Trust. It's a heavy and scary word. At least it is for me some of the time. It may be that way for you, too. That's part of being human, isn't it? Sometimes we trust too fast and when we shouldn't. Sometimes we don't trust something or someone we had no reason not to. And some of us find it difficult to trust our own choices. Even when we've trusted ourselves and our decisions before. Even when our younger version gave little thought to the "what-ifs" and the big, long list of pending uncertainties. I think that's because part of being young means you don't always have that lingering experience that's conditioned you to say "remember what went 'wrong' when you did this last time." You start racking up experience and if it's not positive, it makes you more hesitant (maybe even unable) to trust that something or someone.
Trust is one of those internal convictions that requires you to believe in the unseen. On the other side of the coin of trust is its cousin faith. These two don't keep balance sheets, analyze the data, or debate the list of pros and cons. Nope. These two say 'this is what I feel to be my truth' and follow it. These two are the light in ordinary darkness. They don't dwell on what might be 'wrong' with what is; they seek the possibility of change, growth, and progress. These two always say "why not?" instead of making excuses.
Trust and faith helps us reveal something about who we are. Those answers without questions. Answers that only we know. Answers that don't stop revealing their truth. Trust and faith lead us to something we couldn't have seen otherwise. Something that we don't know how to touch. Sometimes we leave that 'something' smiling. We go back to the place where we've always stared at the moon. And sometimes we don't. Sometimes we leave the familiar for that something unseen.
If we're asked if we're happy with our choice, on some days we might say yes and some days we might say no. There is no sense in torturing yourself over lives you wished you had lived. Perhaps we get to live out all of our would-be choices. We split and divide into other people. Whispers that we only hear beneath tree boughs when we stop and wonder ‘what if?’ Sometimes we see each butterfly emerge from separate trees, identical in appearance, identical in the ways they fly. But they land on separate birches, never touching, never embracing, never quite seeing every leaf on the other branch. Once in awhile the butterflies look over at each other. They stare inquisitively, wondering ‘could that be me?’ One flutters its wings. The other sits and keeps staring. For awhile they both realize ‘it is you.’
They each learn to survive on their own birch; in their own tree. And each one learns to trust their choices. Not because those choices are easy or what will happen because of them. Because they know that it doesn't matter what the answer is. It's better to just ask the question and realize that reflection is always both an illusion and a revelation.
We find what we seek, but we also find what we may not want to see.
Showing posts with label Serendipitous Exploration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Serendipitous Exploration. Show all posts
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Happiness Always
The date is May 25th, 1977. The book is a biography about Clark Gable, a "quintessential Hollywood actor" who perhaps my father admired--like so many things that he admired about the world that brings dreams of the collective human heart to life. I am almost eight months old and this date is my parents' anniversary. My father wishes my mother love, a long life, and happiness always. Of course by giving her a book about Hollywood life for a present he has only wanted to share his love of something he sees as wonderful. So wonderful that he has neglected to realize that she does not care about these things--she is, after all, from California. A place she still speaks of as being "elite, snobbish, vain, self-centered, and about gaining power and recognition at any cost." Their daughter would say that both of them are right, to some degree.
But this book (which is now mine) and his words penned in his own handwriting on the inside flap, is one of the few tangible things I have left of my father. It is one of the few pieces that give me some insight into who he was. And into who his daughter might be. The funny thing is that biology has more influence over some things, I think, than we care to realize. This is a man that did not raise me beyond the age of five, but whose personality and love for that world of "something wonderful" has somehow instilled itself into my veins. At this moment running through the coincidences is too difficult because the realization of what could have been between us is too painful.
Still, what remains in these words from my father is happiness always. The happiness that comes from realizing that I don't really have to wonder who my father was or hold onto the "bad" things that I was told about him. Perhaps they were real. Perhaps he lived in a time when sensitivity wasn't understood at all and perceived incorrectly. Because what I see and feel in these words is human. A little poetic. A little bit of a dreamer. A little bit of me.
But this book (which is now mine) and his words penned in his own handwriting on the inside flap, is one of the few tangible things I have left of my father. It is one of the few pieces that give me some insight into who he was. And into who his daughter might be. The funny thing is that biology has more influence over some things, I think, than we care to realize. This is a man that did not raise me beyond the age of five, but whose personality and love for that world of "something wonderful" has somehow instilled itself into my veins. At this moment running through the coincidences is too difficult because the realization of what could have been between us is too painful.
Still, what remains in these words from my father is happiness always. The happiness that comes from realizing that I don't really have to wonder who my father was or hold onto the "bad" things that I was told about him. Perhaps they were real. Perhaps he lived in a time when sensitivity wasn't understood at all and perceived incorrectly. Because what I see and feel in these words is human. A little poetic. A little bit of a dreamer. A little bit of me.
Monday, March 5, 2012
A List of 2012 Mantras: We Believe What We Tell Ourselves.
I took a break from reading the latest novel on my MFA project period contract list and found a link to this great list that a friend of mine had posted on FB. I think it's so great and inspiring that I'm making it a part of my 2012 mantras. I also thought I would share it with all of my readers. I hope you find it as affirming as I did.
The HIYLife - www.thehiyL.com: We believe what we tell ourselves.: We believe what we tell ourselves. Tell yourself: Everything will work out. Things will get better. You are important. You are worth...
The HIYLife - www.thehiyL.com: We believe what we tell ourselves.: We believe what we tell ourselves. Tell yourself: Everything will work out. Things will get better. You are important. You are worth...
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Miracles on 777 Street
Christmas reminds people of miracles, of hope, and the possibility of goodness that lies within each of us. The light displays twinkle on the lamp posts, the houses, the trees and the shopping malls. Churches become full again and people gather together to celebrate the bond of being in this dream and struggle we call life.
I used to walk the streets in the early morning hours during this season. The air was crisp and cold enough to chap every exposed layer of skin. It was a safe collection of neighborhoods, full of mostly "blue bloods," successful business owners and retirees who were just grateful to get their papers on time and placed in the right spots. I was never scared, even though a twenty something young lady might be by herself in the dark, with nothing but silent stars and colorful displays of Christmas lights left on overnight.
But every season it was the same. I'd get phone calls, extra tips, plates of homemade cookies and cards of gratitude from people who only knew me by my name and my work ethic. In a box those cards still exist, waiting for the right moment to be reopened and reread. Despite the fact that I was only doing this "job" for extra money to pay off my car lease and some of the debt I incurred as an undergraduate student, it became a little something extra. A source of simple joy and unlikely friendship-the kind that's harder to notice as the gray hair and the wrinkles become more prevalent.
Every so often, I still drive down those streets, breathe in the clean, cold air, and see the Christmas lights dancing beneath a dark blanket, sprinkled with reminders of what could be. It was a time in my life that was filled with small miracles that I'll always be fond of. An example of what it really means to have given, received and achieved success; a gesture or two of private recognition for dreaming the dream with conviction, determination, welcoming warmth and spunk. No Oscars, red carpet premieres, or literary Nobel Prizes. Just a group of neighbors saying thanks for making the journey a little bit easier.
I used to walk the streets in the early morning hours during this season. The air was crisp and cold enough to chap every exposed layer of skin. It was a safe collection of neighborhoods, full of mostly "blue bloods," successful business owners and retirees who were just grateful to get their papers on time and placed in the right spots. I was never scared, even though a twenty something young lady might be by herself in the dark, with nothing but silent stars and colorful displays of Christmas lights left on overnight.
But every season it was the same. I'd get phone calls, extra tips, plates of homemade cookies and cards of gratitude from people who only knew me by my name and my work ethic. In a box those cards still exist, waiting for the right moment to be reopened and reread. Despite the fact that I was only doing this "job" for extra money to pay off my car lease and some of the debt I incurred as an undergraduate student, it became a little something extra. A source of simple joy and unlikely friendship-the kind that's harder to notice as the gray hair and the wrinkles become more prevalent.
Every so often, I still drive down those streets, breathe in the clean, cold air, and see the Christmas lights dancing beneath a dark blanket, sprinkled with reminders of what could be. It was a time in my life that was filled with small miracles that I'll always be fond of. An example of what it really means to have given, received and achieved success; a gesture or two of private recognition for dreaming the dream with conviction, determination, welcoming warmth and spunk. No Oscars, red carpet premieres, or literary Nobel Prizes. Just a group of neighbors saying thanks for making the journey a little bit easier.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
"Dazed and Confused"
Almost everyone knows that HSPs and Libras struggle with decisions. I've written about this before, but since June I've been internally debating quite a few. Not the type that determines whether you'll be eating Subway tonight instead of TGI Fridays or whether you should pick up a bottle of Chardonnay instead of that Menage A Trois red blend you love so much. No, these decisions are a little more complicated than that. And it starts with the truth-I am tired of writing.
