“How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.” ~ Wayne Dyer
For those who follow my blog or know me personally, you know I live in a small town. Our liquor store is an over-sized log cabin that can be accessed by land or by water. Because we host a large percentage of the city’s population in the summer, our LCBO is a bustling metropolis at the slowest of times. Cars line the two-lane black top to be able to pull off the road into the parking lot for their chance at a desired parking spot. For those unlucky enough to be a few minutes too late, we wait in line for the next available spot.
Today I was first in that wait line. I pulled into the lot, waited patiently on the side of the entrance, and watched a few happy customers as they left the store with their familiar brown bags. As I was looking at their contented faces heading towards their BMW’s and Lexi (Muskoka plural for Lexus’), a beat up pick up truck, paying no heed to the rule of the line-up, ignored me patiently waiting for a spot as if I were invisible, passed my on my driver’s side and decided to create its own “parking spot”, conveniently blocking a total of four vehicles from exiting their soon-to-be-vacant actual parking spots.
The driver of the truck got out, acknowledged my car waiting to park, also acknowledged the woman in the Lexus trying to exit her space, shrugged and made his way into the store. I’ve seen my share of selfish moves since Toronto moved North for the summer but this one truly angered me. This guy saw me waiting for a spot, saw the Lexus driver (and, potentially, two other cars) waiting to exit and blatantly sauntered across the macadam into the store as if the rest of the world did not even exist. I was speechless, apart from a few well-placed expletives.
I am a patient person. If you are in a rush, I am the first to let you go ahead of me to help you in your quest. But if your quest is to be the most arrogant and uncaring person in town, count me out. I only wish I had the foresight to take down your license plate number so I could rat you out in a more personal way.
When I look back at the road behind me, I am content with many of the life altering decisions I have made. There would be nothing worse than glancing back over the history of my life through the eyes of regret. But will I be that fortunate in another forty years to feel the same way I do after the first half of my life? Will I take all of my knowledge, and the lessons I have learned about only living once, and disregard the opportunity to obtain the most happiness I can possibly achieve?
I don’t want to reach my ninetieth year and remember the moment that I let an opportunity for pure bliss pass me by. I don’t want to have “what if” nagging at the back of my mind. I have 46 years of growth and experience under my belt and I can only hope I can wring every ounce of those two things out of me when it comes to pursuing my ultimate happiness.
Sure, I’ve made my choices and I go through the motions of every day life but how would I feel if there were something out there that was just perfect for me and I let it pass me by? Whether it be a job, a trip or a new love….opportunities are not presented every day. Some of those chances are serendipity, a fortunate accident, and some are created through some mystic energy in the universe, perhaps a karma of sorts.
Regardless of the circumstance, I don’t want to regret a moment in my life where I should have taken a chance, but didn’t. If you ask me in forty years, I hope I am able to tell you that I followed my heart and made every moment possible by simply taking that chance on something that seemed like it was meant to be just for me.
Rewarding good deeds
and laying in wait to punish evil.
Just desserts served with panache
and a side of impartiality.
A vibration of kismet.
You found me sooner than anticipated.
Written for the weekend Trifecta Challenge: On to the quick and dirty Trifextra. This weekend we are assuming that many of you are slogging your way through leftovers and family bickering (or is that just us?) and thus we’re going way easy on you. This weekend we are asking for a 33-word free write. Give us whatever you’ve got. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.p013Fbnp.dpuf
(image credit: getinvolved.ca)
After surviving ten years of an emasculating marriage, Jake had reached his breaking point. His friends made many jokes at his expense and he was tired of being bullied by everyone.
She would be expecting an extravagant anniversary present so, after extensive research, he booked a trip to the Babuyan Islands so she could bask in the raw beauty of nature. As anticipated, she complained about the coach seats on the plane. She complained about the oppressive humidity. She profusely disapproved.
Her obituary was poignant and sad. Who knew she would have met her fate in that volcanic chasm?
(image credit: lastwildplace.ph)
Written for the Trifecta Challenge – This week we are giving you a page from the Oxford English Dictionary. The ninety-ninth page, to be exact. (Click to enlarge.) From this page, you can choose any word, any definition, to use in your post. (Please type your chosen word in bold, so we know.) And instead of our typical 33-333 word limit, we are asking for 99 words exactly. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.8OvMgQVR.dpuf
There are several familiar expressions with which humankind uses to describe the same outcome. Whether it be “Live by the sword, die by the sword” or “what goes around, comes around”, they converge on each other and intertwine to form a common thread that we all weave into our lives. That common thread is called Karma.
