For some reason, the phrase "finding yourself" has been popping in and out of my brain for the past two or three days. It kind of makes me think of two things: the character of Joey Potter from Dawson's Creek and the song by Daughtry called Home. I heard that song for the first time as I was driving over the Howard Franklin bridge to go meet the ex, "D," off the Dale Mabry exit near downtown Tampa. It was during one of the weeks that I had returned to Florida, and he didn't feel like driving all the way back to the beach condo from one of his stores in Lake Wales. Can't say I blame him. That's kind of a long drive-especially after working all day and especially in Florida's evening traffic nightmare.
I remember thinking, what a great song. It describes exactly how I feel right now. I'm home-for now. I have to find a way to make it back for good, because this is where I found myself. This is where I'm happy. This is where I'm free. Love has that aphrodisiac effect at times.
Now, we won't divulge my love affair with Dawson's Creek. Episodes are available for review on YouTube for those of you too young or too old to be acquainted with the show. And really, it's just another example of how we gravitate towards characters (and actors' interpretations of them) that are in some way like our own selves.
What I've realized recently is that home isn't a particular geographic location. Finding yourself isn't something that ever gets completed. Well, unless you've achieved sainthood, buddhahood, grown a pair of angel's wings, ascended to the Source, or whatever form you choose to believe in. But, while we're here on this planet-walking with our feet on the ground-we're never done. How could we be? It's somewhat ludricrous to think that what we think of ourselves is going to end with the next pit stop.
I fell in love in my early 20's for the first time really. I was ready to give up anything and everything just to be with someone who couldn't decide what they really wanted. Burned divorcees can be like that. They've been hurt and they're afraid of being happy with someone else. I worked for a company that I loved for awhile. I had a wonderful initial four month experience that I wished could go on forever. I soon realized that you can't duplicate what was in its exact form-even if it's in the same environment with the same people.
The reason is simple-we're the one that changes. If not outwardly, we certainly do on the inside. Each experience, each person we encounter changes us somehow. We don't always know why or even realize it until it's over. I don't think this change always happens deliberately either. All I can say is that some of the best and richest experiences that I've come out of have all started with one thing-an inexplicable pull or gut feeling.
When you allow yourself to follow those, there are no guarantees. There are no plans, no blueprints, and often no vision. You just walk towards that pull and find yourself in the midst of an unfolding experience. Somewhere within that experience you begin to realize that you're becoming something you didn't think you were. You discover something larger than your own comprehension of who you are and who you should be. You begin to realize what you really want, what makes you tick for the moment, and maybe a piece or two of your current journey's main purpose. Finding out who you are takes nothing more than the willingness to listen to your own silent voice. The dance of life begins within.
You just have to realize that nothing, not even our own soul, remains frozen.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Today's Rants and Ravings
I have a rebellious streak. I'm kind of ornery. I sometimes like to do and say things that are a little off-the-wall just to see what kind of reactions I'll get. These "flaws," if you want to view them as such, I will openly admit to. But, as long as I'm not doing anything grossly offensive or hurting someone else, then I think I should be allowed to fully express myself. Personally, I don't view the aforementioned "character traits" as flaws at all. I think they're part of being a creative person and they can bring a little fun and mischief into an otherwise dull atmosphere. I realize that this is up for debate, of course. Especially if you're one of those uptight lil' vanilla's occupying the halls of my company's distribution center.
I, being a lover of literature, words, language and poetry, among other creations, don't see anything wrong with quoting a few phrased lines from a lovely writer. Now, I know I have most of my co-workers shaking their heads trying to figure out what "SLM" means on all the notes that I write. Since I come up with nicknames for everyone, I figured I might as well give myself one too. No, "M," it doesn't stand for "Sexy Lil' Mama," but I might have to consider trading out the "Sassy" with your suggestion. I mean, after all, the rumor is that I'm really a lesbian, which I find to be hysterical. Maybe I should start putting photos of my fake girlfriend on the walls of the bulletin boards in the break room downstairs.
Is it wrong to try to loosen up a stale, dull, "let's not crack a smile," "do nothing but complain," and "ignore each other" environment? Are you not the same company who preaches tolerance, diversity and inclusion, and "we have to make sure everyone feels like they can be themselves?" Hmm, I guess diversity and inclusion doesn't include right-brained, artsy, creative, expressive, highly sensitive, introverted, and loose, rainbowed folks.
We couldn't possibly have someone poke a little fun at what we know to be true now could we? We couldn't possibly let someone use a quote to express their need for freedom, even if it isn't out of line. Oh, but maybe the mere mention of the word "wild" is a little too much for someone who has probably never even considered that there are some of us who don't want to be told how to think or feel. Let's silence the voices and expressions of some of our employees who aren't staying within the lines of our cookie cutter molding.