I do not see the point in reading books just so you can pick them apart and wonder why something was written this way and not that way. I am tired of hearing opinion after opinion about how to make something better, what "works" and what "doesn't work." I am tired of being told what should be and what shouldn't be. I am tired of reading passionless excerpt after passionless excerpt from my MFA peers and having to make some kind of comment that makes it sound like I enjoyed reading their work. Yeah, I know this sounds stuck-up and snobbish, but I do not want to be molded into someone who only thinks and writes as if technique and structure were more important than feeling and creating. Since June I have picked up more fiction than I have since I was a teenager, but even reading some of it has bored me to tears. Most of the craft books I've had to read have been even worse.
I have cancelled one of my writing contracts because I didn't want to write lies about how the world of academia is of course, the ultimate truth of what actually goes on in the practical world. Besides, this client wanted me to put in the most effort for the least pay. That's not a smart or necessary use of my time. I'm really only still writing with two sites and it's taking me longer than ever to produce my work. Not because I'm slow, but because I get bored, distracted and just don't want to do it. In short, I'm burnt out.
My day job is okay. But now they want me to spend my days in my own office researching and testing software. I now get to contact vendors and write procedural guides. I was elected for this because they know I'm a "writer." I wish they didn't know. But when you mention in the interview that most of your current technical knowledge comes from writing technical articles and you have to request time off to attend your MFA residency in California.......well, there goes that little piece of anonymity.
I have long-term side effects from my concussion that I didn't expect. Not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, occasional random dizziness and nausea, irritability, not feeling rested after sleeping, taking 3-5 hour naps involuntarily, poor short-term memory, poor concentration, inability to clean my house in one spurt, random sharp pains that feel like an oncoming bad headache. At least I'm alive (for now). I'm aware that plenty of people don't even survive a head injury. This is my second. The first was when I was four years old. I guess I have some reason for survival, some purpose, some work to finish up before I depart this body. I just don't know what that is yet.
This isn't an inspirational post. In fact, it's quite depressing. I'm aware of that. Unfollow if you must, but as I've said before I don't blog for popularity. This is what I'm feeling right now. It's necessary that I have a job or a way to bring in enough income so I can pay my bills. That's why I don't quit my day job or terminate all of my writing contracts. It's not necessary that I get an MFA (which so far I don't think is for me, even though I'm aware some people would give their teeth to be in this program), write a novel, a collection of short stories or poetry, or publish them and then elevate the hell out of myself because now I'm a "real writer." To be honest, that's not even why I applied. I wasn't in this to get a book deal, submit a bunch of my work, or "become what I should be." I applied because I wanted to grow, I wanted to feel passion about something, I wanted to enjoy life. And most of all I wanted to escape.
But the truth is, none of that has happened. The truth is that I barely work on my creative work because it's the last thing on my priority list. Because it's not necessary. Because I have no passion. Because I am done traveling this road.
I do not see the point in reading books just so you can pick them apart and wonder why something was written this way and not that way. I am tired of hearing opinion after opinion about how to make something better, what "works" and what "doesn't work." I am tired of being told what should be and what shouldn't be. I am tired of reading passionless excerpt after passionless excerpt from my MFA peers and having to make some kind of comment that makes it sound like I enjoyed reading their work. Yeah, I know this sounds stuck-up and snobbish, but I do not want to be molded into someone who only thinks and writes as if technique and structure were more important than feeling and creating. Since June I have picked up more fiction than I have since I was a teenager, but even reading some of it has bored me to tears. Most of the craft books I've had to read have been even worse.
I have cancelled one of my writing contracts because I didn't want to write lies about how the world of academia is of course, the ultimate truth of what actually goes on in the practical world. Besides, this client wanted me to put in the most effort for the least pay. That's not a smart or necessary use of my time. I'm really only still writing with two sites and it's taking me longer than ever to produce my work. Not because I'm slow, but because I get bored, distracted and just don't want to do it. In short, I'm burnt out.
My day job is okay. But now they want me to spend my days in my own office researching and testing software. I now get to contact vendors and write procedural guides. I was elected for this because they know I'm a "writer." I wish they didn't know. But when you mention in the interview that most of your current technical knowledge comes from writing technical articles and you have to request time off to attend your MFA residency in California.......well, there goes that little piece of anonymity.
I have long-term side effects from my concussion that I didn't expect. Not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, occasional random dizziness and nausea, irritability, not feeling rested after sleeping, taking 3-5 hour naps involuntarily, poor short-term memory, poor concentration, inability to clean my house in one spurt, random sharp pains that feel like an oncoming bad headache. At least I'm alive (for now). I'm aware that plenty of people don't even survive a head injury. This is my second. The first was when I was four years old. I guess I have some reason for survival, some purpose, some work to finish up before I depart this body. I just don't know what that is yet.
This isn't an inspirational post. In fact, it's quite depressing. I'm aware of that. Unfollow if you must, but as I've said before I don't blog for popularity. This is what I'm feeling right now. It's necessary that I have a job or a way to bring in enough income so I can pay my bills. That's why I don't quit my day job or terminate all of my writing contracts. It's not necessary that I get an MFA (which so far I don't think is for me, even though I'm aware some people would give their teeth to be in this program), write a novel, a collection of short stories or poetry, or publish them and then elevate the hell out of myself because now I'm a "real writer." To be honest, that's not even why I applied. I wasn't in this to get a book deal, submit a bunch of my work, or "become what I should be." I applied because I wanted to grow, I wanted to feel passion about something, I wanted to enjoy life. And most of all I wanted to escape.
But the truth is, none of that has happened. The truth is that I barely work on my creative work because it's the last thing on my priority list. Because it's not necessary. Because I have no passion. Because I am done traveling this road.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Happiness is an Evolution
Happiness is not a summit that you scale once, but as many times as your perception changes the destination that you desire.
Happiness. Kind of a loaded word, isn't it? We think that there's some magic formula for it; some sort of "end-all" solution, if you will. If we could somehow just accomplish "this" and "that," we'd finally feel free enough to keep smiling.
A friend of mine, "L" and I were discussing fate the other night. By fate I mean the results, effects, or situations that one ends up living with. We both agreed that one's life is a combination of circumstances and choices. Now, some believe that circumstances are self-created or come from karma extending beyond our conscious memories. Others believe that circumstances are completely random, and have nothing to do with our thoughts and actions. They don't believe in past lives. They believe that circumstances are out of our complete control and the only thing we can do is react. Some might even go so far to say that our life's circumstances are shaped and controlled by some outside set of spiritual forces.
I think there's truth to all of the above and more. How can we, conscious as humans, even think that there is one single answer or that we've even uncovered all of the equation? I can think of many examples in my own life that would fit into several of those categories. The things that we have direct control over and the things that we don't mix together to produce a result that we have to respond to. Perception, personal influence, behavioral preferences - they're all factored into our choices and our environment. But that doesn't mean that we completely control someone else's, whether they be tangible or intangible.
Life and happiness, I think, go something like this: we become aware that we want something. Then we attempt to go after it; to accomplish it. While we're on that journey we may or may not reach the summit we've sketched out for ourselves. We may, in fact, reach one that we didn't sketch. We may not reach one at all, but decide that we'd rather stop, turn around, and go back down to the valley because we suddenly realize that we didn't want to leave.
The one thing I think we do accomplish is the discovery of who we are. We discover that the perception of who we would like to be is not something that is created in a single afternoon, or a year, or a single lifetime. Happiness, I think, is the discovery that nothing tangible or "destination worthy" is going to result in an eternal feeling of euphoria. The outer things that can bring us that feeling are always going to change, as long as we exist.
Happiness, the kind that brings a sense of inner release and peace, comes from a simple choice. That choice says besides happiness, what alternative is there?
Happiness. Kind of a loaded word, isn't it? We think that there's some magic formula for it; some sort of "end-all" solution, if you will. If we could somehow just accomplish "this" and "that," we'd finally feel free enough to keep smiling.
A friend of mine, "L" and I were discussing fate the other night. By fate I mean the results, effects, or situations that one ends up living with. We both agreed that one's life is a combination of circumstances and choices. Now, some believe that circumstances are self-created or come from karma extending beyond our conscious memories. Others believe that circumstances are completely random, and have nothing to do with our thoughts and actions. They don't believe in past lives. They believe that circumstances are out of our complete control and the only thing we can do is react. Some might even go so far to say that our life's circumstances are shaped and controlled by some outside set of spiritual forces.
I think there's truth to all of the above and more. How can we, conscious as humans, even think that there is one single answer or that we've even uncovered all of the equation? I can think of many examples in my own life that would fit into several of those categories. The things that we have direct control over and the things that we don't mix together to produce a result that we have to respond to. Perception, personal influence, behavioral preferences - they're all factored into our choices and our environment. But that doesn't mean that we completely control someone else's, whether they be tangible or intangible.
