each other many times through this journey. I know she’s going to encounter obstacles that I won’t be able to move and that she’ll come to me with problems I am not capable to solve. She is and will continue to be the best and worst of me intermingled with the best and worst of her father and marinating in juices that are uniquely hers for better or worse. At the end of the day though, she is the result of a choice that was made, a gift that was given, and a miracle that was entrusted to a very undeserving me by a God who knows what we need better than we do...I am so humbled and grateful and determined to see her shine, help her grow, and love her hopelessly for the rest of my life!
Instead, three life-lessons I’ve learned from the little girl who first made me a mother!
1. The days are long but the years fly by: This is something my mother would tell me when she looked into my tired, desperate eyes after a sleepless night or tantrum-filled day. Intellectually, I knew she was right, but I am only now beginning to really understand it. There were plenty of parenting days with Alana that I thought would never end (I’m sure there will be plenty more), but truly, I can not believe that the tiny little girl who snuggled up in my lap and asked me about “You Nork” (New York) is gone from my life forever...everyday she is replaced by someone equally precious but infinitely different and endlessly challenging. I know that these moments are fleeting and so I try to pour as much in and drink as much out of the time we spend together, completely aware and correspondingly in denial of the fact that in a blink I’ll be gray, she’ll be grown, and I’ll be wondering how it went by so fast. (note to self: read this blog around dinner time tomorrow when aforementioned “angel-girl” is whining at decibels that rival dog whistles and begging me to make her waffles for dinner instead of eating her vegetables. take a deep breath. resume stone-faced insistence of eating vegetables)
2. Everything you need to know about relationships can be found in a Shel Silverstein Book: From the giving tree we learn about sacrificial love, from The Missing Piece we learn about being whole on our own, don’t even get me started on “the Big O” and “Hug of War”. Bedtime stories are constant reminders to me of how to relate to the people in my life, and have served as jumping-off points for plenty of deep and meaningful conversations with my five-year-old that I hope will shape who my daughter grows to be...they are definitely shaping me!
3. At its best, love is both simple and unconditional: We were watching the Disney movie “UP” when a line from the movie caught my attention (as I was, ever the multi-tasker, also grading papers at the time) The dog says (well thinks, and the master hears his thoughts), “I was hiding under your porch because I Love You...can I please come in?” Don’t ask me why, but I found this simple and straightforward declaration to be refreshing and adorable. It immediately became a phrase in our house, even my two-year-old son joins in when we say it. It’s our own special way of saying “I love you, I want to be near you, and you make me happy”. I make a point to break it out at special moments, but also at moments where I am completely frustrated and frazzled with my very strong-willed daughter. I know, that she knows, that I love her even in those most unfavorable and imperfect moments, and knowing that she knows this...makes me feel successful as a parent.
I know I won’t always be her hero. She won’t always think it’s cool to dance with me in our kitchen, bury her dad under pillows and blankets, or discuss books with me snuggled up on the sofa. We’re destined to impress and disappoint each other many times through this journey. I know she’s going to encounter obstacles that I won’t be able to move and that she’ll come to me with problems I am not capable to solve. She is and will continue to be the best and worst of me intermingled with the best and worst of her father and marinating in juices that are uniquely hers for better or worse. At the end of the day though, she is the result of a choice that was made, a gift that was given, and a miracle that was entrusted to a very undeserving me by a God who knows what we need better than we do...I am so humbled and grateful and determined to see her shine, help her grow, and love her hopelessly for the rest of my life!
Friday, January 7, 2011
A Modern Day Parable About Perception
It had been going on for a while, the headaches. She turned the business card over in her hands, double checked that she had the right address, and looked up at the brightly striped awning over the dimly lit door. It didn’t look like a doctor’s office, at least not like any she’d ever seen before, but then again, she’d never really come to this part of town before. She took a deep breath, (like she always did before plunging into unfamiliar territory), reached out and opened the door.
The light from inside the office blinded her, assaulted her, and instinctively she lunged back toward the door and searched around blindly for the handle so she could go back outside. She didn’t find the door, she felt a hand on her elbow and a gentle voice said, “You’re okay, give your eyes a moment to adjust, it’ll just take a second.” The voice and hand were calming, so she stopped searching for the handle of the door and blinked her eyes slowly until the light became tolerable. The room she stood in, came slowly into focus. There was nothing remarkable about it-- it sort of resembled the optical stores at the mall. There were well-lit glass shelves featuring various styles of glasses. There was some medical equipment in the corner, and a reclined swivel chair in the middle of the room. The man who greeted her came into focus next. He had a kind face, and an unassuming smile that seemed lined with deep knowing. His most captivating feature though, were his eyes. They looked so foreign to her, other-worldly. They didn’t have one specific color, and looking into them was like looking into mirror in a hall full of mirrors, where you couldn’t exactly tell what you were looking at and what was merely a reflection. She looked down when she realized she was staring into the eyes of a stranger, and so she saw the floor instead of his knowing smile.