Because lord knows that we, stuck up in our little world of vanilla, colorless walls, don't know the first thing about having a free and cherished existence.
I, being a lover of literature, words, language and poetry, among other creations, don't see anything wrong with quoting a few phrased lines from a lovely writer. Now, I know I have most of my co-workers shaking their heads trying to figure out what "SLM" means on all the notes that I write. Since I come up with nicknames for everyone, I figured I might as well give myself one too. No, "M," it doesn't stand for "Sexy Lil' Mama," but I might have to consider trading out the "Sassy" with your suggestion. I mean, after all, the rumor is that I'm really a lesbian, which I find to be hysterical. Maybe I should start putting photos of my fake girlfriend on the walls of the bulletin boards in the break room downstairs.
Is it wrong to try to loosen up a stale, dull, "let's not crack a smile," "do nothing but complain," and "ignore each other" environment? Are you not the same company who preaches tolerance, diversity and inclusion, and "we have to make sure everyone feels like they can be themselves?" Hmm, I guess diversity and inclusion doesn't include right-brained, artsy, creative, expressive, highly sensitive, introverted, and loose, rainbowed folks.
We couldn't possibly have someone poke a little fun at what we know to be true now could we? We couldn't possibly let someone use a quote to express their need for freedom, even if it isn't out of line. Oh, but maybe the mere mention of the word "wild" is a little too much for someone who has probably never even considered that there are some of us who don't want to be told how to think or feel. Let's silence the voices and expressions of some of our employees who aren't staying within the lines of our cookie cutter molding.
Because lord knows that we, stuck up in our little world of vanilla, colorless walls, don't know the first thing about having a free and cherished existence.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
It's Almost Time
Currently I'm in the middle of trying to complete my MBA thesis class, realizing that in a short four and a half weeks I'll be putting an end to a major source of stress in my life. Anyone who has gone through the rigors of a Master's program knows what I'm talking about. The crazy thing is that I've been chugging along one class at a time, instead of the "normal" two courses at a time, and I still feel as though I'm carrying the workload of a full-time undergraduate student. In roughly four and a half weeks, I will have a portion of my life back. There will be more time for family, for friends, for that recently acquired freelance writing gig, for enjoying life. The second crazy thing is that I'm thinking of putting myself through this again. Is there some sort of super competitive, always have to be striving, overly ambitious streak within my DNA that compels me to do this? Maybe I really can't ever be truly satisfied with the state of "what is."
I'm not really questioning the actions that I'm about to attempt. The replacement Dell ink cartridges arrived yesterday. I'm now ready to print out those writing samples and essays, request transcripts, hit up some of my MBA profs for letters of recommendation, and hit the "send application" button on those three online applications. A good high school friend, whom I now realize is a fellow HSP, told me several weeks ago that I wouldn't feel fulfilled until I tried to pursue my dream. She told me that I have to go down this path in order to know. I know she's right. She's been right about a lot of things, even when they didn't always make sense or scream out what was obviously beneath the surface.
I'm not scared of potential change. I'm scared of not changing enough. This certainly isn't the only way to try to become a writer. But it's a familiar one-the arena of academic rigor. The arena of fighting to stay afloat by working too hard. The arena of attempting to burn the candle at both ends, as my dad used to say. He told me at nineteen that you can't do that forever. I now sometimes wish I had the sense to listen to those words. In a few weeks, I'll be 34, but I'm sure my "real" age is more along the lines of 54.
So, here goes nothing. Sometime over the weekend, I'll be attempting to go down this somewhat familiar path. If it's the one I'm supposed to start walking on, I'll find out. If not, I'll find that out too. Then it's on to "Plan B," and then perhaps "Plan C." But one thing I'm not going to do is worry about it.
Because in a short four and a half weeks, I'll have the chance (however short-lived) to spend my free time making up for all those moments that I didn't spend living.
I'm not really questioning the actions that I'm about to attempt. The replacement Dell ink cartridges arrived yesterday. I'm now ready to print out those writing samples and essays, request transcripts, hit up some of my MBA profs for letters of recommendation, and hit the "send application" button on those three online applications. A good high school friend, whom I now realize is a fellow HSP, told me several weeks ago that I wouldn't feel fulfilled until I tried to pursue my dream. She told me that I have to go down this path in order to know. I know she's right. She's been right about a lot of things, even when they didn't always make sense or scream out what was obviously beneath the surface.