Life and happiness, I think, go something like this: we become aware that we want something. Then we attempt to go after it; to accomplish it. While we're on that journey we may or may not reach the summit we've sketched out for ourselves. We may, in fact, reach one that we didn't sketch. We may not reach one at all, but decide that we'd rather stop, turn around, and go back down to the valley because we suddenly realize that we didn't want to leave.
The one thing I think we do accomplish is the discovery of who we are. We discover that the perception of who we would like to be is not something that is created in a single afternoon, or a year, or a single lifetime. Happiness, I think, is the discovery that nothing tangible or "destination worthy" is going to result in an eternal feeling of euphoria. The outer things that can bring us that feeling are always going to change, as long as we exist.
Happiness, the kind that brings a sense of inner release and peace, comes from a simple choice. That choice says besides happiness, what alternative is there?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The Truth Behind Confessions
This week I discovered a great story in the form of a randomly chosen Lifetime movie. Completely chick like I realize, but sometimes I find it amazing how our intuition can reveal the answers to our inner struggles through artistic expressions. On the surface, Confessions of a Go Go Girl doesn't seem like a film with a viable message. The title can give the impression that it's just another producer's chance to make a quick name (and buck) by highlighting the economy's best self-selling money maker: sex, or at least the promise of it.
Confessions is a meaningful surprise however, much in the same way that Jerry Bruckheimer's Coyote Ugly was. The heroines are remarkably similar in some ways-both artists with a dream who become someone they're not in order to pay the bills while they pursue it. In the process of becoming someone they're not they discover their true selves and grow an innate skill that they need to help them accomplish their dreams. Violet is from a blue collar background who uses her sense of self-sufficiency and ambitious drive to take a leap of faith, eventually winning the support of her father. Jane is from a background of privilege, who suddenly finds herself without the support of her family once she decides to pursue a career that they feel is impractical.
Both of these characters soon find themselves in worlds beyond their previous comfort zones. They begin to hide the new persona they're becoming from those individuals in their lives who would find it shocking and unimaginable. But more importantly they begin to use those new personas as an excuse to hide the truth from themselves, as those alternate identities become crutches that prevent them from becoming who they really want to be. Violet and Jane could be any one of us. We all use something to hide from ourselves. We take on a new identity that is the complete opposite of the script that we've followed for so long in order to free a piece of our soul that can't seem to speak the lines.
Sometimes we end up losing ourselves in that "pretend" persona. We forget why we tried it on for size in the first place. We're no longer just pretending. We are that image because it gives us a sense of something that we somehow couldn't give our former self. That's when we're forced to be honest. We have to sit down, look ourselves in the mirror, and ask why we created that persona in the first place.
For me the truth behind that confession isn't that hard to discover. It probably isn't for many of us, once we take the time to take a look at the reflection we've been ignoring for so long. I chose not to believe in myself because I placed more value in the opinion of someone else who said I shouldn't. I created my persona and then became it in order to have a surefire means of achieving "success" so that I wouldn't have to face the possibility of failure.
But the person I failed was my true self. Belief in who you are doesn't come from what others think you should be or the kind of life they think you should be living. You'll be chasing after the wind forever if you think that's where your answers are going to come from. You'll continue to sacrifice your potential in exchange for placing more value on what you'll never grasp. Success by anyone's definition but your own feels exactly like failure. It's empty and meaningless-a downward spiral that turns you into a dishonest performer.
Becoming who you should be starts with one decision and only one decision. The decision that says I believe in the inner reflection that someday others will get to see.
Confessions is a meaningful surprise however, much in the same way that Jerry Bruckheimer's Coyote Ugly was. The heroines are remarkably similar in some ways-both artists with a dream who become someone they're not in order to pay the bills while they pursue it. In the process of becoming someone they're not they discover their true selves and grow an innate skill that they need to help them accomplish their dreams. Violet is from a blue collar background who uses her sense of self-sufficiency and ambitious drive to take a leap of faith, eventually winning the support of her father. Jane is from a background of privilege, who suddenly finds herself without the support of her family once she decides to pursue a career that they feel is impractical.
Both of these characters soon find themselves in worlds beyond their previous comfort zones. They begin to hide the new persona they're becoming from those individuals in their lives who would find it shocking and unimaginable. But more importantly they begin to use those new personas as an excuse to hide the truth from themselves, as those alternate identities become crutches that prevent them from becoming who they really want to be. Violet and Jane could be any one of us. We all use something to hide from ourselves. We take on a new identity that is the complete opposite of the script that we've followed for so long in order to free a piece of our soul that can't seem to speak the lines.
Sometimes we end up losing ourselves in that "pretend" persona. We forget why we tried it on for size in the first place. We're no longer just pretending. We are that image because it gives us a sense of something that we somehow couldn't give our former self. That's when we're forced to be honest. We have to sit down, look ourselves in the mirror, and ask why we created that persona in the first place.
For me the truth behind that confession isn't that hard to discover. It probably isn't for many of us, once we take the time to take a look at the reflection we've been ignoring for so long. I chose not to believe in myself because I placed more value in the opinion of someone else who said I shouldn't. I created my persona and then became it in order to have a surefire means of achieving "success" so that I wouldn't have to face the possibility of failure.
But the person I failed was my true self. Belief in who you are doesn't come from what others think you should be or the kind of life they think you should be living. You'll be chasing after the wind forever if you think that's where your answers are going to come from. You'll continue to sacrifice your potential in exchange for placing more value on what you'll never grasp. Success by anyone's definition but your own feels exactly like failure. It's empty and meaningless-a downward spiral that turns you into a dishonest performer.
Becoming who you should be starts with one decision and only one decision. The decision that says I believe in the inner reflection that someday others will get to see.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Unexpected Connections
One of the perks of a sales and service career is that you get to interact with a lot of different people. Since I've been in a few different sales territories throughout my almost five year stint, I have to say that some offer a little more variety, spice, and colorful characters than others. Yes, I've got one of those and I love it. As with any experience though, there are certain people that we naturally bond with more than others. So when it's time to let go because they're moving on, it can feel as though a hole is opening up somewhere inside of your spirit.
"S" and I have only known each other for a few months. I remember the first day she started working at the Conoco station. It's my second to last account on Mondays and Thursdays, so by the time I get there I'm exhausted, a little dizzy, and muttering my favorite on the job saying of "it's time for a drink" for everyone to hear. Luckily, this account is one of many that lets me pick and choose "free" food and drinks if I so wish. Sometimes you've got to forget about the girly figure and go ahead and indulge in those mini-pizzas and heavily caffeinated beverages.
I knew I liked "S" from the moment I laid eyes on her. For starters, she was like a real-life version of Rory Gilmore's best friend. You know, the one with the glasses, pigtails, and who liked to play drums and rebel against her strict, traditional mother. Plus, she had on two different bright colored socks and when an awful rendition of Mellow Yellow came over the loudspeakers, she said "ok, I think I'm about to drown out his mellow yellow." For the past two months "S" and I have laughed, joked, and had a few heart to hearts. She's certainly brought some fun and life into what could be an otherwise dreadful experience. I will miss her, but one can't work at gas station wages forever. Especially when there's kids at home. Besides, we'll still run into each other here and there at a few of my other stores. I'm happy that she got what she wanted.
When I worked at Disney World under the College Program, one of my managers, whose name also began with an "S," quickly became one of those influences that you never forget. She wasn't the direct supervisor I was assigned to, but she was one of five in "Merchandise Area 28," otherwise known as The Muppet Courtyard. She was one of those managers that jumped in and did whatever they could to help. She was also one of those managers that you knew truly cared about you, because she asked whenever she got the chance. One night we were supposed to all have a nice dinner as a work group at the restaurant next door known as "Mama's." As we were closing down one of the stores, "Stage One," she asked me if I was going. I said "yes." She said "good," as she passed by. I didn't make it because I made the mistake of going back to the student apartments to change and the shuttle service couldn't make it back to MGM in time. The next day she asked "where were you last night?" She had been genuinely concerned, and it showed.
I had the opportunity to help her once. It had been a busy day in the park, the stores in the area were a mess and she needed extra help. She asked one of the other "CP" girls who was directly assigned to her to stay later. The girl said no because she had plans to go out that evening to Pleasure Island. I could see that "S" was upset, frustrated, and a little overwhelmed. I told her I had finished what she had asked me to do and if there was anything else she needed. She paused, and then asked "how about staying a little later?" I didn't hesitate. I replied firmly, "of course. What do you need?" Sighing in a mixture of relief and gratitude, the only words she said were "keep doing what you're doing." She didn't know it, but for some reason, I would've done anything to help her. She was just that kind of beautiful person on the inside that made you stop in your tracks and say "I'd like to get to know this soul."
Before I left to go back home, I gave her a card expressing my appreciation for what she did for all of us on a daily basis, along with a small gift representing her alma mater of Florida State. I still remember the smile of tears that welled up in her eyes, her voice saying "thank you," and "come here," and the hug that we gave each other. She even offered to help me look for apartments in Lakeland when she found out I was going to move there. I still have her number, but I haven't called. I guess a part of me feels like it's been too long since we last talked.