Karma is part of the law of cause and effect, and it chooses how and when to seek its retribution. It may come back to haunt you in a swift and effective charge, it may linger in the shadows and creep in when you least expect it, or, if you believe in reincarnation, it may wreak its havoc in your next go around. Regardless of when it rears its ugly head, it will seek you out and serve up a dish of revenge that is best served cold. It is calculating and it is manipulative, but those adjectives may best describe the actions that led Karma to finding you in the first place.
Karma is not a superstitious hypothesis. I believe we each create our own luck, be it good or bad luck. Karma is energy, a life force that gets its momentum from the vibrations we put out into the world. And it is not just about negative energy and paybacks. Karma works just as well on the opposite side of the energy spectrum. Good deeds done selflessly tend to have Karma smile favorably upon us as opposed to hunting us like wounded prey and going in for the kill.
The Golden Rule, or as I discovered another name, The Ethic of Reciprocity (which sounds way more fun) -is this – do unto others, as you would have done to you – such a simple string of words with such a profound outcome. You’ve seen it in action on the smallest scale when you give a smile to a stranger and they immediately smile back. Positive Karma results from positive states of mind and positive actions.
As this is the year that I vowed to keep a positive attitude, I am putting my good karmic vibrations into the atmosphere. Maybe, if we all focus enough positivity into the atmosphere, a small trickle of good energy can transform itself, one person at a time, and gain enough momentum to become a waterfall.
(image credit: world-beautifulwallpapers.blogspot.com)
This is not the first memory I have from my childhood, but this is one that stands out in my mind and helped to define the relationship with my brother that would continue for years to come.
I still recall the most minor of details that day and I was all of five years old. Oakville was a seemingly small city in 1974 and the streets were safe enough that my brother and I could walk ourselves to and from school without parental supervision. The day was crisp, the sun filtered through the autumn leaves and reflected jagged pieces of warm light onto the lawns and sidewalks. School had been fun that day and I was anxious to regale my brother with tales of arts and crafts and have him dispel the myth of why some kids eat paste. He was nine – he would surely be more privy to that information than a mere five year old girl.
The two of us began our journey home, and as I skipped along beside him I expounded about my day. I had become quite ensconced in my own story and somewhere along the way I realized he was not beside me any longer. I slowed my pace and heard him behind me, fiddling with a wrapper on what I had assumed was a stashed piece of candy from my beloved Shoreline Variety Store. The sound of the wrapper immediately piqued my attention and halted the story I had become so engrossed in telling.
I turned to find him holding out a piece of candy and remember thinking how generous it was for him to share. It was surely a treat that would have been frowned on by my parents, but that made it all the more intriguing. I gladly took the candy, and as I began to bring the treasured morsel to my lips, he stood stoic, waiting for me to take the first bite.
As my teeth sank into the delicacy that my brother had so graciously shared, his laughter pierced my eardrums before the pungent flavor assaulted my taste-buds. His gales of laughter floated through the autumn winds as I tried frantically to remove every shrapnel of excrement from my mouth. My brother had fed me a piece of dog shit.
I don’t think even Forrest Gump would have outrun me on the way home that day. I sprinted past the crossing guard and could barely see the sidewalk for the tears. I could hear my brother panting behind me, trying to catch up to me before I was able to cross the threshold of our home and explain to my mother how my taste-buds had been violated by a heinous act of terrorism. I’m sure my words were not nearly as eloquent as I would like to think they were, but she got the point, and he got the spanking.
This simple act of cruelty led to years of pranks and retribution, usually always at my expense. Not so many years later, because I seemingly still adored him, emulated him and worshipped the ground he walked on, I was easily swayed into helping knock a beehive from the side of our garage with a hockey stick. Forrest Gump, again, would have been proud of my speed and agility getting to the old station wagon. Long story short, there was a lot of baking soda required that afternoon to cover all of the puncture wounds those bees left in my body.
Thankfully my days of naiveté are over and I am perpetually careful around my dear brother. And he may not know this, unless he reads this post, but I am still plotting my revenge!!
Written in response to the Daily Post Challenge.