She felt suddenly uneasy as he lead her to the chair in the middle of the room. A bit of a nervous rambler, she tried to explain about how she found the intriguing business card, how she thought it was a sign, and how she didn’t want him to waste his time checking her vision, as she has had 20/20 vision for as long as she could remember.
When she said that last part, the man chuckled a little, and the wisdom showed itself in his smile again. She felt suddenly small...but also at ease, she wondered at this strange contradiction.
She told him about her headaches, and without meaning to, she told him other things as well, like how she just felt different lately, how the whole world looked different to her, felt less lovely somehow. She explained how she worried that she might never feel really at home in her own skin again, and how she wondered if the headaches and all of this had anything in common at all. She confessed that she was acutely aware that these problems could not be solved by an opthomologist, and apologized for wasting the man’s time but he placed his hand on her shoulder again and slowly lowered a piece of equipment to her face. “I’m not exactly an Opthomolagist. Why don’t you let me take a look and decide for myself if I can help you or not. As you can see there is no one else here, so I would hardly say you are wasting my time.”
It was true that the place was empty, so she sighed and sat back in her chair as he looked through the scope and made several affirmative sounds. He lifted the scope and sat down across from her. “The way I see it, you have come to exactly the right place. Your lenses are very worn and cloudy, you need new ones, and once we find the right lens, I’m sure you’ll be feeling much more yourself.” She was immediately confused, “I don’t wear contacts or glasses, I don’t have lenses of any kind.” The man smiled that same knowing smile. “Everyone has lenses. We’re born with them and they change over time. The decisions we make, the experiences we have, alter the lenses and how we see the world through them. Most people don’t ever notice the change, most people change their thoughts to match their altered lenses and accept the new view, but for some people, the change in their lenses is so drastic and the new view goes so against their make-up and how they believe the world should be, that they feel the change, struggle against it, and can choose to change their lenses. That, I suspect is what has brought you here today. Somehow, maybe without even realizing it, you have decided that you just can’t stand looking through your altered lenses anymore, it’s not natural for you, so let’s see if we can’t find a pair that fit you better?”
Her mind was whirling, her head was spinning, she didn’t know what to make of any of it. She contemplated running for the door, but she couldn’t move, and she couldn’t dismiss what this man was saying. As if he heard her thoughts, he made a suggestion: “Let’s try something. I fear that your current lenses are hindering you from even understanding what I’m trying to tell you. If we take them off, I think things might become more clear.” Before she could protest, he reached over and rubbed his thumb across her eyes, then leaned in close so that all she could see were his eyes staring into hers. The reality flooded her like a flash from a dream. In the whites of his eyes she saw herself reflected. She saw moments of her life that had opened her up and gutted her like a pumpkin before carving. In the pupils of his eyes she saw the world around her and noticed that as each scoop of pumpkin flesh was removed, the days got darker and clouded, the colors less saturated, the shadows more harsh. Everyone and everything she saw took on a less brilliant hue and the loveliness that she saw at the start wilted away with each loss, shrunk back with each subtle blow.
With this vision came the deep-rooted understanding that had escaped her earlier. All of life is painted by the way we see the world, each experience has the power to change the lenses that we are looking through, and the only way to see the world as we are meant to, is to choose the lenses that fit our philosophy. She almost asked the man if it is unhealthy or deceptive for people to walk around seeing the world through chosen lenses, seeing it the way they want it to be instead of the way that it really is, but she knew at once the answer he would say: perception is reality- the world IS for the viewer the way she SEES it and we choose what we see and how we perceive it...deep down, we always choose.
She followed him over to the display cases and tried on the pair of lenses he suggested for her. Instantly the room looked different. The light was more radiant, the colors more efferevescent. She looked into the man’s mirrored eyes and saw the same scenes she had seen before, but this time instead of a pumpkin being hollowed out, she saw a symphony being written, note by note, changing and growing, and shrinking back. The harsh notes on the page were balanced by gentle rhythms and lyrical refrains, and all together it was a story of growth and triumph and hope and promise. The man walked her to the door, I think you’ll find these suit you just right.” He said. “If they start to get clouded, you can always come back and choose another set.”
This time it was the light outside of the shop that assaulted her senses. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the color and possibility. With fresh eyes she noticed the purposeful place of everything she passed, the broad smiles of those who passed by her. The clouds came, and rain danced on the pavement creating ribbons of color that swirled down the drains in the street. It kissed her skin and she felt every drop. Night crept up as she walked, and lights lit up the sky. Where last night she saw dark spaces, tonight she saw mystery, where last night she felt fear, tonight she felt power, where last night she was alone, tonight she kept company and shared a solidarity with everyone under the sky. Eyes wide-open the sweet knowing of what she had chosen swept over her and “happiness hit her like a train on a track, coming toward her, no turning back.”
