Self-doubt is a debilitating phenomenon. Most of us have experienced some form of self-doubt throughout our lives and the worst time for me was during my formidable years in high school. For those lucky enough to have had a firm belief in who they were during those years, my hat goes off to you. I was not one of those lucky people.
I spent many years trying to fly under the radar and just fit it. The image I presented was varied depending on the group of people with whom I was sharing those hallowed hallways. If I were completely honest about my years in secondary school, I would say that the vast majority of those precious moments was spent trying to be something that I didn’t feel I honestly represented.
But now, if I really think back, I can’t help but wonder – what if, in reality, I was actually being something that I truly was? Perhaps I doubted myself so much that I was unable to enjoy the different facets of my personality. Each of us has a gift, maybe several if we’re lucky, but each of us also has to realize that sometimes we have to be our own cheerleader, our own geek, our own jock and our own stoner.
I finally gave myself permission to be proud of the person I have become. I embrace the many parts of myself and the talents that I have. No longer am I looking for that gratification from anyone other than myself. Those years of self-doubt have since been stored in a box of memories and have been replaced by the belief that my opinion of myself matters the most and I can give myself permission to be every part of who I am.
Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will. I don’t know who coined that phrase but I’d like to buy them a drink!
Although our Canadian Thanksgiving has come and gone, I came upon this post I wrote at the beginning of my blogging journey and I wanted to share it again. May my friends south of our border feel as many thanks as I do each year during our celebration.
My family is a collection of characters. They are as unique as snowflakes. No one member is remotely the same but they are all intelligent, articulate, thoroughly amusing and fun to be around. There is never a dull moment at the cottage when the relatives are in town.
With our hectic lifestyles and spanned locations, we don’t get to see each other as often as we used to when I was a kid but that just makes holidays and get-togethers that much more special. Since it is Thanksgiving weekend, we gathered once again to celebrate the holiday and enjoy each others company. The stress of life and all of the troubles that we face during the day seem to melt away when the family reunites and nothing else matters except the people who embrace you when you walk over the threshold of the door to the family cottage. The outside world ceases to exist and laughter and love wrap themselves around our family members like a warm security blanket. The food is abundant, the conversation is easy and the feeling of love is overwhelming. There is nothing more important than family. We can be thankful for all of our possessions, our jobs, our wealth, but all of those things are replaceable. Family is not.
Thanksgiving is a time to truly reflect on what is most important in our lives. I am certainly thankful for my health, having a job that I love, co-workers that I admire and respect and possessions and a home that I truly appreciate. But I am most thankful for the branches on my family tree that continue to envelop me and wrap themselves around me when I need them the most.
With each passing year, the trunk of our family tree grows stronger and it roots itself more firmly in the soil of our existence. That tree has weathered many storms but still manages to endure the bad times as well as flourish in the good times. Its bark remains tough but the core of our family tree still remains tender and nurturing.
As seasons come and go our family tree continues to thrive. I am thankful for my ancestors who planted the original seed. I am thankful for my family members who have passed and still hold roots in my tree. And I am abundantly thankful for the family who continue to create branches on that ever-growing tree.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you all take a moment to give thanks for the things that are truly important in your lives.
The saloon doors met in the middle several times before slowing to a close. Deke extinguished exterior lights before leaving for home. His fluffy robe and slippers waited just where he had left them. The Dude Ranch had closed for another season.
I have said this before and I’m sure I’ll say it many times again before they pry my cold, dead fingers from my laptop – I love to cook. I find great pleasure in mixing flavors and trying new things (sans recipe – my dad would be proud). Some of those things work and some don’t. And since I referred to my dad, I will tell you that although he was a fabulous “do it yourself” cook, some recipes just didn’t have the desired effect once on the plate. For those of you who have ever entertained the idea of scrambled eggs made with eggnog – Don’t Do It!!
I have worked in many restaurants from breakfast diners to fine dining restaurants and I had the foresight to pay attention to how each Chef took the time with their presentation. From swirls of Balsamic Reduction to the height they could achieve on a plate, every little nuance, every detail on that plate, made that dish even more special by enhancing the flavor. It was food for the eyes as well as the palette. The term “Amuse Bouche” delighted me. When a single, delectable morsel became the new trend at the beginning of a meal, I was taken with its modesty in size but explosion of flavor.
I do my best to amuse my bouche every time I create my feasts, whether it is for company or simply for myself. But sometimes, on those rare nights you just want to curl up under a blanket with an intriguing book, there is nothing better than a good breakfast for dinner. Those recognizable morning food items are the epitome of comfort food. Sizzling homemade pork sausage patties and the perfect fried egg were the perfect end to my day, especially since the eggs were nestled in a bed of potato pancakes. Simple, delicious and just what the bookworm in me required for the perfect night. My bouche is amused and it is time to find out who Darwin really is!!
Dusk descends. The deep blue of the night sky edges its way into darkness and evening begins to fall. Stars mottle the nightscape and any heat the earth consumed during the day is slowly released back into that vast open space. The long spindly finger of Old Man Winter begins to caress the world and the cold enters everything it touches. Trees snap and groan in their defiance of the stinging night air and animals have long since retired to the protection of their dens.
The smallest portion of exposed skin is ambushed by the cold and is threatened by the gnawing jaws of frost bite. It hurts to breathe but the beauty of a cold winter night is unparalleled. The sky seems anxious to introduce every star in the milky way without the intrusion of clouds and the silence is deafening.
This is my winter. These are the nights that I am drawn into the cold for the sole purpose of watching the stars put the sun to bed for another night. I tilt my head back to take in the constellations and wait for a shooting star. This is life in my Northern town. This is the pastel portrait that saturates my brain before I go to sleep.
If my hand brushed up against yours,
would your fingers curl around mine,
would you reach for my touch
as easily as I long for yours,
and let your thumb
gently caress my skin?
If I kissed you,
would our lips slightly touch
before you turned away,
or would your face lean into mine,
absorbing every ounce of the passion
I want to share with that kiss?
If I said I love you,
would you immediately build a wall
to keep me at a distance,
or would you pull me close
happy to share my emotion
because you feel it too?
If I fell into you,
would your arms catch me,
would my body be met by the warmth of your flesh,
or would I awake, once again, from my dream
wondering if you really exist.
I just wanna know.