Although the passage of time can be a funny thing. The other night I logged into Facebook and accepted a friend request from someone I went to high school with. I recalled the name and the face. It was actually someone I had thought about a long time ago, but just in one of those passing thoughts. You know, the brief ones of "I wonder whatever happened to so and so." The strange thing is, I think she remembers me a lot more strongly than I remember her. She somehow found me, even though my current profile picture is of the sunset I watched go down along the shores of Maui over a year ago. Most of my info is locked, so she must've had my name burned in her memory somewhere. She said she was so excited to have found me. I think she was one of the girls who got pregnant our senior year and ended up keeping the baby. I also think she was one of the students that participated in a weekly peer support discussion gathering that we simply called "Group." It was facilitated by a professional counselor, whom I recall was a great source of strength to all of us.
I told "H" she has a beautiful family, and it's true. Her daughter is all grown up now. She has a wonderful life from what I can see. I don't remember our high school conversations or what I might've said or done to affect her, but I'm humbled that I might have. Maybe I was one of the few who listened or wasn't judgmental or offered some piece of insight she found helpful. I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll rediscover it eventually. It doesn't really matter, of course. I'm just grateful that I was able to help in some way.
The Universe is funny in the way that it can bring us back to old connections that we might need, exactly when we might need them. She told me she loved the pictures I took in May and that I would have to let her know the next time I'm in the area. I told her I may be there soon, on a more permanent basis this time. She said that would be wonderful and she's hoping that I get good news.
I'm just smiling at the fact that I may get to be friends again with someone that I shouldn't have lost touch with in the first place. One can never really put a price on the value of rediscovered friendship or the gift of mutual support.
"S" and I have only known each other for a few months. I remember the first day she started working at the Conoco station. It's my second to last account on Mondays and Thursdays, so by the time I get there I'm exhausted, a little dizzy, and muttering my favorite on the job saying of "it's time for a drink" for everyone to hear. Luckily, this account is one of many that lets me pick and choose "free" food and drinks if I so wish. Sometimes you've got to forget about the girly figure and go ahead and indulge in those mini-pizzas and heavily caffeinated beverages.
I knew I liked "S" from the moment I laid eyes on her. For starters, she was like a real-life version of Rory Gilmore's best friend. You know, the one with the glasses, pigtails, and who liked to play drums and rebel against her strict, traditional mother. Plus, she had on two different bright colored socks and when an awful rendition of Mellow Yellow came over the loudspeakers, she said "ok, I think I'm about to drown out his mellow yellow." For the past two months "S" and I have laughed, joked, and had a few heart to hearts. She's certainly brought some fun and life into what could be an otherwise dreadful experience. I will miss her, but one can't work at gas station wages forever. Especially when there's kids at home. Besides, we'll still run into each other here and there at a few of my other stores. I'm happy that she got what she wanted.
When I worked at Disney World under the College Program, one of my managers, whose name also began with an "S," quickly became one of those influences that you never forget. She wasn't the direct supervisor I was assigned to, but she was one of five in "Merchandise Area 28," otherwise known as The Muppet Courtyard. She was one of those managers that jumped in and did whatever they could to help. She was also one of those managers that you knew truly cared about you, because she asked whenever she got the chance. One night we were supposed to all have a nice dinner as a work group at the restaurant next door known as "Mama's." As we were closing down one of the stores, "Stage One," she asked me if I was going. I said "yes." She said "good," as she passed by. I didn't make it because I made the mistake of going back to the student apartments to change and the shuttle service couldn't make it back to MGM in time. The next day she asked "where were you last night?" She had been genuinely concerned, and it showed.
I had the opportunity to help her once. It had been a busy day in the park, the stores in the area were a mess and she needed extra help. She asked one of the other "CP" girls who was directly assigned to her to stay later. The girl said no because she had plans to go out that evening to Pleasure Island. I could see that "S" was upset, frustrated, and a little overwhelmed. I told her I had finished what she had asked me to do and if there was anything else she needed. She paused, and then asked "how about staying a little later?" I didn't hesitate. I replied firmly, "of course. What do you need?" Sighing in a mixture of relief and gratitude, the only words she said were "keep doing what you're doing." She didn't know it, but for some reason, I would've done anything to help her. She was just that kind of beautiful person on the inside that made you stop in your tracks and say "I'd like to get to know this soul."
Before I left to go back home, I gave her a card expressing my appreciation for what she did for all of us on a daily basis, along with a small gift representing her alma mater of Florida State. I still remember the smile of tears that welled up in her eyes, her voice saying "thank you," and "come here," and the hug that we gave each other. She even offered to help me look for apartments in Lakeland when she found out I was going to move there. I still have her number, but I haven't called. I guess a part of me feels like it's been too long since we last talked.
Although the passage of time can be a funny thing. The other night I logged into Facebook and accepted a friend request from someone I went to high school with. I recalled the name and the face. It was actually someone I had thought about a long time ago, but just in one of those passing thoughts. You know, the brief ones of "I wonder whatever happened to so and so." The strange thing is, I think she remembers me a lot more strongly than I remember her. She somehow found me, even though my current profile picture is of the sunset I watched go down along the shores of Maui over a year ago. Most of my info is locked, so she must've had my name burned in her memory somewhere. She said she was so excited to have found me. I think she was one of the girls who got pregnant our senior year and ended up keeping the baby. I also think she was one of the students that participated in a weekly peer support discussion gathering that we simply called "Group." It was facilitated by a professional counselor, whom I recall was a great source of strength to all of us.
I told "H" she has a beautiful family, and it's true. Her daughter is all grown up now. She has a wonderful life from what I can see. I don't remember our high school conversations or what I might've said or done to affect her, but I'm humbled that I might have. Maybe I was one of the few who listened or wasn't judgmental or offered some piece of insight she found helpful. I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll rediscover it eventually. It doesn't really matter, of course. I'm just grateful that I was able to help in some way.
The Universe is funny in the way that it can bring us back to old connections that we might need, exactly when we might need them. She told me she loved the pictures I took in May and that I would have to let her know the next time I'm in the area. I told her I may be there soon, on a more permanent basis this time. She said that would be wonderful and she's hoping that I get good news.
I'm just smiling at the fact that I may get to be friends again with someone that I shouldn't have lost touch with in the first place. One can never really put a price on the value of rediscovered friendship or the gift of mutual support.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
A Meaningful Encounter With a Stranger
Today I had a stranger approach me as I was finishing up in one of my accounts. Well, to tell you the truth this happens all the time, but today's experience was a little different. It wasn't one of my male stalkers offering their "business" card and asking me to call them for a "house inspection," or a Hell's Angel offering to whisk me away on a "romantic" adventure, or some misguided male trying to "help" me with my job so he could turn around and tell me that "damn, you're beautiful." No, it was a woman who had an obviously strong urge to ask a few questions. It surprised me at first that she felt so compelled to stop and ask a complete stranger about the company they work for. At first I thought that maybe she wanted to know more about the organization and the job because she (or someone she knew) might be interested in coming on board. Within a few sentences, I realized that she was looking for peace of mind and some sense of validation.
She told me that her husband had briefly worked for the company and had felt mistreated, unprepared to perform the required duties of the job, and disillusioned with the promise of the alluring world he thought he was stepping into. She told me about how her husband's voice about valid concerns wasn't listened to, how he worked from 4 am to 9 pm sometimes to get the job done, how he lost a bunch of weight over the stress, and how he was expected to do things that he had never been taught. She also told me how he had eventually just walked out and told them "they could have their job." This woman wanted to know if the entire company was that way or if it was just all in her husband's head. Luckily, this woman approached someone who would be completely honest with her-no spin. Funny how the universe randomly brings the right people together sometimes, isn't it?
So, I told her a little bit of my story and of my co-workers' stories. Yes, this company treats you like a number, voicing your concerns and opinions is typically pointless because it goes in one ear and out the other, the expectations are borderline impossible to impossible at times, they always find something wrong no matter what you do or don't do, how you sometimes have to go to extreme measures to prove yourself (like taking 181 pictures of your market and sending them to HR), and how the way they treat employees is a company culture issue (i.e. don't take it personally). I told her that I've had a few other job offers. One they talked me out of taking and being the too forgiving/understanding HSP that I am, I tried to give the organization a second chance. The other was with a company that wasn't financially stable at the time, so I passed. I also told her that I'm working on leaving soon-for real this time.
She expressed her appreciation and I could see that there was some relief in her eyes and her spirit. She now knew that it wasn't anything that her husband did or didn't do. It wasn't his fault. He made the right decision by walking off the job. I told her that happens a lot and that he shouldn't feel guilty. At least he had the courage to do what those of us who are still working there don't. Before she drove off, she said "I feel so sorry for you guys. Good luck sweetheart."
