So hard to keep that in perspective.
What matters? How I feel, what I'm willing to give, how I react to what is given back. It matters that I'm true to my own heart, my own soul. That I love freely and deeply. That I give all of myself.
What doesn't? The past. Things that aren't mutual (i.e., it doesn't matter what I want if that's not what he wants). No amount of me wanting or wishing or pushing is going to change that. Also, things that aren't said or aren't done. While nice, maybe, they really don't matter.
What matters is what is happening now, what happens today. Time shared. I can choose to be fully in that moment and drink it up through every pore, or I can choose to miss out by worrying about what is not. Seems so obvious, doesn't it? Yet so many of us miss out on the miracles of what we have by always wanting something else.
Until
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Photo, Explained (or why I am the way I am)
Easter Sunday, 2009
I spent Easter in NC this year, in the house where I grew up. Easter was my mother's very favorite holiday, and spending it there has been difficult since she passed away. I think about my mother all the time, and I've often wondered how it would be if she were still here. What would she think of me? Of my life? Of my children? Sometimes, I just want to talk to her, or for her to just reach out and let me know things will be OK.
When I was a little girl, I was very fond of picking wild violets. They were my favorite flower. I was always bringing in hands full when spring came around. My sweet mother would always make a big deal of it, and would say "oh, let me get the special violet vase." She would get out this tiny little blue glass pitcher (that typically held toothpicks) and would show me how to pinch the stems so that they would all fit well. She would put it on the table at dinner and brag about how I'd brought her flowers. One of those really good memories for me. I have looked and looked for this little pitcher over the years, and I finally found it this weekend, on Easter Sunday, no less. Just in time for the violets to be in bloom. Needless to say, it came home with me, full of violets.
Until
I spent Easter in NC this year, in the house where I grew up. Easter was my mother's very favorite holiday, and spending it there has been difficult since she passed away. I think about my mother all the time, and I've often wondered how it would be if she were still here. What would she think of me? Of my life? Of my children? Sometimes, I just want to talk to her, or for her to just reach out and let me know things will be OK.
When I was a little girl, I was very fond of picking wild violets. They were my favorite flower. I was always bringing in hands full when spring came around. My sweet mother would always make a big deal of it, and would say "oh, let me get the special violet vase." She would get out this tiny little blue glass pitcher (that typically held toothpicks) and would show me how to pinch the stems so that they would all fit well. She would put it on the table at dinner and brag about how I'd brought her flowers. One of those really good memories for me. I have looked and looked for this little pitcher over the years, and I finally found it this weekend, on Easter Sunday, no less. Just in time for the violets to be in bloom. Needless to say, it came home with me, full of violets.
Until
Monday, May 31, 2010
I'm fine, thanks...
I guess this is as good a place as any to start.
How many times have you answered, "I'm fine, thanks," when someone asked you how you were doing? Countless, if you're anything like me. In the South, especially, we're trained from birth to answer that way. No one wants to hear us go on about our aches and pains, or air our dirty laundry about the family, the in-laws, trouble at the workplace. So we put on our best smile, square off our shoulders and say, "I'm fine." And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Have you ever stopped to ponder how many of those "I'm fine's" are actually covering something much more serious? It could be illness recently diagnosed, illness suspected, illness in a family member, death of a loved one, a broken heart, a broken marriage, a troubled child, a troubled friend, loss of a job, money trouble. Each of us, at one time or another, carries a burden that we try to keep hidden from the world. A burden that, during the darkest moments, threatens to crush our very spirit. Yet we bravely plod on, and smile and say "I'm fine." We say "I'm fine" when all we really want to do is throw a tantrum, or cry, or pout, or just sit down and say "I give up." A testament to the human spirit prevailing.
I think, though, that sometimes those losses just need to be acknowledged, even if it is in the smallest, unspoken way. Whatever it is that someone is going through is a great loss to that person at that time in his or her life. "It" deserves attention, conscious or subconscious. So the next time you run into an acquaintance and spout out the obligatory "how are you," pay attention. Look into the person's eyes, give them a genuine smile, a pat on the arm. Hold the door, hold the elevator, give up your seat, buy their coffee. You never know when the smallest gesture could make all the difference to the person masking a dark hour with "I'm fine."
The Dalai Lama put it best. "Be kind whenever possible. It's always possible."
Until
How many times have you answered, "I'm fine, thanks," when someone asked you how you were doing? Countless, if you're anything like me. In the South, especially, we're trained from birth to answer that way. No one wants to hear us go on about our aches and pains, or air our dirty laundry about the family, the in-laws, trouble at the workplace. So we put on our best smile, square off our shoulders and say, "I'm fine." And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Have you ever stopped to ponder how many of those "I'm fine's" are actually covering something much more serious? It could be illness recently diagnosed, illness suspected, illness in a family member, death of a loved one, a broken heart, a broken marriage, a troubled child, a troubled friend, loss of a job, money trouble. Each of us, at one time or another, carries a burden that we try to keep hidden from the world. A burden that, during the darkest moments, threatens to crush our very spirit. Yet we bravely plod on, and smile and say "I'm fine." We say "I'm fine" when all we really want to do is throw a tantrum, or cry, or pout, or just sit down and say "I give up." A testament to the human spirit prevailing.
I think, though, that sometimes those losses just need to be acknowledged, even if it is in the smallest, unspoken way. Whatever it is that someone is going through is a great loss to that person at that time in his or her life. "It" deserves attention, conscious or subconscious. So the next time you run into an acquaintance and spout out the obligatory "how are you," pay attention. Look into the person's eyes, give them a genuine smile, a pat on the arm. Hold the door, hold the elevator, give up your seat, buy their coffee. You never know when the smallest gesture could make all the difference to the person masking a dark hour with "I'm fine."
The Dalai Lama put it best. "Be kind whenever possible. It's always possible."
Until
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