I'm not scared of potential change. I'm scared of not changing enough. This certainly isn't the only way to try to become a writer. But it's a familiar one-the arena of academic rigor. The arena of fighting to stay afloat by working too hard. The arena of attempting to burn the candle at both ends, as my dad used to say. He told me at nineteen that you can't do that forever. I now sometimes wish I had the sense to listen to those words. In a few weeks, I'll be 34, but I'm sure my "real" age is more along the lines of 54.
So, here goes nothing. Sometime over the weekend, I'll be attempting to go down this somewhat familiar path. If it's the one I'm supposed to start walking on, I'll find out. If not, I'll find that out too. Then it's on to "Plan B," and then perhaps "Plan C." But one thing I'm not going to do is worry about it.
Because in a short four and a half weeks, I'll have the chance (however short-lived) to spend my free time making up for all those moments that I didn't spend living.
Friday, September 17, 2010
That Means You're Sensitive
"That means you're sensitive" is really a simple string of words. A string of words that could be interpreted as either positive or negative. "Sensitive"-a really simple word that can mean so many things.
A lot of us are aware of the negative connotations and the stigma associated with the label. I mean, do we really have to go there and explore the societal image of ourselves? I hope not. At least, I hope that most sensitives come to a place of understanding about themselves where they feel empowered by the trait, rather than a sense of shame or inadequacy.
While the word sensitive is simple, being one is certainly not. Everything means something, everything is felt deeply, and a lot of boundaries and shields that others have don't seem to exist in our DNA. But, would you give it up? If you could somehow change things, would you? Would you want to live life as a non-sensitive?
That would mean that you would have to give up a few things. A few things that I think are quintessential to bringing a sense of light and balance into the universe. One of the most important is that we sense what's beneath the surface, even if we don't always acknowledge it. Intuition can be tricky after all. It speaks in metaphors that we have to interpret and piece together. Believe me, the last few impressions I received weren't all that clear until they were elaborated on by their sender. Such a disappointment too, because I really was on a dead hit interpretation roll there for awhile. Maybe my psychic shield was a little too active that week or something. Trying to work 50 hours and complete a thesis class can make you concentrate too much on visible reality. My apologies to the sender.
Regardless of the strength of our individual intuitive abilities, without sensitivity, who would empathize with complete strangers? Who would attempt to generate peace and understanding where there seems to only be conflict, anger, and destruction? Who would create magic? Who would foster imagination? Who would notice synchronicity and act on it? Who would recognize a soul mate within the eyes and help guide them towards their current life's purpose? Who would help others overcome their inner obstacles without a second thought? Who would attempt to change the world into something more than it ever thought it could be?
Being sensitive is a responsibility because it is an innate talent, not a weakness. We are called to do what others won't and what others don't see as the more important things in life. You could sum it up in another simple string of words-making a difference.
We don't always get a medal for it or a tangible sign of validation. But that's not why we do it. We strive to make a difference because being sensitive means that you simply see no other choice.
A lot of us are aware of the negative connotations and the stigma associated with the label. I mean, do we really have to go there and explore the societal image of ourselves? I hope not. At least, I hope that most sensitives come to a place of understanding about themselves where they feel empowered by the trait, rather than a sense of shame or inadequacy.
While the word sensitive is simple, being one is certainly not. Everything means something, everything is felt deeply, and a lot of boundaries and shields that others have don't seem to exist in our DNA. But, would you give it up? If you could somehow change things, would you? Would you want to live life as a non-sensitive?
That would mean that you would have to give up a few things. A few things that I think are quintessential to bringing a sense of light and balance into the universe. One of the most important is that we sense what's beneath the surface, even if we don't always acknowledge it. Intuition can be tricky after all. It speaks in metaphors that we have to interpret and piece together. Believe me, the last few impressions I received weren't all that clear until they were elaborated on by their sender. Such a disappointment too, because I really was on a dead hit interpretation roll there for awhile. Maybe my psychic shield was a little too active that week or something. Trying to work 50 hours and complete a thesis class can make you concentrate too much on visible reality. My apologies to the sender.
Regardless of the strength of our individual intuitive abilities, without sensitivity, who would empathize with complete strangers? Who would attempt to generate peace and understanding where there seems to only be conflict, anger, and destruction? Who would create magic? Who would foster imagination? Who would notice synchronicity and act on it? Who would recognize a soul mate within the eyes and help guide them towards their current life's purpose? Who would help others overcome their inner obstacles without a second thought? Who would attempt to change the world into something more than it ever thought it could be?
Being sensitive is a responsibility because it is an innate talent, not a weakness. We are called to do what others won't and what others don't see as the more important things in life. You could sum it up in another simple string of words-making a difference.
We don't always get a medal for it or a tangible sign of validation. But that's not why we do it. We strive to make a difference because being sensitive means that you simply see no other choice.
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