I smiled, thinking this must be another one of those random coincidences. Both for me and for her. It reminded me that it's part of the reason why I'm here-to help shed light on some of my company's shadows. At least I was able to help someone today and make a difference in the way they think about themselves. It's also another validation of what I've felt about my company for years (not that I need anymore at this point) and that I need to truly follow through this time with my intentions to leave. I'm not meant to stay here forever, like I initially thought I was. And maybe, just maybe, I need to simply also just let go.
She told me that her husband had briefly worked for the company and had felt mistreated, unprepared to perform the required duties of the job, and disillusioned with the promise of the alluring world he thought he was stepping into. She told me about how her husband's voice about valid concerns wasn't listened to, how he worked from 4 am to 9 pm sometimes to get the job done, how he lost a bunch of weight over the stress, and how he was expected to do things that he had never been taught. She also told me how he had eventually just walked out and told them "they could have their job." This woman wanted to know if the entire company was that way or if it was just all in her husband's head. Luckily, this woman approached someone who would be completely honest with her-no spin. Funny how the universe randomly brings the right people together sometimes, isn't it?
So, I told her a little bit of my story and of my co-workers' stories. Yes, this company treats you like a number, voicing your concerns and opinions is typically pointless because it goes in one ear and out the other, the expectations are borderline impossible to impossible at times, they always find something wrong no matter what you do or don't do, how you sometimes have to go to extreme measures to prove yourself (like taking 181 pictures of your market and sending them to HR), and how the way they treat employees is a company culture issue (i.e. don't take it personally). I told her that I've had a few other job offers. One they talked me out of taking and being the too forgiving/understanding HSP that I am, I tried to give the organization a second chance. The other was with a company that wasn't financially stable at the time, so I passed. I also told her that I'm working on leaving soon-for real this time.
She expressed her appreciation and I could see that there was some relief in her eyes and her spirit. She now knew that it wasn't anything that her husband did or didn't do. It wasn't his fault. He made the right decision by walking off the job. I told her that happens a lot and that he shouldn't feel guilty. At least he had the courage to do what those of us who are still working there don't. Before she drove off, she said "I feel so sorry for you guys. Good luck sweetheart."
I smiled, thinking this must be another one of those random coincidences. Both for me and for her. It reminded me that it's part of the reason why I'm here-to help shed light on some of my company's shadows. At least I was able to help someone today and make a difference in the way they think about themselves. It's also another validation of what I've felt about my company for years (not that I need anymore at this point) and that I need to truly follow through this time with my intentions to leave. I'm not meant to stay here forever, like I initially thought I was. And maybe, just maybe, I need to simply also just let go.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Illusion of Time
I've been inspired this evening to write about my thoughts on time and the illusion it often gives us. That illusion, of course, is that we have a linear past, present and future. What and who inspired me this evening was not intentional, but they've yet again brought me several revelations about myself, themselves, our spiritual connection, and validation of some of the Universe's intangible mysteries. It's amazing how a few words that the almost fifteen year old heard eighteen years ago, but the thirty-three year old doesn't recall can accidently be rediscovered with a whole new meaning, while providing additional proof to a twenty year old gut feeling that has never gone away. It is wonderful how a few words can reveal that there really is no distinction between what was, what is, and what has yet to be.
I know that many of us question how we instinctively like someone, perhaps even love someone, when we've only known them for a few moments or even when we only know of their existence, but have yet to meet face to face. Sometimes we question that sudden feeling of familiarity and recognition we get in the present moment that we're not quite sure we can explain. We can question our pull towards someone for years and then suddenly realize that the knowledge that we shared with them in what we think of as today was actually used by them in what we think was the past. Or perhaps it was shown to us in what we thought was the past as a guide to a piece of who we would become. Karmic soulmates, I like to think, have that kind of connection, that kind of relationship with each other. Although, I'm no longer just thinking, I'm beginning to see that.
When we look back on something or someone who influenced us, as I did for a moment this evening, we can see that what we've needed to know was already there. Tonight there is no distinction between 1992 and 2010. Tonight there is little, if any, distinction between reality and illusion. Tonight the almost fifteen year old shows her thirty-three year old self that the revelation of who she is was returned to her through that spiritual connection a long time ago. Tonight she begins to wonder who is the illusion and who is the reality and perhaps whether or not herself and the other person in question are not a little bit of both.
I suppose souls who have known each other through other lifetimes will always question that distinction in their present incarnations. Or perhaps the future self speaks through its past manifestation in ways that can't be seen, heard or explained. Perhaps we always are who we become, blindly revealing the pieces only when they are needed by others. It's only when we think we are looking back in reflection do we fully get to realize the purpose of those pieces. Only when we look back in reflection do they begin to fit together until we are finally ready to have the entire picture revealed to us.
Four words that didn't have much meaning in what I thought was 1992 have more than struck me in what I think is 2010. But they exist simultaneously. "That means you're sensitive" shouldn't have been used in the context of describing someone's ability to pick up on the unspoken in 1992. The research on high sensitivity hadn't been formally organized yet. The words "sensitivity" and "sensitive" hadn't been coined yet as the mainstream description for those like us. Those who can sense the unspoken, among many other things. But, tonight there it is, embedded in an eighteen year old illusion. Perhaps part of the script. Perhaps an ad-lib. That last detail, of course, doesn't matter.
What matters is the question of what exactly time is. Is it merely an illusion designed to slowly unravel, that only our physical shells experience and endure? Does it have a purpose in presenting itself as linear? Is time a barrier that our minds cross while dreaming or while conscious in the non-physical realm? Questions I'd love to have the answers to. But of course, that would mean the entire picture might get revealed before I'm ready. Tonight those details don't matter, because I have another piece to a puzzle I've been trying to solve for twenty years.
Tonight I can't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes and my heart from smiling in recognition at a gift that has come full circle. A gift that never really had a distinction between who was sending and who was receiving.
I know that many of us question how we instinctively like someone, perhaps even love someone, when we've only known them for a few moments or even when we only know of their existence, but have yet to meet face to face. Sometimes we question that sudden feeling of familiarity and recognition we get in the present moment that we're not quite sure we can explain. We can question our pull towards someone for years and then suddenly realize that the knowledge that we shared with them in what we think of as today was actually used by them in what we think was the past. Or perhaps it was shown to us in what we thought was the past as a guide to a piece of who we would become. Karmic soulmates, I like to think, have that kind of connection, that kind of relationship with each other. Although, I'm no longer just thinking, I'm beginning to see that.
When we look back on something or someone who influenced us, as I did for a moment this evening, we can see that what we've needed to know was already there. Tonight there is no distinction between 1992 and 2010. Tonight there is little, if any, distinction between reality and illusion. Tonight the almost fifteen year old shows her thirty-three year old self that the revelation of who she is was returned to her through that spiritual connection a long time ago. Tonight she begins to wonder who is the illusion and who is the reality and perhaps whether or not herself and the other person in question are not a little bit of both.
I suppose souls who have known each other through other lifetimes will always question that distinction in their present incarnations. Or perhaps the future self speaks through its past manifestation in ways that can't be seen, heard or explained. Perhaps we always are who we become, blindly revealing the pieces only when they are needed by others. It's only when we think we are looking back in reflection do we fully get to realize the purpose of those pieces. Only when we look back in reflection do they begin to fit together until we are finally ready to have the entire picture revealed to us.
Four words that didn't have much meaning in what I thought was 1992 have more than struck me in what I think is 2010. But they exist simultaneously. "That means you're sensitive" shouldn't have been used in the context of describing someone's ability to pick up on the unspoken in 1992. The research on high sensitivity hadn't been formally organized yet. The words "sensitivity" and "sensitive" hadn't been coined yet as the mainstream description for those like us. Those who can sense the unspoken, among many other things. But, tonight there it is, embedded in an eighteen year old illusion. Perhaps part of the script. Perhaps an ad-lib. That last detail, of course, doesn't matter.
What matters is the question of what exactly time is. Is it merely an illusion designed to slowly unravel, that only our physical shells experience and endure? Does it have a purpose in presenting itself as linear? Is time a barrier that our minds cross while dreaming or while conscious in the non-physical realm? Questions I'd love to have the answers to. But of course, that would mean the entire picture might get revealed before I'm ready. Tonight those details don't matter, because I have another piece to a puzzle I've been trying to solve for twenty years.
Tonight I can't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes and my heart from smiling in recognition at a gift that has come full circle. A gift that never really had a distinction between who was sending and who was receiving.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
How and Why We Stumble Into Substitute Dreams
This week I've been thinking about how sometimes we discover that we're in a situation that doesn't seem to fit us and we begin to wonder why we ended up there in the first place. I've found myself asking the question of "how in the hell did I end up here, doing this" on more than a few occasions. I usually equated it with my tendency to get distracted, to randomly explore whatever looked or felt good at the time, to be easily influenced by the desires of others to the point where those desires felt like they were also mine. Then there were those times when I thought I wanted something, but found out that it really wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what I wanted anymore because I'd either been lying to myself and others about who I really was, I'd outgrown the reason for wanting it, or I just simply decided that what I had to give up in order to keep myself within a particular realm was not worth what I would receive if I let it go instead.