The light from inside the office blinded her, assaulted her, and instinctively she lunged back toward the door and searched around blindly for the handle so she could go back outside. She didn’t find the door, she felt a hand on her elbow and a gentle voice said, “You’re okay, give your eyes a moment to adjust, it’ll just take a second.” The voice and hand were calming, so she stopped searching for the handle of the door and blinked her eyes slowly until the light became tolerable. The room she stood in, came slowly into focus. There was nothing remarkable about it-- it sort of resembled the optical stores at the mall. There were well-lit glass shelves featuring various styles of glasses. There was some medical equipment in the corner, and a reclined swivel chair in the middle of the room. The man who greeted her came into focus next. He had a kind face, and an unassuming smile that seemed lined with deep knowing. His most captivating feature though, were his eyes. They looked so foreign to her, other-worldly. They didn’t have one specific color, and looking into them was like looking into mirror in a hall full of mirrors, where you couldn’t exactly tell what you were looking at and what was merely a reflection. She looked down when she realized she was staring into the eyes of a stranger, and so she saw the floor instead of his knowing smile.
She felt suddenly uneasy as he lead her to the chair in the middle of the room. A bit of a nervous rambler, she tried to explain about how she found the intriguing business card, how she thought it was a sign, and how she didn’t want him to waste his time checking her vision, as she has had 20/20 vision for as long as she could remember.
When she said that last part, the man chuckled a little, and the wisdom showed itself in his smile again. She felt suddenly small...but also at ease, she wondered at this strange contradiction.
She told him about her headaches, and without meaning to, she told him other things as well, like how she just felt different lately, how the whole world looked different to her, felt less lovely somehow. She explained how she worried that she might never feel really at home in her own skin again, and how she wondered if the headaches and all of this had anything in common at all. She confessed that she was acutely aware that these problems could not be solved by an opthomologist, and apologized for wasting the man’s time but he placed his hand on her shoulder again and slowly lowered a piece of equipment to her face. “I’m not exactly an Opthomolagist. Why don’t you let me take a look and decide for myself if I can help you or not. As you can see there is no one else here, so I would hardly say you are wasting my time.”
It was true that the place was empty, so she sighed and sat back in her chair as he looked through the scope and made several affirmative sounds. He lifted the scope and sat down across from her. “The way I see it, you have come to exactly the right place. Your lenses are very worn and cloudy, you need new ones, and once we find the right lens, I’m sure you’ll be feeling much more yourself.” She was immediately confused, “I don’t wear contacts or glasses, I don’t have lenses of any kind.” The man smiled that same knowing smile. “Everyone has lenses. We’re born with them and they change over time. The decisions we make, the experiences we have, alter the lenses and how we see the world through them. Most people don’t ever notice the change, most people change their thoughts to match their altered lenses and accept the new view, but for some people, the change in their lenses is so drastic and the new view goes so against their make-up and how they believe the world should be, that they feel the change, struggle against it, and can choose to change their lenses. That, I suspect is what has brought you here today. Somehow, maybe without even realizing it, you have decided that you just can’t stand looking through your altered lenses anymore, it’s not natural for you, so let’s see if we can’t find a pair that fit you better?”
Her mind was whirling, her head was spinning, she didn’t know what to make of any of it. She contemplated running for the door, but she couldn’t move, and she couldn’t dismiss what this man was saying. As if he heard her thoughts, he made a suggestion: “Let’s try something. I fear that your current lenses are hindering you from even understanding what I’m trying to tell you. If we take them off, I think things might become more clear.” Before she could protest, he reached over and rubbed his thumb across her eyes, then leaned in close so that all she could see were his eyes staring into hers. The reality flooded her like a flash from a dream. In the whites of his eyes she saw herself reflected. She saw moments of her life that had opened her up and gutted her like a pumpkin before carving. In the pupils of his eyes she saw the world around her and noticed that as each scoop of pumpkin flesh was removed, the days got darker and clouded, the colors less saturated, the shadows more harsh. Everyone and everything she saw took on a less brilliant hue and the loveliness that she saw at the start wilted away with each loss, shrunk back with each subtle blow.
With this vision came the deep-rooted understanding that had escaped her earlier. All of life is painted by the way we see the world, each experience has the power to change the lenses that we are looking through, and the only way to see the world as we are meant to, is to choose the lenses that fit our philosophy. She almost asked the man if it is unhealthy or deceptive for people to walk around seeing the world through chosen lenses, seeing it the way they want it to be instead of the way that it really is, but she knew at once the answer he would say: perception is reality- the world IS for the viewer the way she SEES it and we choose what we see and how we perceive it...deep down, we always choose.
