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
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