This was before I discovered that I wasn't really crazy or indecisive or lacked the ability to follow through. No, I was just being a typical HSP. At least I think. Perhaps there are other sensitives out there that have a different perspective, but I often find myself swept away by a source of inspiration, whether old or new. Swept away in the sense that you become it, for a moment or perhaps longer. Swept away in the sense that you get lost in the feeling of aliveness that it brings and you do anything you can to chase it and grab onto it, with the naive belief that it will last.
This was before I discovered that I would often merge who I was with who someone else was, without deliberate intent. Without realizing it, their thoughts, desires, feelings and beliefs seemed like they were mine. I didn't or couldn't yet recognize the difference between me and someone else once I had absorbed their energy. So, sometimes what they wanted out of life suddenly became what I wanted. Or so I thought until I would rub the sleep from my eyes, wake up, look around and say "I don't know who I am or why I'm here."
This was before I discovered that it's okay to want to explore something and then move on when you're done learning the lesson you were meant to learn. It was before I received validation that sticking with one thing for a lifetime isn't necessarily what HSPs are meant to do. Not that we can't, but we're often the ones who eventually master something in a shorter amount of time and feel the need to find something else to keep us interested. In fact, I've learned that being absent-minded and getting bored easily can come in handy. The more benevolent expression would be "the dance of curiosity." The key is to not beat yourself up for wanting to change and grow more often than our non-HSP counterparts. The other key is to allow yourself to move on when you're ready, don't feel guilty, and smile in reflection at the part of yourself that you now have that you didn't before.
Yes, that "dance of curiosity" has brought me into many substitute dreams. Substitute dreams that seemed like "it" at the time; the "final destination." Now I realize they were like a series of dress rehearsals for opening night. Without them I wouldn't know how to survive in a city with a population larger than 80,000, how to listen to my inner voice, how to handle disappointment and rejection, how to be persistent, how to stop being a people pleaser, how to stop worrying about perfection, how to laugh, how to love, what I want from a partner, how to stop denying myself what I really want, how to give, how to stand up for myself with conviction, and most of all, how to stop trying so hard to become what I think I should be and just breathe into who I really am. Curiosity has a purpose. We stumble into substitute dreams because we aren't ready. We need a little "character research," if you will. We need to explore and practice before we can perform with conviction and believability. We need to discover and learn before we can transform into our destined form.
You see, substitute dreams give us what we need to make the real one come true.
This was before I discovered that I wasn't really crazy or indecisive or lacked the ability to follow through. No, I was just being a typical HSP. At least I think. Perhaps there are other sensitives out there that have a different perspective, but I often find myself swept away by a source of inspiration, whether old or new. Swept away in the sense that you become it, for a moment or perhaps longer. Swept away in the sense that you get lost in the feeling of aliveness that it brings and you do anything you can to chase it and grab onto it, with the naive belief that it will last.
This was before I discovered that I would often merge who I was with who someone else was, without deliberate intent. Without realizing it, their thoughts, desires, feelings and beliefs seemed like they were mine. I didn't or couldn't yet recognize the difference between me and someone else once I had absorbed their energy. So, sometimes what they wanted out of life suddenly became what I wanted. Or so I thought until I would rub the sleep from my eyes, wake up, look around and say "I don't know who I am or why I'm here."
This was before I discovered that it's okay to want to explore something and then move on when you're done learning the lesson you were meant to learn. It was before I received validation that sticking with one thing for a lifetime isn't necessarily what HSPs are meant to do. Not that we can't, but we're often the ones who eventually master something in a shorter amount of time and feel the need to find something else to keep us interested. In fact, I've learned that being absent-minded and getting bored easily can come in handy. The more benevolent expression would be "the dance of curiosity." The key is to not beat yourself up for wanting to change and grow more often than our non-HSP counterparts. The other key is to allow yourself to move on when you're ready, don't feel guilty, and smile in reflection at the part of yourself that you now have that you didn't before.
Yes, that "dance of curiosity" has brought me into many substitute dreams. Substitute dreams that seemed like "it" at the time; the "final destination." Now I realize they were like a series of dress rehearsals for opening night. Without them I wouldn't know how to survive in a city with a population larger than 80,000, how to listen to my inner voice, how to handle disappointment and rejection, how to be persistent, how to stop being a people pleaser, how to stop worrying about perfection, how to laugh, how to love, what I want from a partner, how to stop denying myself what I really want, how to give, how to stand up for myself with conviction, and most of all, how to stop trying so hard to become what I think I should be and just breathe into who I really am. Curiosity has a purpose. We stumble into substitute dreams because we aren't ready. We need a little "character research," if you will. We need to explore and practice before we can perform with conviction and believability. We need to discover and learn before we can transform into our destined form.
You see, substitute dreams give us what we need to make the real one come true.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Art of Reinvention and Letting Go
There are many times in life when we will find ourselves at a crossroads. We find ourselves faced with the daunting task of making a decision, with two or more attractive alternatives. We might find ourselves backed into a corner, when the only viable alternative is abandonment of what we know so that we can start anew. We might be suddenly waking up to the realization that we're simply in the wrong place, attempting to accomplish a goal that doesn't fit anymore, that we've outgrown the person we're in a relationship with, or that our time on a particular path is about to end.
Funny how as I'm writing this, Linda Ronstadt's "Goodbye My Friend" has started playing from my self-made mix of songs that have touched me in some way. On the surface, it's yet another number in the long sappy line of songs I became acquainted with from those youthful years of Daytime television viewing (thanks Ken Corday and Janet Spellman-Rider). Beneath the surface, it's a tale of having no other choice but to let go of the physical manifestation of a relationship in favor of its remembrance and spiritual manifestation. We don't always realize it at the time, but the spiritual manifestation was present in the background all along. It's not something that truly ends, but continues to exist in a circle of completeness that we can't possibly try to escape.
That same circle that contains the task of letting go allows you to begin again. It opens up the possibility of discovery, of becoming who you were meant to be, of relinquishing responsibility for what you can't control, of allowing someone else to fulfill their destiny. Letting go is a decision, a mindset that says "I'm no longer going to attempt to control and manipulate this." It's a decision that stops creating the illusion so that reality can be woken up to.
For some of us, that illusion has become so real to those around us that it is difficult for them to see the authenticity of its creator. To do that would mean they would have to let go too. They would have to go inward to examine themselves and what they were hoping to gain from that illusion. Those around us would have to face the pain that they've been tricked into believing that the illusion exists. They would have to stop pretending to protect their fear of retribution for being real. For those in the public eye especially, it can be difficult to let go of the image of who you were and of whom others wanted you to be, when those images are so readily available and the public doesn't seem to want to accept that you've long outgrown that illusion. For those of us who are not in the limelight, it can be just as difficult when your process of reinvention and growth isn't met with approving, understanding eyes from those who you thought would show you compassion.
Regardless, that reinvention process is one in which you have to be true to yourself. Reinvention is the examination of who you are so that you can become who you were meant to be. That's a journey that requires asking yourself what you're currently doing that is preventing you from experiencing what you really want. It's a journey that demands that the only person you have to answer to is yourself.
Yes, it means letting go of what you thought you wanted in order to pursue what you've rediscovered is in your heart. It can be frightening to release a comforting illusion for the unknown result of truth. There's no built-in happy ending, no airbrushed images of perfection, or locked-in loyal support. Yet, the cost of continuing to perpetuate an illusion is the slow death of your spirit. Those that wish to continue to believe in it will have to wake up sooner or later. Those who have already joined you in reality are the ones who saw through to your true essence all along.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Rediscoveries
Saying goodbye is never an easy process. The feelings of empty abandonment. The pretending that you don't care. The anger and frustration of not being in control. The projection of that anger onto the one making the decision to take a different path. It's all designed to appear as though you are the rejecter; to push them away.
Letting go is another form of "goodbye." The only difference is that you are the initiator, the one who decides to make the separation. You are setting yourself free from the obligation of having to maintain a dual existence. You may need space. You may need to become someone else. You may want different things out of life. Or you just may not be able to handle the intensity of the other person's soul.
The process of "goodbye" is one that I probably know a little too well. I learned the stark reality of this with my biological father at four years old. As a child, you don't realize that separation is not your responsibility. You just feel the heavy weight of "what did I do wrong" slam itself into your heart. It doesn't matter that they're the one that has issues; serious issues. Or that if they stay they will continue to rob your innocence and damage your existence. You don't understand that darkness exists within humanity. You black out the bad times and remember the good ones. They're supposed to be there. They're supposed to show you that you mean something; that you're worth taking care of. They're not supposed to vanish without warning.