She followed him over to the display cases and tried on the pair of lenses he suggested for her. Instantly the room looked different. The light was more radiant, the colors more efferevescent. She looked into the man’s mirrored eyes and saw the same scenes she had seen before, but this time instead of a pumpkin being hollowed out, she saw a symphony being written, note by note, changing and growing, and shrinking back. The harsh notes on the page were balanced by gentle rhythms and lyrical refrains, and all together it was a story of growth and triumph and hope and promise. The man walked her to the door, I think you’ll find these suit you just right.” He said. “If they start to get clouded, you can always come back and choose another set.”
This time it was the light outside of the shop that assaulted her senses. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the color and possibility. With fresh eyes she noticed the purposeful place of everything she passed, the broad smiles of those who passed by her. The clouds came, and rain danced on the pavement creating ribbons of color that swirled down the drains in the street. It kissed her skin and she felt every drop. Night crept up as she walked, and lights lit up the sky. Where last night she saw dark spaces, tonight she saw mystery, where last night she felt fear, tonight she felt power, where last night she was alone, tonight she kept company and shared a solidarity with everyone under the sky. Eyes wide-open the sweet knowing of what she had chosen swept over her and “happiness hit her like a train on a track, coming toward her, no turning back.”
Tribute to one George Bailey
I think its safe to say that I have had a life-long crush on George Bailey. Since the first time I saw “It’s a Wonderful Life” in my childhood, until today, I was and remain enamored by this character, and happy to see him come around each Christmas season. I’m not alone in my admiration of George, he remains a staple of this time of year and his story is played in houses everywhere in black and white or technicolor and even the most sheltered among us, recognize some of the key phrases from the timeless classic that is “It’s a Wonderful Life”. For me, his story embodies the spirit of Christmas and serves to remind me personally of that spirit, time and time again. So here’s my tribute to George Bailey, a list of the reasons why just like Mary did, I whisper “I’ll love you, George Bailey, until the day I die!”
He is a flawed individual: aren’t we all? He’s not perfect, he’s not some superhero, he’s not even completely unselfish...BUT he does care and he is sacrificial in that care. He looks out for the people he loves and puts many of his own dreams on hold to help them out..not without complaint, mind you, but without expectation or tally of debt! Heroic in my book!
The man has boundary issues: As a boundless girl in my own right, I totally relate to this characteristic/flaw of George Bailey. He’s not very good at saying “no”, he lets people walk over him a bit, but in the long run he turns out all right! ;) Hope after all!
He’s a romantic: Lasso the moon? Need I say more? <3
He just can’t catch a break: at his most desperate moment he is assigned a guardian angel known to have “The IQ of a rabbit but the faith of a child”. We’ve all been there, but this guy just can’t catch a break, and despite his string of bad luck, he still manages to be a devoted family-man, an amazing friend, dedicated community-member, and beloved by everyone he meets.
Priorities: This is a man who knows what’s important. He chooses love over money and eventually realizes that adventure is life itself, and not something you have to chase, but something you have to recognize in every moment.
But I guess what I love most about him is that I see him in so many of the people I know, and even in myself. The George Bailey in each of us does more than we should for the people we care about and then quietly wonders if any of it matters-really. But it does matter. It’s a wonderful life...can you see it?
He is a flawed individual: aren’t we all? He’s not perfect, he’s not some superhero, he’s not even completely unselfish...BUT he does care and he is sacrificial in that care. He looks out for the people he loves and puts many of his own dreams on hold to help them out..not without complaint, mind you, but without expectation or tally of debt! Heroic in my book!
The man has boundary issues: As a boundless girl in my own right, I totally relate to this characteristic/flaw of George Bailey. He’s not very good at saying “no”, he lets people walk over him a bit, but in the long run he turns out all right! ;) Hope after all!
He’s a romantic: Lasso the moon? Need I say more? <3
He just can’t catch a break: at his most desperate moment he is assigned a guardian angel known to have “The IQ of a rabbit but the faith of a child”. We’ve all been there, but this guy just can’t catch a break, and despite his string of bad luck, he still manages to be a devoted family-man, an amazing friend, dedicated community-member, and beloved by everyone he meets.
Priorities: This is a man who knows what’s important. He chooses love over money and eventually realizes that adventure is life itself, and not something you have to chase, but something you have to recognize in every moment.
But I guess what I love most about him is that I see him in so many of the people I know, and even in myself. The George Bailey in each of us does more than we should for the people we care about and then quietly wonders if any of it matters-really. But it does matter. It’s a wonderful life...can you see it?
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