That vanishing shakes your faith in what exists and what is possible. You learn not to trust. Not to try. That effort is useless, because you can't depend on anyone or anything to be real. You can't depend on anyone to stay. So you begin to absorb yourself in things that aren't real, or so it seems. You begin to attach yourself to those things that don't seem possible to actually grasp. You become a dreamer who constantly finds ways to reinvent what you do see.
What's within lasts forever. Ideas, concepts, dreams, wishes. They're mostly static. Only we have the power to change them, set them free, tell them it's time to say goodbye. If only the pivotal people we encounter along the paths of our journeys were the same. No. People are quite different from the world of wishes and dreams.
We encounter these pivotal people to wake us up to a part of ourselves that needs to be revealed. Some say they're part of our same soul family, perhaps even our twin soul, with an agreement made between each other in the spiritual realm to lead the physical manifestation to their purpose. Yet, the physical manifestation is just that. Physical. Bound by the limitations of what can be seen and touched.
Bound by obligations, boundaries, necessities, change, the need to grow, the desire to pursue, run away, avoidance, conflict, histories, self-destruction, disorder, self-doubt, metamorphosis, and countless other roads we've all travelled. Those are the roads that bring us to each other, bring about the "goodbyes," and if we're lucky enough, bring us back to each other.
If they don't come back, all we can do is remember and smile in reflection. Be thankful that we had what we did, that we gave, that we had the chance to love, that we danced. It's the ones that always come back that expanded our soul. Yes, they tore at it too, but in a good way. They helped us create ourselves. Unknowingly. Unwillingly. Effortlessly. The rediscovery, the return, happens when we're finally ready to embody their gifts or it's our turn to give them something back.
Of course I have three of these, since all good things come in pairs of threes. The first was a ray of hope's light that brought happiness and vigor back into a wounded child's spirit. The second was a spunk of tender energy, containing a sense of familiarity within the eyes that didn't need words or an explanation. The third was an unplanned surprise that danced in the shadows against a sweet, gentle music that only two halves of the same soul can make.
Rediscovering all three has shown me that they never really left in the first place. Never lost, they were within all along.
Letting go is another form of "goodbye." The only difference is that you are the initiator, the one who decides to make the separation. You are setting yourself free from the obligation of having to maintain a dual existence. You may need space. You may need to become someone else. You may want different things out of life. Or you just may not be able to handle the intensity of the other person's soul.
The process of "goodbye" is one that I probably know a little too well. I learned the stark reality of this with my biological father at four years old. As a child, you don't realize that separation is not your responsibility. You just feel the heavy weight of "what did I do wrong" slam itself into your heart. It doesn't matter that they're the one that has issues; serious issues. Or that if they stay they will continue to rob your innocence and damage your existence. You don't understand that darkness exists within humanity. You black out the bad times and remember the good ones. They're supposed to be there. They're supposed to show you that you mean something; that you're worth taking care of. They're not supposed to vanish without warning.
That vanishing shakes your faith in what exists and what is possible. You learn not to trust. Not to try. That effort is useless, because you can't depend on anyone or anything to be real. You can't depend on anyone to stay. So you begin to absorb yourself in things that aren't real, or so it seems. You begin to attach yourself to those things that don't seem possible to actually grasp. You become a dreamer who constantly finds ways to reinvent what you do see.
What's within lasts forever. Ideas, concepts, dreams, wishes. They're mostly static. Only we have the power to change them, set them free, tell them it's time to say goodbye. If only the pivotal people we encounter along the paths of our journeys were the same. No. People are quite different from the world of wishes and dreams.
We encounter these pivotal people to wake us up to a part of ourselves that needs to be revealed. Some say they're part of our same soul family, perhaps even our twin soul, with an agreement made between each other in the spiritual realm to lead the physical manifestation to their purpose. Yet, the physical manifestation is just that. Physical. Bound by the limitations of what can be seen and touched.
Bound by obligations, boundaries, necessities, change, the need to grow, the desire to pursue, run away, avoidance, conflict, histories, self-destruction, disorder, self-doubt, metamorphosis, and countless other roads we've all travelled. Those are the roads that bring us to each other, bring about the "goodbyes," and if we're lucky enough, bring us back to each other.
If they don't come back, all we can do is remember and smile in reflection. Be thankful that we had what we did, that we gave, that we had the chance to love, that we danced. It's the ones that always come back that expanded our soul. Yes, they tore at it too, but in a good way. They helped us create ourselves. Unknowingly. Unwillingly. Effortlessly. The rediscovery, the return, happens when we're finally ready to embody their gifts or it's our turn to give them something back.
Of course I have three of these, since all good things come in pairs of threes. The first was a ray of hope's light that brought happiness and vigor back into a wounded child's spirit. The second was a spunk of tender energy, containing a sense of familiarity within the eyes that didn't need words or an explanation. The third was an unplanned surprise that danced in the shadows against a sweet, gentle music that only two halves of the same soul can make.
Rediscovering all three has shown me that they never really left in the first place. Never lost, they were within all along.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Everyday Lessons from the Universe
For those of you who were in doubt, I have returned to the somewhat "saner" side of my brain for a moment or two. Please enjoy these random thoughts.
There is something to be said of patience. It is a somewhat elusive virtue that quite a few find themselves struggling to embody. We all want the next moment, to hurry through the present because the future holds something better.
Last evening I had the joy of waiting in a line, not once mind you, but twice, at my local Wal-Mart Supercenter. This lovely situation came about because I was in a hurry to get home from work for the day. I didn't want to stop to purchase a money order while driving back to my local distribution center, where I had to finalize my day's paperwork and transmit my day's sales activity to corporate. I was impatient to get a long Monday out of the way and get started on my homework for the evening.
For some reason I had forgotten to get a few essentials, such as toothpaste, on my routine bi-weekly shopping trip. Why I figured I could pop into a Wal-Mart Supercenter on a Monday evening at 6 pm, pick up the few items I missed and purchase my money order in a flash, I'll never know. As a former "associate" of this lovely retail establishment, who used to help manage the front end and witnessed the second shift crowds, I should have known better. Amazing what the 30 something version does not recall from her late teens/early 20's.
So, there I was, barely able to keep my eyes open after my usual 12+ hour workday, any traces of make-up long since faded from my face, and feet aching from having to stand yet again. This was my second time in line, as I had made the mistake of thinking the customer service desk, instead of the money center, could actually print that darn piece of paper that I had to obtain that day, according to corporate policy. The law of attraction was sure in play as my initial impatience magnified itself in this new situation. There must have been at least ten people in line ahead of me and there was only one employee behind the counter. I realized that my irritation and impatience were in danger of crossing over into an exhausted meltdown.
I looked around at those in front of me, while seeming to impassively listen to the young lady behind me complain about her boyfriend and the fact that she had no food in the apartment she had just moved into. Funny how being an anonymous observer allows you the chance to learn a thing or two about humanity, remind you of your not so distant past or give you the inspiration for your next story.
I began to focus on the employee behind the counter, as I reminded myself that I couldn't change the situation. Continuing to feel frustrated wasn't going to do me any favors, so it was best to let go and experience the present moment for what it was. The employee was a younger female, most likely an undergrad student at one of the local colleges here in town. I could see that she was somewhat overwhelmed underneath her determined and focused demeanor. After all, she had to take care of an ever growing line of impatient customers who either wanted money, had to send money or turn money into another form of payment. She probably had a long day like myself, filled with multiple classes and a job that paid just enough to allow her to pay a few bills and survive off the cheapest food money can buy. She probably had a pile of homework waiting for her at home and she didn't know how or when it would get done.
It wasn't too long ago that I was that girl, juggling two part time jobs, a full undergrad classload and the beginnings of adult responsibility. It was a time in my life that I was overwhelmed, overextended, yet still hopeful that something bigger than life existed out there. It was a time that I don't miss much, but that I wished I had been more patient with and not in such a hurry to get over. It was a period in my life that I should have taken more time to be a child, "smell the roses" and appreciate for what it was.
By the time I reached the front counter, the impatience that I had felt had dissipated. The situation had forced me to "slow down", look around, use sensitivity to transcend myself back in time for a reminder of what's really important, and to extend kindness, appreciation and understanding towards someone trying to do a demanding, yet undervalued job.
Impatience robs you from seeing the gifts of everyday life and the opportunities to make small differences in the lives of others. It's a stressful and insensitive road that doesn't get you where you want to go any faster than its relaxed and carefree alternative. It stops you from realizing that you should savor where you are along existence's path; it's the only time you'll get to discover and explore its worth.
There is something to be said of patience. It is a somewhat elusive virtue that quite a few find themselves struggling to embody. We all want the next moment, to hurry through the present because the future holds something better.
Last evening I had the joy of waiting in a line, not once mind you, but twice, at my local Wal-Mart Supercenter. This lovely situation came about because I was in a hurry to get home from work for the day. I didn't want to stop to purchase a money order while driving back to my local distribution center, where I had to finalize my day's paperwork and transmit my day's sales activity to corporate. I was impatient to get a long Monday out of the way and get started on my homework for the evening.
For some reason I had forgotten to get a few essentials, such as toothpaste, on my routine bi-weekly shopping trip. Why I figured I could pop into a Wal-Mart Supercenter on a Monday evening at 6 pm, pick up the few items I missed and purchase my money order in a flash, I'll never know. As a former "associate" of this lovely retail establishment, who used to help manage the front end and witnessed the second shift crowds, I should have known better. Amazing what the 30 something version does not recall from her late teens/early 20's.
So, there I was, barely able to keep my eyes open after my usual 12+ hour workday, any traces of make-up long since faded from my face, and feet aching from having to stand yet again. This was my second time in line, as I had made the mistake of thinking the customer service desk, instead of the money center, could actually print that darn piece of paper that I had to obtain that day, according to corporate policy. The law of attraction was sure in play as my initial impatience magnified itself in this new situation. There must have been at least ten people in line ahead of me and there was only one employee behind the counter. I realized that my irritation and impatience were in danger of crossing over into an exhausted meltdown.
I looked around at those in front of me, while seeming to impassively listen to the young lady behind me complain about her boyfriend and the fact that she had no food in the apartment she had just moved into. Funny how being an anonymous observer allows you the chance to learn a thing or two about humanity, remind you of your not so distant past or give you the inspiration for your next story.
I began to focus on the employee behind the counter, as I reminded myself that I couldn't change the situation. Continuing to feel frustrated wasn't going to do me any favors, so it was best to let go and experience the present moment for what it was. The employee was a younger female, most likely an undergrad student at one of the local colleges here in town. I could see that she was somewhat overwhelmed underneath her determined and focused demeanor. After all, she had to take care of an ever growing line of impatient customers who either wanted money, had to send money or turn money into another form of payment. She probably had a long day like myself, filled with multiple classes and a job that paid just enough to allow her to pay a few bills and survive off the cheapest food money can buy. She probably had a pile of homework waiting for her at home and she didn't know how or when it would get done.
It wasn't too long ago that I was that girl, juggling two part time jobs, a full undergrad classload and the beginnings of adult responsibility. It was a time in my life that I was overwhelmed, overextended, yet still hopeful that something bigger than life existed out there. It was a time that I don't miss much, but that I wished I had been more patient with and not in such a hurry to get over. It was a period in my life that I should have taken more time to be a child, "smell the roses" and appreciate for what it was.
By the time I reached the front counter, the impatience that I had felt had dissipated. The situation had forced me to "slow down", look around, use sensitivity to transcend myself back in time for a reminder of what's really important, and to extend kindness, appreciation and understanding towards someone trying to do a demanding, yet undervalued job.
Impatience robs you from seeing the gifts of everyday life and the opportunities to make small differences in the lives of others. It's a stressful and insensitive road that doesn't get you where you want to go any faster than its relaxed and carefree alternative. It stops you from realizing that you should savor where you are along existence's path; it's the only time you'll get to discover and explore its worth.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Intermissions and Daydreams
I'm back, I've returned home. At least it still feels like home each time I come back here. It's almost as if time stopped, as if some piece of my spirit is still floating around this playground of palm trees, warm sunshine and crystal teal oceans. I suppose a piece of it always will, knowing that there's always the possibility of its full return. My heart lights up and its smile can't be contained in my eyes each time I'm staring out that window at the outline of Florida's west coast from 20,000 odd feet in the air. I always hate when it's time to go. I cry when it's almost time to leave again and I look longingly and wistfully at the palms outside the airport's terminal as the plane lifts off the ground. I remind myself that I'll be back, this wasn't the last time. I'll come back and get to feel at peace. I'll come back and hopefully get to create more "in person" moments rather than just hear a voice on the other end of the phone line.
It's complicated to have a love affair between two homes, two States that are polar opposites. I'm free here. There's no one watching my every move. There's no one to judge, to say "why are you doing that" or "why aren't you doing this." In Colorado there are expectations, roles to play, obligations to live up to. Not to mention the weather, opportunities and scenery are a heck of a lot better here. You experience the illusion that Summer is indeed perpetual, that the powerful, yet calm sound of the ocean's tide is right outside your window just as you dreamed it would be when you were younger, that life really is about magic, fun and inner peace. It's a place I find calming, inspirational and carefree. It's a place that has become my favorite escape. It's a place I often think of making my only home again, if my ambitions and life obligations didn't have other plans.
The nature of my love for this place has changed. I realize that I'm more fond, rather than fascinated by it. I realize that it's still where I want to be, that my heart is home. It's a place I didn't expect to fall in love with, but love in and of itself is random. Seemingly random, anyway. I sometimes like to think that it's not, that there's purpose there.
Relationships. They're messy, they don't know what rules are, they're anything but linear, they're often complicated. The heart has the capacity to love more than the mind is willing to rationalize and accept. Once you love someone, you love them. You never stop, not really. Your mind might put them in a neat little box, packed away, hidden in that corner of a closet you rarely open. A box that can be rediscovered on a moment's whim. A box that has the capacity to fit in more than what it looks like it should be able to.
As we can have love affairs between two geographical locations, we can also have them between two people. The heart has the capapcity to love an indefinte amount of individuals. The heart has the capacity to love in a variety of forms, but in the end it can't discern between them. You can commit yourself to someone you have surface affection for and yet feel a deeper connection towards someone else. That notion of spiritual love is of interest and one that I seem to be revisiting in earnest lately.
Spiritual love can contain romantic undertones, but it is often a deeper bond than that of romantic love. It is an unspoken connection between two souls that is never quite broken. It's almost as if you can listen to their thoughts if you make yourself still enough. Telepathic conversations and experiences that you can have when you're both ready, even if physically distant. Not only can you imagine their presence, but you can feel it. You can draw each other to the same location unintentionally, experience the same experience if you're not shielding yourself from their energy wavelength.
There's a certain knowledge that you two have of each other, of situations in your individual lives, of why you've made the choices you did, a certain level of understanding that you don't need words for. You just know. You know the hidden corners of their soul, who they really are, who they spend so much time and energy masking as something else. It's as if there is a cosmic magnet that draws the two of you together someway, somehow, no matter what the obstacles are. It's an unspoken understanding that you belong with each other, whether that's in this lifetime or the next.
It's complicated to have a love affair between two homes, two States that are polar opposites. I'm free here. There's no one watching my every move. There's no one to judge, to say "why are you doing that" or "why aren't you doing this." In Colorado there are expectations, roles to play, obligations to live up to. Not to mention the weather, opportunities and scenery are a heck of a lot better here. You experience the illusion that Summer is indeed perpetual, that the powerful, yet calm sound of the ocean's tide is right outside your window just as you dreamed it would be when you were younger, that life really is about magic, fun and inner peace. It's a place I find calming, inspirational and carefree. It's a place that has become my favorite escape. It's a place I often think of making my only home again, if my ambitions and life obligations didn't have other plans.
The nature of my love for this place has changed. I realize that I'm more fond, rather than fascinated by it. I realize that it's still where I want to be, that my heart is home. It's a place I didn't expect to fall in love with, but love in and of itself is random. Seemingly random, anyway. I sometimes like to think that it's not, that there's purpose there.
Relationships. They're messy, they don't know what rules are, they're anything but linear, they're often complicated. The heart has the capacity to love more than the mind is willing to rationalize and accept. Once you love someone, you love them. You never stop, not really. Your mind might put them in a neat little box, packed away, hidden in that corner of a closet you rarely open. A box that can be rediscovered on a moment's whim. A box that has the capacity to fit in more than what it looks like it should be able to.
As we can have love affairs between two geographical locations, we can also have them between two people. The heart has the capapcity to love an indefinte amount of individuals. The heart has the capacity to love in a variety of forms, but in the end it can't discern between them. You can commit yourself to someone you have surface affection for and yet feel a deeper connection towards someone else. That notion of spiritual love is of interest and one that I seem to be revisiting in earnest lately.
Spiritual love can contain romantic undertones, but it is often a deeper bond than that of romantic love. It is an unspoken connection between two souls that is never quite broken. It's almost as if you can listen to their thoughts if you make yourself still enough. Telepathic conversations and experiences that you can have when you're both ready, even if physically distant. Not only can you imagine their presence, but you can feel it. You can draw each other to the same location unintentionally, experience the same experience if you're not shielding yourself from their energy wavelength.
There's a certain knowledge that you two have of each other, of situations in your individual lives, of why you've made the choices you did, a certain level of understanding that you don't need words for. You just know. You know the hidden corners of their soul, who they really are, who they spend so much time and energy masking as something else. It's as if there is a cosmic magnet that draws the two of you together someway, somehow, no matter what the obstacles are. It's an unspoken understanding that you belong with each other, whether that's in this lifetime or the next.
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